Camp Creepy Time_The Adventures of Einstein P. Fleet

by Dann Gershon

  “Be prepared, Fleet, old boy,” he said to himself, recalling  the one and only phrase he learned at Cub Scouts before the  troop’s den mother had an unexpected nervous breakdown.

  A loud creaking sound startled Einstein. He eyed the cabin  to be sure that he was alone. When it came to safety and  sweets, one could never be too careful. Seeing nothing, Ein-stein donned a fishing cap that he had fitted with a mosquito  net and liberally doused himself with bug spray. It was one of  many contraptions that Einstein had prepared in advance to  survive his summer at boot camp. Practical yet stylish, the cap  made a statement. Einstein started toward the door and, hav-ing a second thought, turned and retrieved one of the Twinkies  from his sleeping bag. Be prepared.

  Suddenly, a feeling of dread swept over Einstein. Someone  or something was watching him. He scanned all of the nooks  and crannies of the cabin for any sign of trouble. A shuffling  sound from the far side of the cabin got his attention. Ein-stein positioned himself in a kung fu stance that he had learned  playing Mortal Kombat and prepared to do battle with the  unknown. Before he could strike out at the invisible intruder,  the shuffling stopped and the cabin was again silent.

  “Is anybody there?” Einstein whispered, positioning himself  to defend his stash of Twinkies. “I must warn you, I went to  ninja camp last summer.”

  A furry black golf ball with eight legs and large protruding  fangs emerged from behind the cot. The creature stared at Ein-stein, daring the ninja master to make the first move.

  “SPIDER ATTACK!” Einstein bolted out the door and ran for  his life, screaming like a madman for someone to call an exter-minator.

  The tarantula watched the spectacle with mild interest and  then continued on its way. As it scurried toward the door and  the safety of the open desert, the hairy spider became aware  of another presence in the cabin. It froze in its tracks, sens-ing danger.

  The tarantula never knew what hit it.

  1

  Cha p te r

  5

  B

  Day One — 1:23 P.M. ig Al Mackey stood at the window and stared at Einstein,  shaking his head in disgust. In his long years of military ser-vice, he had never seen such a slovenly display. The boy could  not be more than thirteen or fourteen years old and yet he  was already twenty or thirty pounds too heavy for his age.  America had grown fat on a steady diet of junk food over the  years, and its youth exemplified the condition. Big Al knew  that a couple of weeks of hiking through the desert would slim  the boy down, but this kid was in need of a total makeover.  The boy’s clothes looked as if they had been slept in, and the  remains of something white and crusty formed a trail from  his mouth down to the collar of his short-sleeved khaki camp  shirt. An unruly mop of curly brown hair framed his pudgy  face. A pair of thick black glasses with Coke bottles for lenses  magnified his dark hazel eyes. All in all, the boy looked like an  oversized nerd. He was sitting down at a picnic table, sweating  profusely and trying to catch his breath. It was pitiful. Sud-denly, the boy noticed Big Al staring at him through the win-dow and did something that in Big Al’s mind was unthinkable.  He stared back and smiled.

  “Hmmm. Fat, sloppy, and impudent,” said Big Al to no one  in particular. “Well, I got my eye on you, mister.”

  Einstein took a notebook out of his backpack and jotted  something down as he continued to stare in the direction  of Big Al. Big Al could see his eyes dart from the paper and  back to the window. Shifty eyes. Beady eyes. The eyes of a real   troublemaker.

   “Don’t you have something better to do than sit on your  butt all day?” Big Al shouted at the boy. “This is a summer  camp, chubby, not a library. Why don’t you take a hike or  something? The exercise will do you good.”

  Einstein sized up the man in the window. He looked to be  in his late fifties with short gray hair that was styled in a mili-tary buzz cut. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt with the  standard camp logo. A silver whistle dangled from his neck.  His ramrod-straight posture hinted at a prior life, either in the  military or as a fitness instructor. The man had a look of au-thority. Einstein knew the type well. All of them felt it was their  right to impose their will on others. Some people needed to be  told what to do and welcomed the direction. Einstein wasn’t  one of them. To him, an authority figure was just another type  of bully. Maybe they didn’t use physical violence to intimidate,  but there was no difference between the two. A bully was a  bully and Einstein despised them all.

