Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca

by John Luke Robertson

  And it can walk on water—well, on the webs covering the water.

  It’s not just walking, though. It’s streaking . . . right toward where John Luke went under.

  Do you jump into the water to help John Luke? Go here.

  Do you lean over the railing and scream for him to get out of the water? Go here.

  HEADING OUT

  “SLOW DOWN, JOHN LUKE.”

  Man, I should be behind the wheel. It’s not that you’re being overprotective. John Luke has a tendency to do things like overturn vehicles and get them spinning in the air. You have your seat belt on, but you’d rather not go spinning this evening. Especially on a full stomach.

  John Luke takes his foot off the gas. The windows of his Jeep are wide-open, letting in the breeze.

  “Looking forward to school starting?” you ask him.

  “Not really. I was excited about working at the camp again—hope that still happens.”

  “What’s your favorite part about it?”

  “I love meeting the campers and hanging around with them. Teaching them about the Bible.”

  You don’t need to tell your grandson he’s got a good head on his shoulders and a good heart inside.

  “You know,” you begin, “when I was your age, all I thought about was football and girls. After hunting, of course.”

  You’re maybe ten minutes from camp when you see a figure standing on the side of the road. He’s dressed in all camo, which isn’t unusual, though it’s not any particular hunting season right now. His stocking cap covers long, dark hair, and he’s got a beard that makes him resemble one of your family members. Over his shoulder is a backpack.

  The man raises a clenched fist, sticking his thumb out to ask for a ride.

  It’s been a while since you’ve seen anybody hitchhiking. Back in the old days, it was just a part of life. If you wanted to get somewhere, you could start walking and know someone would eventually pick you up and take you the rest of the way. But these days—in these strange times full of dangerous people—you have to be careful.

  John Luke slows down. “Do you know him?”

  “Nope. Can’t say that I do.”

  As you slowly pass by, both of you get a closer look at the man. His serious eyes are shrouded by his hair and beard.

  “Should we pick him up?” John Luke asks.

  It’s getting late, and you have a place to be. But it’s not like anybody’s waiting on you to get there. And you always try to reach out and help people since that’s what the Bible tells you to do.

  But we gotta be careful.

  And it’s not only you in the car. You have John Luke to think about. Your grandson is no baby, but still.

  It never hurts to be too careful in this world.

  Do you tell John Luke to pick up the hitchhiker? Go here.

  Do you tell John Luke to keep driving? Go here.

  WROMBLESKERED

  THIS SPIDER IS THE BIGGEST ONE you’ve ever seen, about the size of a plate with its crab-like legs sprawled out. John Luke is trying hard to get it off his face, but he can’t do it alone. It’s stuck and he’s in a tricky position, lying on his back.

  You take hold of its head and tug as hard as possible. But even that doesn’t work at first. You have to jerk it several times before you pry it off.

  Once John Luke is free, you toss the spider away, then follow it to make sure it’s dead. You spend a few seconds really making sure it’s dead.

  John Luke sits in a daze. You notice a black mark on the side of his cheek.

  “You okay?”

  “I . . . feel . . . wrombleskered.”

  His eyes are looking a little wrombleskered themselves, whatever that might mean.

  He’s getting delirious.

  “Come on.” You help him to his feet.

  “Mine your manners right mow.”

  It’s like he’s been poisoned with goofy juice. “Give me your keys.”

  “Foss the great gum,” he replies.

  You grab the keys from his hand and help get him into the Jeep. John Luke draws a circle in the air with his finger and mutters, “Marshies mean mean marshies.”

  “What kind of spider was that?” you ask, more to yourself than marshie boy.

  You drive straight toward the hospital.

  “Poo-poo pill,” he rambles. “Did ’em jack the jake in my make?”

  “Yes sir, you just lean back over there.”

  You want to laugh but are afraid to. Whatever’s making John Luke talk crazy might also make him do something worse.

  You don’t worry about parking when you get to Glenwood Regional Medical Center but just leave the Jeep by the door. Someone quickly grabs a wheelchair and pushes John Luke into the hospital.

  “He got bit by a spider. A big spider. Biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

  The aide quickly gets John Luke to an exam room, where a doctor starts to look him over.

  “We’s over the gooey chuckstop,” John Luke informs you once you’re seated inside the room.

  “You’re right. It was a gooey chuckstop.”

  Turns out it’s a very good thing you got John Luke to the hospital. The doctor who’s checking him tells you why.

  “Every spider is different, but this one did contain a neurotoxic venom, which means it attacks the nervous system,” the doctor tells you. “I believe this bite might be similar to, but more dangerous than, that of a brown huntsman spider because its neurotoxin attacked the different ion channels. Not only that, but the venom contains high levels of serotonin, making an envenomation by this species particularly painful.”

  While he was talking to you, the doctor started reading from his cell phone. Oh no.

