Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca

by John Luke Robertson

  You agree with your brother. You’ve done your part out here. Maybe you’ll finally call animal control and let them take over.

  THE END

  Start over.

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

  GREAT & WHITE

  THESE COMMERCIALS SURE ARE BORING, and this recliner sure is cozy . . .

  Next thing you know, a banging sound wakes you up. You feel a slight breeze on your face. The door must be open. You let your eyes adjust and squint across the room at John Luke’s bed.

  It’s empty.

  What’s he up to now?

  Maybe he’s taking a midnight stroll. Nothing wrong with that. Unless this place really is haunted, in which case things could get bad. But neither you nor John Luke are worried about anything like that . . . well, not too worried. Just in case, you pull yourself out of your chair and go outside to see where he might be.

  Maybe he sneaked outside to talk to a girl . . . but you thought all the girls went home.

  Maybe he can’t sleep, and he’s thinking and praying.

  You stand right outside the cabin door and listen, but you don’t hear anything, so you consider your options. There are three main places for kids at the camp, if you remember right: the cabins, the gym, and the lake. The lights are off in the gym, and the boys’ cabins are silent. So you decide to try the lake.

  By the time you walk the wooded path to the top of the small hill that leads down to the water, you hear something besides the familiar sound of the small waterfall nearby.

  Someone splashing.

  Did John Luke sneak a girl down to the lake to swim with?

  You think you know the answer, but then again, you remember when you were a teenager. If you had some more smarts and soul back then, you would’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble later on. But you can’t go back in time, can you?

  Unless you spot an outhouse time machine in the middle of the . . . Oh, never mind.

  When you get closer to the water, the nearly full moon reflecting on its surface, you confirm that only one figure’s swimming in it. John Luke’s head bobs up and down as he cuts through the still waters.

  You step onto the dock that juts into the lake.

  John Luke flips over and splashes with his legs. You laugh as you watch him, figuring he couldn’t sleep and was maybe just hot. You’re feeling kinda warm yourself.

  You glance up at the sky and stare at the moon for a moment. Beautiful. Then you spot something in the water. Something breaking the smooth surface.

  Something other than John Luke.

  You squint, trying to bring it into focus.

  I need more light.

  Your eyes are playing tricks on you. Surely.

  But a steady wake is coming across the lake, closer and closer. It’s making a straight line toward John Luke.

  And you swear there’s a fin sticking out of the water. Like a shark fin.

  But that’s crazy.

  It’s still coming nearer, faster.

  “Hey, John Luke,” you call.

  But you know he can’t hear you. And this has gotta be the moonlight and the shadowy lake playing tricks on you.

  But no . . . it’s closer now.

  Something even stranger is happening too. Because with every inch of progress the shape makes, you feel your heart turn over with a trembling, booming beat.

  Daaauh.

  Daaauh.

  Daaauh.

  Daaauh daaauh.

  Daaauh daaauh daaauh daaauh.

  Bombombombombombombombombom.

  You get the idea.

  You know how this is going to end.

  “John Luke!” you shout, urgent now.

  But he still hasn’t seen you, still can’t hear. Still has no idea he’s being chased by a shark.

  My heartbeat is becoming stronger, faster. Or is that actually music?

  “John Luke, get out of the water! The music is louder—get out!”

  But he’s oblivious.

  “John Luke, come on. Listen—don’t you hear it? It’s John Williams—can’t you hear? Get out! Get out now!”

  The volume of the music keeps increasing.

  Where’s this music coming from?

  The fin has almost caught up to John Luke.

  Hasn’t it been moving across the lake for a long time? I mean, shouldn’t this scene be over now?

  Bigger, stronger, faster, wilder.

  More tuba. More tuba!

  And then.

  Then.

  No.

  No!

  (Keep playing, orchestra!)

  Faster—faster—faster.

  Noooooooooooooo.

  You wipe the sweat off your forehead, scream, and then . . .

  You’re in front of the little cabin television. It’s a late-night showing of Jaws.

  A fan blows on your face, and your bare feet are propped up in the recliner. Other than the muted sound of the television, you can’t hear anything. John Luke is secure in his bed.

  But your heart is racing as quickly as before.

  You could’ve sworn you were just out by the lake. . . .

  But you’re here now. Which is a good thing.

  Maybe, though, to be on the safe side, you’ll discuss this dream with John Luke in the morning. Just to give him a helpful warning. About being careful next time he goes swimming. And watching out for unusual animals.

  Especially ones with fins.

  As long as your imagination doesn’t get the better of you again, you’ll be prepared to resume this investigation in the morning. But maybe you’ll save the lake for last.

  THE END

  Start over.

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

  AN INSANE ODYSSEY

  YOU RETRIEVE THE AX from the cabin and hold it in front of you, ready to cut off a tail. Ready to engage in hand-to-hand combat.