  “It’s a bit hot for physical activity,” he shouted back at Big  Al, “but if you feel the need to hike through the desert, by all  means don’t let me stop you.”

  “Get moving, four-eyes,” Big Al commanded, “or I’ll roll you  in honey and tie you to an anthill.”

  Einstein shot Big Al a final defiant glance and abruptly  pulled down the mesh net on his cap. He turned his back to  the man, then yanked his shorts down to his knees, bent over,  and mooned him. Satisfied that he had made his point, Einstein  pulled up his shorts and moseyed down the road in search of a  more secluded location.

  Big Al pondered the boy and how to best deal with the  problem. His future was tied to this little venture, not to men-tion his entire life’s savings. There was no way on Earth that he  was going to allow anything, let alone an oddball like Einstein,  stand in the way of completing his mission.

  He turned to Bucky and pointed at the boy. “That’s the Fleet  kid, right?” he asked, the years of command clear in his tone.  “The one without a costume?”

  Bucky looked out the window and nodded. “He puked  all over my brand-new Nikes,” he said, pointing down at the  splotches on his sneakers.

  “Which cabin is he assigned to?” “He’s in Cabin C with the Armstrong kid and the rest of  the werewolves.”

  Big Al turned around slowly and smiled. “A couple of days  with that crew ought to put some hair on that chubby little  chest.”

  “I don’t know, boss. He doesn’t look like werewolf material  to me.”

  “Find him a costume,” Big Al ordered, “and let’s see.”

/>   Cha p te r

  E

  Day One — 2:22 P.M. instein stared at the empty barn and couldn’t believe his  luck. The place was perfect. Abandoned and left to rot, it  would provide him with a refuge away from the other camp-ers and the prying eyes of camp management. Most of the red  paint had peeled off long ago and what little was left looked  like random splotches of dried blood. The wood walls, warped  from age and exposure to the elements, appeared lopsided,  like an old man sagging under the weight of time.

  Einstein searched the perimeter of the barn for an entrance.  He walked around until he found a small door. The handle was  missing and the hinges were rusted shut. Einstein tried to pry  the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. It would call for an-other solution. The boy backed up about ten yards and took  a deep breath.

  “Ramming speed!” he screamed, charging like a bull. The door collapsed upon impact and Einstein fell headfirst  into the barn. He got up and dusted himself off, wondering if he  should go any farther. The inside looked dark and scary. It might  even be haunted or, worse, crawling with all sorts of blood- sucking spiders just waiting to hitch a ride in his shorts. He  stood still for a moment or two, allowing his eyes to adjust to  the darkness, before he mustered up the courage to continue.

  “No guts, no glory,” he whispered to himself. The inside of the barn was eerily quiet. The support beams  that held up the roof were rotted away and appeared to be un-stable. Several planks were missing from the sides of the barn,  allowing beams of sunlight through. Patches of tall weeds grew  in the areas that the sun was able to reach. Dark green moss  covered everywhere that it wasn’t.

  An old pickup truck was parked in the center of the cav-ernous space. There was an official-looking insignia on the  side door. It had worn away with time, along with the words  that used to circle it. Only one word remained that was still  legible—it read postal. The back of the truck was loaded  with several dozen cases of painter’s and electrician’s tape.  Considering the entire camp was in dire need of repair and  a paint job, the large quantity of tape made sense. Still, Ein-stein thought it was odd. He decided to take a closer look and  headed toward the truck. Einstein took a few steps forward,  then stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw a diamond- shaped pattern of silky strands. The truck was covered in cob-webs, and where there were cobwebs, there were spiders. His  eyes scanned the area for any sign of life as he backed away  from the vehicle. Rather than risk a run-in with a horde of   eight-legged man-eaters, Einstein turned tail and ran as fast as  he could for the door.

  Safely outside again, he looked for a place to sit down and  catch his breath. He stumbled upon a picnic table and grate-fully took a seat. As his breathing returned to normal, Einstein  mulled over the events of the day. He couldn’t put his finger on  it, but everything about this place felt wrong. There was only  one thing to do. He would explain the situation to his parents  and request that his sentence be reduced to time served. Ein-stein knew it was an exercise in futility, but he reached into his  pack and removed his notebook and a black felt-tipped pen.  Einstein ripped out a page and starting writing.