  “Excuse me, Doctor? How do you know all this info?”

  “It’s right on here,” he says, showing you the front of his smartphone. “Wikipedia. I wouldn’t know a thing without it.”

  You sigh. With this doctor in charge, John Luke will probably turn into a spider any minute now. And no Wikipedia article is gonna help him then!

  THE END

  Start over.

  Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

  CABIN #3

  JOHN LUKE WANTS TO CHECK OUT the “haunted” cabin, and you decide spending the night there may be the best way to prove nothing’s going on after all. But no need to go inside right away. You both spend another hour beside the fire until you smell strongly of smoke. That’s the beauty of being outside. You’re smelling life. You’re not pressing numbers on a flat screen or texting Jack and Jill about going up a hill. This is real. This is what God made you to do. To be alive and to sit down and talk.

  When you finally enter the cabin with John Luke, you study the main sleeping room before brushing your teeth and washing your face.

  “Looks pretty haunted to me,” you whisper.

  “Think so?” John Luke takes a step back.

  “Yep. I mean, you see all those kids, right? Lying in their bunks?”

  John Luke shakes his head. Of course he’s just looking at a rectangular room full of empty bunk beds in rows.

  “Are you sure? You sure you don’t see them?”

  “No, sir.” He appears both concerned and confused.

  “I guess I’m the only one who sees dead people then.”

  You both laugh.

  John Luke takes a bottom bunk in the corner of the room, while you take the bunk right next to his. There’s a window by your beds that now only reveals darkness.

  It takes a while for you to fall asleep. The bunk is not nearly as big or comfortable as your bed. Plus, there’s no Miss Kay right next to you. But John Luke’s steady breathing makes it clear that he’s already out.

  You’re nearly asleep when an abrupt tapping sound jolts you up. You wonder if you’re dreaming, but the crunching of the less-than-cozy mattress reminds you where you are.

  The tapping continues—more of a knocking than a tapping, actually. You realize it�
��s coming from the door to the cabin.

  You’re not sure what time it is, but it has to be after midnight.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  Now it’s even louder.

  Someone is at the door. And the way they’re knocking, they really want to get inside.

  But it’s not even locked. Why don’t they try the handle?

  Do you open the door? Go here.

  Do you ignore the knocking and figure it will eventually stop? Go here.

  SILENCE

  THERE’S A STRANGE SORT OF STILLNESS over the camp. You remember the times you’ve come here to share God’s Word and speak to the campers about Jesus. They’d usually be pretty quiet when you were talking, but nothing like this. Right now there are no kids. There are only shadows. But you and John Luke wander around, hoping to find someone who can shed more light on the situation.

  “Let’s go check if Jeffrey is here,” John Luke suggests.

  Jeffrey is one of the regular employees who lives in a small RV on the grounds. He’s a cook and an electrician and a janitor and a little bit of everything. You head over to his silver aluminum RV and knock on the door.

  John Luke peers through a window. “I don’t think he’s in there.”

  “Is he on vacation or something?”

  “Maybe he took off since everybody else is gone.” John Luke steps away from the RV. “You believe in ghosts?”

  “I believe in angels and demons and spiritual warfare. But as far as the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future visiting me anytime soon? Uh-uh. Nope.” You know the kids around camp love ghost stories. What camper doesn’t enjoy a spooky tale told around a campfire at night? But those are just tales. They’re fun stories to freak you out. Especially when you listen to them in the dark woods, with the creatures of the night watching you in the pitch-black. . . . You glance around nervously before following John Luke once more. The two of you head for the gym.

  John Luke hits the lights. “They’ve redone the floor.”

  You find a basketball and dribble it a couple times. “Once upon a time your grandfather could shoot some hoops. Football was always my sport, but I played some basketball too.” You take a shot but miss.

  Before you can retrieve the basketball and try for another shot, you notice a feather on the floor and pick it up. “What’s this from?”

  John Luke takes it and shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “If you ask me, it looks like it came from some kind of Indian headdress or something.”

  “Maybe it’s from Chief Stinkum.”

  You stare at John Luke. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you heard Dad tell the story? The ghost story about Chief Stinkum?”

  “Think I missed that boat.”

  “It changes every time he tells it. I like the Zodie Sims story better.”

  “Maybe there’s too much imagination happening around here,” you say. “That’s why kids are getting crazy ideas.”

  John Luke holds up the feather. “This has to belong to someone.”

  “I guess so. But there’s nothing else to see in this gym. I think it’s time to keep moving.”

  Do you head toward the lake? Go here.

  Do you look a little longer for someone to talk to? Go here.

  Do you go back to the Jeep to get your stuff and put it in one of the cabins? Go here.

  MOMMY

  YOU GRAB THE GLOVES from the backseat of John Luke’s Jeep. The knife, you remember, is in the rear.

  The good thing about the Robertson family is there’s always some kind of hunting tool floating around, ready to be used.