  Some might say you’re old, but your brain still works at optimal level. People don’t understand. Behind this beard and these camo pants is a man capable of keeping up with Jason Bourne.

  Age is all in your head. And in my head, I’m still twenty-seven. Active and kicking.

  You approach the sounds. And the closer you get, the more they start to change.

  At first, they suggest some kind of animal gnawing down a tree in the wilderness. But then suddenly you hear something different.

  “Can you make me some coffee?” Miss Kay’s voice says.

  You stop and turn around in the forest.

  What in the world?

  You keep walking until you hear another voice.

  “Those ducks are coming any second now.”

  That was Si talking, as if the two of you are in a duck blind this very instant.

  You slow down, the ax ready for whatever lies ahead. You notice a strange blue glow in the woods.

  “Aw, come on,” a voice says. “Everybody knows you gotta send out a decoy first.”

  That’s definitely Jase.

  You move forward like you’re in a dream. Different voices talking to you from all around.

  “Yeah, I think it’s gonna be fine.”

  That’s Mac Owen, one of your best friends. Is he visiting from Colorado?

  What’s going on? Am I dreaming?

  The voices continue, and the cold blue glow gets progressively brighter until you climb a hill and see where the light is coming from.

  There’s some kind of black shape that appears to be floating in the middle of the woods.

  You hold the ax steady, ready to strike. But this isn’t an animal. It’s something you’ve never seen.

  It’s one of those times where you stumble onto something that you just look at and go, Huh? with your mouth open.

  Well, your mouth may be hanging open, but it’s hidden in your beard.

  The black object that’s hanging there looks a lot like . . .

  You get closer.

  It
doesn’t look like one—it is one.

  It’s a duck call.

  A gigantic black floating duck call, like nothing you’ve seen on Earth.

  This thing seems to draw you closer. You keep walking toward it.

  Then you hear Elton John singing “Rocket Man.” No, not Elton John. This singer has a terrible voice . . . and he doesn’t seem to know the lyrics. Si?

  You don’t know what’s happening. But there must be a bigger meaning here. Another picture. A different story. A different book, even.

  You keep walking ahead, step by step. You drop the ax and hold out your hand.

  You can’t imagine that this thing has anything to do with the strange goings-on at the camp. But you need to find the truth behind this hovering, hulking duck call in the middle of nowhere.

  It might be time to move to book three.

  THE END

  Start over.

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

  STANLEY CUP PLAY-OFFS

  YOU WAIT WITH JOHN LUKE IN SILENCE until it’s been so long that the chainsaw man has to be gone. You’re not frightened. Nah. Around these parts, crazy situations make people do crazy things. You’ve seen it all. Maybe that chainsaw-wielding madman just needs a hug.

  “I think we should take off now,” you tell John Luke.

  “In my Jeep?”

  You give him a big thumbs-down. “No. Too loud. Hmm . . .” The hitchhiker you met earlier crosses your mind. “Let’s take the woods to the main road. Then try to see about flagging down a ride.”

  It takes about half an hour to hike to the main road. You don’t see or hear any more from the chainsaw guy.

  “What do you think that dude was trying to do?” John Luke asks.

  “Usually when someone is trying to break into my house with a chainsaw, I don’t stick around to ask,” you tell him. “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t there to sell Girl Scout cookies.”

  You’ve just started walking down the road when you see the lights from an approaching car. Both you and John Luke wave it down with wild arm gestures.

  “We’ll get him to take us to the police station,” you tell John Luke.

  It’s a good idea.

  Until you see the driver.

  He’s wearing a hockey mask. And it’s not even hockey season.

  That’s not the only problem.

  He’s got friends.

  “Uh, you know what?” you say. “I think we’re okay on foot.”

  But the doors all open, and you realize there’s a whole hockey team getting out of the car.

  “John Luke, go!” you shout.

  You run as fast as you can on John Luke’s heels, weaving through the woods until you lose these guys. Come to think of it, walking home on the back roads might be a better plan after all—no matter how long it takes. This will be some story to tell the police.

  THE END

  Start over.

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

  I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S BUTTER

  A BREEZE WAKES YOU UP. It takes you a minute to remember you’re at the camp, sleeping on a bunk bed. As your eyes adjust, you notice that the front door to the cabin is open. Then you turn your head and realize John Luke’s bed is empty.

  He must have gone outside for some reason.

  He’s sleepwalking.

  This is a truth about John Luke that nobody knows except his family. Yes, he sleepwalks. But it’s not normal sleepwalking. Sometimes the sleepwalking lasts for days. His entire sophomore year of high school was spent in one big sleepwalk. It took well-paid professionals to revive him that time.

  Now he only awakens to the phrase Butter on a biscuit.

  But he obviously has to be within hearing range for this phrase to work.

  “John Luke?” You search the cabin in case he’s still here. “Butter on a biscuit.”

  But he’s nowhere.

  You sigh, putting on some clothes and trudging outside.