  Dear Mom and Dad, HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!

  The bus ride to camp was worse than expected. Considering the fact that most of my fellow camp-ers are one step removed from Neanderthals, I’m surprised that I survived the trip at all. Did you know that this is a theme camp for monsters? Thirty-six kids, including yours truly, were hand-picked to take part in this mad experiment based on their answers to the questionnaire. Congratula-tions, Dad! You passed the test with flying colors. I’m officially a werewolf.

  The pictures in the brochure were grossly misleading, but I suppose you can’t fault camp man-agement for good marketing. Compared to Creepy Time, a maximum-security prison would be consid-ered a five-star hotel. My lodgings are dismal. The cabin (if you consider a shanty a cabin) is crawling with bugs and snakes, most of which are poisonous and most likely man-eaters. The lake (if there

  ever was a lake) must have evaporated from the heat, along with the stable full of horses. The “Olympic-sized” swimming pool is more like a swimming hole, although the toxic green waste and algae it is filled with is a tad less inviting than the clear blue water pictured in the brochure. The long list of “activities” was also a lie, unless you consider vomiting, sweating, or building a birdhouse out of Popsicle sticks a boatload of fun.

  Danger lurks everywhere and the odds of surviv-ing eight weeks in this place are slim at best. I had my first run-in with upper management just hours after my arrival. (Actually, it was more of a staring contest than a run-in, but it was still unnerving.) The staredown was with none other than Big Al Mackey, the infamous warden here at Creepy Time. Although I drew first blood, the senile old geezer looks like he enjoys a good fight and will no doubt be gunning for a bit of payback.

  I beg you to arrange for an early pardon. I will not hold you responsible. I will not bear a grudge. Clearly, the strain of parenthood has finally taken its toll and you no longer possess the mental capac-ity for rational thought. The long and short of it is simple. Please arrange for my immediate release while I’m still in one piece. The clock is ticking.

  Sincerely Yours, Einstein P. Fleet P.S. In the event that I do not survive, please feel free to rent out my room. Einstein reviewed the contents of the letter one last time  to make sure that he had properly conveyed the seriousness of  the situation in simple terms that even his parents would un-derstand. Satisfied that he had made his point, he then folded  the paper into three equal parts, placed it in an envelope, and  prepared to lick the seal.

  “FREEZE!” Einstein  did  as  ordered,  leaving  his  tongue  dangling  in  midlick. He raised his hands above his head and assumed the  position.

   “Don’t  shoot,”  Einstein  shouted  back.  “I  have  a  little   over three dollars in cash and a Twinkie. You can have the  cash.”

  “Turn around and put your hands down, kid. I’m not going  to hurt you.”

  Einstein did as he was told and was relieved to see a fellow  camper standing in front of him instead of a desert desper-ado. She was barely five feet tall but exuded the confidence of  someone a lot bigger. Her long brown hair was streaked with  blue and her green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She was wear-ing faux-leopard-spotted pants, ankle-high Doc Marten boots,  and cat glasses embedded with rhinestones. Part grandma, part  grunge. The girl was thin but wiry, wearing a tight short-sleeved   T-shirt that simply stated, camp sucks.

  Einstein dropped his arms back down to his sides and sighed  with relief.

  0 “Trust
 me, kid,” the girl snapped, snatching the envelope  out of his hand. “You don’t want to lick that envelope.”

  “Why not?” he inquired, surprised by her speed and agility.  “The contents of this letter are of a private nature. A matter of  national security, actually.”

  “I can sum it up for you in just one word.”

  Einstein thought she was joking at first, but from the ex-pression on her face he knew she was serious.

  “What’s that?” Einstein asked.

  “Germs.”

  “Germs?” Einstein repeated.

  “That’s right. Germs.” The girl let the information sink in  for a moment and then explained. “The slightest infection can  kill you, especially in this environment. Why take chances?  Who knows where that envelope has been? It was probably  manufactured in some third-world country teeming with ex-otic diseases. Malaria, cholera, whooping cough, plague, and  probably some stuff we haven’t even heard of yet. You want to  lick something like that, be my guest. Personally, I’d rather kiss  a lizard on the lips.”