Camp Creepy Time_The Adventures of Einstein P. Fleet

by Dann Gershon

  Einstein figured that the no-shows were probably still sick  from lunch. He found it hard to believe that anyone would  be crazy enough to try to walk across the desert, consider-ing the obstacles. Nonetheless, desperate situations called for  desperate measures and, judging by the angry mob, anything  was possible.

  “Let’s get this show on the road!” a camper roared. Before the ruckus could turn into a full-blown riot, Curly  and Big Al arrived, each loaded down with several bags of  marshmallows. The starving campers started to rush them,  but Nurse Knockwurst put her foot down, literally stepping  on the back of one poor soul and pinning him face-first into  the dirt.

  “Settle  down  and  shut  your  piehole!”  she  ordered  the  camper.

  The kids moved back and did as they were told, not want-ing to suffer the same fate. Einstein took a seat at the back of  the group and watched the camper grimace in pain. If this was  Nurse Knockwurst’s idea of getting them oriented to life at  Camp Creepy Time, Einstein decided that he would make sure  to stay clear of the woman at all costs.

  “You want a marshmallow or not?” she threatened.

  Fortunately for the camper, Big Al motioned for her to let  him go. The nurse reluctantly removed her boot from his back  and watched the boy crawl across the pit to join the other  campers. With some difficulty, he stood up and took a seat.

  “Welcome to Camp Creepy Time,” Big Al started. “We are  very happy to have you here with us for the summer and will  do everything to make your experience at camp a memorable  one. I notice that some of you have decided not to wear your  costumes. Let me remind you that is against the rules.”

  1 “It’s too hot!” a T-shirt-clad camper shouted. Several others  nodded in agreement.

  Bucky walked over and got nose to nose with the boy, like  a drill sergeant working over a new recruit. “Do we have a  problem, camper?”

  The boy was too scared to move.

  “Hot or not, you will wear your costumes or suffer the con-sequences,” Big Al shouted back, staring at the camper. “Are  we clear on that issue?”

  The camper nodded and Bucky backed down. Big Al then  continued  with  his  welcome  speech.  “Many  of  you  have  brought it to our attention that the camp is not quite what  you expected, but you have to appreciate what facilities we do  have to offer and take full advantage of them.”

  “This place is, like, a total dump!” one of the Whammy sis-ters shouted at Big Al.

  Before he could continue, several angry campers barraged  him with questions regarding the list of “facilities” promised  in the brochure.

  “What happened to the Olympic-sized pool and the lake?”

  “What about the stable?” another camper asked. “It’s hard  to go horseback riding without a horse!”

  One camper made the mistake of actually calling Big Al a  crook and demanded to be sent home immediately. Einstein  watched in horror as Big Al lifted him off his feet with one  hand and then slowly walked toward the pit. For a brief mo-ment it appeared that Big Al was planning to roast something  other than just marshmallows over the campfire.

  “Anyone else think I’m a crook?” Big Al asked the group. No one said a word.

  “Anyone else want to go home?” he shouted.

  All of the campers shook their heads in unison.

  “That settles that,” Big Al said cheerfully. “Let’s all have a  good time!” He put the camper down and handed him a bag of  marshmallows, then playfully mussed up the boy’s hair. “Just  having some fun with you, sport.”

  The boy ripped open the bag and stuffed a marshmal-low onto his stick as the other campers descended upon him  from all sides. Big Al signaled to Curly and Bucky to distrib-ute the rest of the marshmallows before the mob tore the boy  apart. They tossed several bags into the crowd and watched  with amusement as the campers fought over them. The scene  reminded Einstein of feeding time at the zoo. As hungry as  he was, he had no desire to get in the middle of this one. He  turned to leave and walked smack into Big Al.

  “Where are you going, camper?”

  “It’s a nice night,” Einstein replied. “I thought I’d go for a  walk in the desert and commune with Mother Nature.”

  Big Al took a marshmallow from the bag and impaled it on  Einstein’s stick.

  “Nothing out there but rattlesnakes and coyotes, son,” he  said. “I’d stay close to the fire and toast a few marshmallows  if I were you.”