  “Butter on a biscuit!” you shout. No need to keep it down—there’s not a soul around to hear you. Surely you’d sound like a crazy person screaming about biscuits, but then again John Luke probably looks like a crazy person walking around in his pajamas in the middle of the night.

  “Butter on a biscuit!”

  You listen carefully. Nothing.

  You better head to the lake just to make sure he’s not swimming while asleep. You’re not sure how sleepwalking works exactly, but it might be dangerous to go sleepswimming. Who knows.

  One time John Luke went out on a sleepwalking date with a girl from school. Every time she spoke, he just nodded and said funny things like “I love bacon.” She assumed he was being goofy. But when he dropped her off and she said good-bye, he said, “I’ll miss you, Clarise.” That wasn’t the girl’s name, so she got upset. John Luke later had to explain he was sleepwalking the whole time.

  For some reason, she didn’t believe him.

  As you make your way down the hill toward the water, you hear someone singing. It takes you a minute to register that it’s John Luke.

  He’s dancing on the dock and acting like he’s holding a microphone.

  What in the world? This is a new symptom.

  John Luke doesn’t notice you walking toward the “stage.”

  “‘Oh, oh,’” he shouts. “‘That’s what makes you beautiful.’”

  You smile. “Thank you, John Luke. I feel beautiful.”

  He keeps singing and dancing, and you can’t help but watch for a moment. Then you call out, “Butter on a biscuit,” and he snaps to.

  “Papaw Phil,” he says, looking around him in confusion. “Was I . . . ?”

  “Yep.”

  John Luke steps off the dock, stumbling a bit. “Was I singing and . . . ?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did anybody else . . . ?”

  “Nope.” You rest a hand on his shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  The free John Luke concert is over. For tonight, anyway.

  John Luke’s antics are the only strange sights or sounds you find at the camp that night. You’ll just have to tell Isaiah his “ghost” never showed up.

  THE END

  Start over.

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

  FREAK OUT

  “JOHN LUKE, YOU BETTER GO INTO THE CABIN and wait for me.”

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “I can go with you.”

  “Yes, you could, but I think it’s best you stay here.”

  John Luke doesn’t argue, even though the look on his face tells you he thinks it’s a bad idea.

  “You have your cell, right?” you ask. “You call the cops if something funny happens.”

  “Somebody was just screaming in the woods,” John Luke says. “That’s not funny?”

  “If something else happens. While I’m gone.”

  “Like if I hear you scream?”

  Good point.

  “I won’t be screaming. You won’t hear that.” You pause and think for a moment. “And if I’m not back in an hour, then get out of here, okay?”

  Now John Luke looks like he really thinks this is a bad idea.

  You watch him head to the cabin and shut the door before you venture into the darkness, in the direction of the scream.

  The farther into the forest you get, the more pitch-black it becomes.

  You hear branches cracking ahead like someone’s running off.

  An owl makes its hooting call somewhere behind you. The nightly sounds of the Louisiana wilderness surround you.

  Then another ch-ch-ch-ka-ka-ka seems to whisper to you.

  You grasp the handle of your machete.

  More tree limbs snap and break, but this time you can’t tell where they are.

  You hear something right behind you a
nd turn around. “John Luke? Is that you? If that’s you, tell me now.”

  Nothing.

  The darkness of the woods doesn’t frighten you, nor do the strange sounds. The scariest thing would be if something happened to John Luke. And you want to keep yourself safe too.

  Miss Kay would get upset if I didn’t make it home.

  You retrace your steps. Then you notice something through the trees in front of you that looks like a fire.

  It is a fire. But it’s too big to be the campfire you just came from.

  Oh no. One of the cabins must be on fire.

  John Luke.

  You run through the woods like you haven’t run in twenty-five years. You see flames consuming the cabin John Luke just entered. You can detect the scent of gasoline all around you.

  You know someone did this on purpose.

  A part of you almost dives into the flames because you don’t see John Luke. At first.

  But then you notice the figure in the driver’s seat of the Jeep. It’s him.

  You rush over to the vehicle and try the door, but it’s locked. John Luke jumps and turns to you. He opens the door, but you can tell something’s wrong.

  Does John Luke start rambling about a disturbing encounter from his childhood? What does this have to do with the fire? (There’s a connection—promise.) Go here.

  Does John Luke tell you he knows how the fire started? (Finally, a chance to learn the truth.) Go here.

  Does John Luke confess to something you can hardly believe? (This is going to be good!) Go here.

  28 MINUTES LATER

  YOU HEAD BACK HOME ON FOOT. This situation is desperate! But when you finally get there, your front door’s broken down. Miss Kay is nowhere to be found.

  It’s happening too fast. The nightmare is too real.

  Cue the music from your favorite suspenseful movie. ’Cause this is how the world ends.

  John Luke—or whatever was left of him as the allibeaver venom took hold of his system—apparently knew he needed help and drove toward the first place he could think of: home.