  You put on the gloves and dart over to get the spider off John Luke. You grab it with one hand and attack it with the knife in your other hand, careful not to stick your grandson.

  Just as you free John Luke and stomp on the spider, you spot something at the doorway to one of the cabins.

  The spider you killed must’ve been Big Sis, and it looks like Mommy is still alive.

  She’s alive and very angry.

  The legs of the big spider that jumped on John Luke look half the size of the legs on this one. If that last spider was the size of a plate, this is the size of a copy machine. It’s gargantuan.

  It’s also so fast it looks like it can sprint.

  The spider is on you before you have a chance to move your arm. You try to use the knife but miss and somehow drop the knife by your side.

  “Papaw Phil!” John Luke shouts.

  Then everything happens in slow motion.

  You

  try

  to

  open

  your

  mouth

  but

  when

  you

  do

  all

  you

  can

  say

  is

  a

  very

  slow

  “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

  And somewhere in the middle of that long, drawn-out “noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo” that just keeps going and going and going, you hear something behind you.

  A door opening and shutting.

  Boots stomping.

  And a blast of gunfire.

  The spider explodes in a big, gooey burst of yuck. You turn to see who fired the gun.

  It’s Jase.

  Behind him you see a wooden outhouse. One that’s got antennas on it and some kind of computer panel on the front. It looks vaguely familiar, somehow.

  Jase pats you on the back. “Hey, Dad. Just looking out for you guys.”

  Jase is wearing all camo and his trademark black hat.

  “How’d you know to come here?”

  “That thing over there—the outhouse. I was told I needed to come to this particular moment in time and save you.”

  You don’t even know where to begin.

  Jase nods and runs back to the outhouse. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I gotta go back to where I came from. Still got some things to do.”

  Nothing Jase is saying is making sense.

  “What are you talking about, Son?”

  He opens the door. “I got two words for you: box set.”

  Then he steps inside, and in seconds the outhouse disappears. Not possible. Jase is going to have some explaining to do when you get home.

  John Luke stares at the remains of the two dead spiders next to his feet.

  “I hope those are the biggest ones,” he says as he steps around them.

  “Considering how this day is going, anything is possible,” you remind him. “Anything.”

  For the moment, you don’t see any more spiders—at least no more big ones like those two you guys just killed.

  You decide you’ve seen enough spiders and webs for the day. It’s time to leave the camp and call for reinforcements.

  You’re not giving up. But you know when enough’s enough.

  You and John Luke will be back. Very soon.

  THE END

  Start over.

  Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

  RIDE ’EM, COWBOY

  THE GOOD NEWS: you’re brave enough to jump into Bluff Springs Lake.

  The bad news: instead of diving into the water to get to John Luke, you end up landing on the back of the spider as it dashes past.

  You don’t get off, though—you decide you might as well ride the sucker. It can’t bite you if you’re up here . . . you hope not, anyway.

  This spider looks more like some kind of mutant crab, with long, spiky legs and pinchers. Even with your weight on it, the spider doesn’t sink.

  You hold on more tightly as the spider scurries away from John Luke, toward the shore. As it arrives on the rocks and dirt, it stops abruptly and you get bolted off to one side. You nearly land on your head and topple across the ground. The spider continues
toward the woods, then seems to change its mind. It stops and begins walking toward you again, slower this time.

  You wish you had your gun. Or your knife. Or any kind of weapon. But you don’t have a thing.

  You’re stuck and you’re about to be attacked by a massive monster spider, and all you have are your bare hands.

  I can still take that creature on.

  It seems to pause for a moment, perhaps readying itself to attack. You get to your feet and prepare to strike back at the thing. Then a gun blast goes off.

  It’s the sound of a shotgun. The round body of the spider explodes just in time.

  You look behind you and see John Luke emerging from the water. But he’s not holding a gun.

  “That’s what I call hitting the bull’s-eye, Jack!”

  Si is standing on the hill above the lake, shotgun in hand. “What in the world are you mermaids doing swimming in the lake with that thing?”

  You walk up to the motionless spider. “You ever seen a bug this big?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Si nods. “There were some big ones over in Vietnam.”

  “They weren’t like this.”

  “Hey, look, they were even bigger. We had to use helicopters to take them down.” Then he starts humming Ride of the Valkyries. “Ta-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah-dah.”

  Now John Luke is standing next to you.

  You glare at him. “Told you not to go in the water.”

  “Thanks for jumping on the spider. That was cool.”

  “I was trying to help you. I didn’t think I’d be riding a bull spider.”

  “I heard this place had a few cobwebs around,” Si says.

  “Just a few,” you tell him.

  “Good thing I brought my shotgun.”

  You poke one of the spider’s long legs. “Ever eaten giant spider legs?”

  “I hope that’s the last one we run into,” John Luke says.

  Si clears his throat. “I hope I never see another spider in my life.”