  It was more of an order than a request, so Einstein did as  he was told. He placed the marshmallow near the roaring fire  and watched it begin to turn a lovely shade of Twinkie brown.

  After a while, the skin began to bubble and caught fire, turning  the light brown skin into a crusty black husk. Einstein removed  it from the fire and blew until the fire subsided and the gooey  treat was cool enough to eat. He took a large bite without  even bothering to remove it from the stick and spit it out. “This  marshmallow tastes like salt!” Einstein shouted.

  “I don’t see anyone else complaining,” Big Al told him. “I’m allergic to salt,” Einstein replied.

  “No one is allergic to salt,” Big Al growled. “Stop whining

  and start eating.”

  “Are you deaf? I told you that my system is salt intolerant.”

  Einstein stuck the marshmallow back in the fire and defiantly

  watched it burn.

  Big Al walked toward him with menace in his eyes. “And I

  told you to eat it, you little twerp!”

  “You eat it!” Einstein shouted. He pulled the flaming marsh-

  mallow from the fire, bent his stick back, and flung it at Big Al.

  The fiery orb soared over his head and landed with a splat in

  the middle of Bucky’s back. The counselor howled in pain as he

  rolled in the dirt and attempted to extinguish the flames. “Marshmallow fight!” one of the campers shouted. The angry campers used their sticks like catapults and filled

  the sky with flaming marshmallows. Einstein watched with sat-

  isfaction as Big Al and the rest of the counselors ran for cover.

  Orientation had turned out to be a lot more fun than he had

 
; expected, even if he was still starving and surrounded by a

  bunch of lunatics dressed up as make-believe monsters. Maybe

   he’d get lucky and they’d burn down the camp. He’d wake up  in the morning, discover the camp had been reduced to ashes,  and go home. Einstein realized that it was just wishful think-ing, but he believed that it was important to always maintain a  positive attitude. With that in mind, he leisurely strolled back  to his cabin for a Twinkie and a good night’s sleep.

  5

  Cha p te r

  Day One — 9:16 P.M.

  Dear Mom and Dad, Help!!!!!!!!!!

  I survived my first day at Creepy Time, but who knows how long I can hold out under these conditions. The food is putrid, the kitchen is filthy, and Curly the Cook looks like the poster boy for dysentery. No doubt I will have to ration my supply of Twinkies if I have any hope of surviving the   summer.

  The mindless thugs with whom I share lodging in C-Block (lucky me) already have quite the Creepy Time rep. They’ve pummeled at least twenty camp-ers that I know of and would have added a few more notches to their belts if they hadn’t got-ten the runs after lunch. I suspect that my fel-low werewolves are part of some silly government program that allows juvenile offenders to spend their summer at camp as opposed to spending the summer at reform school (although the difference in this case is marginal). Billy Armstrong, the leader of the pack, is by far the worst of the lot. Not only is the boy in need of years of psychiatric therapy, he could use a lifetime supply of foot spray and a good bath. Normally, I’d welcome the opportu-nity to study a primitive primate species in their natural habitat, but I’d prefer not to be locked in the same cage with them during feeding time. My request to camp management for a transfer to a new cabin fell on deaf ears. My best bet is to lie low and hope that you come to your senses before it’s too late or my roommates finally kill me and put me out of my misery.

  Sincerely,

  Einstein P. Fleet Einstein tucked the letter in his backpack for safekeeping,  clicked off his penlight, and rolled over to go to sleep. As his  eyes began to close, he spied something moving out of the  corner of his eye and sat up to investigate. Einstein turned the  light back on and pointed it at the ground surrounding his  bunk. Fearing that the spider had returned to attempt a night  raid, Einstein had prepared to make a run for it when he was  overpowered by the smell of stale cheese. The odor was nause-ating, but somehow very familiar. Einstein held his breath as he  tried to recall where he had encountered it before. Suddenly  it dawned on him.

  “Please, God,” Einstein muttered under his breath. “Any-thing but this.”

  “Whatcha doin’, nerd?” It was Billy Armstrong, up close and  personal, occupying the bunk beside him. Einstein had gone to  great lengths to make sure that he was as far away from the  boy as possible, but apparently the plan had gone awry.

   “Weren’t you sleeping in the west wing of the cabin?” Ein-stein asked sweetly. “It’s got the only window and a terrific  view of the desert.”

  “Big deal,” Billy growled. “Nothing special about a white  ball in the sky and an oversized sandbox. My cot didn’t have  a mattress, so I decided to swap with one of the guys.” The  unfortunate werewolf whose cot was confiscated was now  sleeping on the floor, or at least trying to do so. The moon was  full and the light was shining through the window, directly in  the poor camper’s eyes. Billy looked at the boy and laughed.  “How’s the new cot, Norton?”

  “This can’t be happening,” Einstein mumbled to himself.

  “What did you say?” Billy roared.

   “Don’t mind me,” Einstein replied. “I talk to myself all the  time. Sometimes I even talk in my sleep. I scream when I have  nightmares, which I have every night, by the way. Since we’ll  be bunking together, it’s only fair that I warn you. I also snore  really loud. Did I mention that already? If you want to move  back to the other side of the cabin, I won’t be offended.”

  “Shut your yap or I’ll shut it for you.” Billy glared at him for  a moment to make sure that Einstein got the point, and then  shut his eyes.

  It was the first time that Einstein had ever seen Billy with-out his werewolf mask on, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Just  shy of six feet, the thirteen-year-old boy was tall for his age.  Despite being thin and wiry, Billy was tough as nails and mean  as a rattlesnake. He had fire-red hair and a blotchy red face  that was an even mix of freckles and raw patches of acne. The  worst thing about Billy, however, was his total disregard for  his own personal hygiene. He had perpetually bad breath and  body odor so foul that it was hard to believe the boy was ac-tually human. Einstein noticed that Billy’s feet were covered  with tufts of thick, matted hair that surrounded yellow, crud- encrusted toenails of various size and length. Without socks  and shoes, the stench was unbearable. Einstein made a mental  note to purchase several hanging deodorant sticks at the camp  store the next day. More than likely the camp didn’t have a  store, but he needed to keep a positive attitude. It was dark,  but Einstein thought there was something very odd about  Billy’s teeth. They looked more like fangs. Curious, Einstein  clicked back on his penlight to take a closer look. He realized  his mistake instantly.

  “Hey, get the light out of my eyes, you knucklehead!” Billy  loudly complained. “You lookin’ for trouble?”

  All of the inmates from C-Block were now up and about  and had gathered around Einstein’s cot like sharks in a feeding  frenzy. The whites of their eyes glowed with anticipation. Ein-stein thought it must be his imagination, but the campers all  seemed to be getting hairier. He wondered if role-playing could  cause such a reaction, especially within a close-knit group of  psychopaths who had little or no grasp on reality.

  “Hi, guys,” Einstein said, doing his best to sound cheer-

  ful.  “Some  night  we’re  having,  huh?  Nothing  like  a  good   old-fashioned marshmallow fight to cap off a day of torture  and mayhem. Is it great to be a werewolf or what? Hey, who  wants to go outside and howl at the moon?”

  The boys descended upon Einstein before he could say an-other word and zip-locked him inside his own sleeping bag. It  was dark, cramped, and uncomfortable, but at least he couldn’t  smell the stench from Billy’s feet. All in all, it was worth the  trade-off.

  “Thanks, guys,” Einstein shouted, muffled by the cotton  padding. “If I don’t die of suffocation by tomorrow morning,  let’s do breakfast.”

  50r />
  Cha p te r

  10

  E

  Day Two — 8:19 A.M. instein awoke to the roar of his own stomach, still trapped  in the sleeping bag and starving. He suddenly remembered  the emergency Twinkie that he had stashed inside and groped  around until he heard the familiar crackle of cellophane. Ein-stein ripped off the wrapper and ate half of the Twinkie in a  single bite. He considered eating the rest, but decided to be  prudent about his situation. There was no way to determine  how long he would be trapped inside the cotton coffin, espe-cially since Billy and the rest of the werewolves were the only  ones who knew where he was and they had put him there in  the first place. If he was going to escape, he would have to do  it on his own. Einstein took a deep breath to settle his nerves  and concentrated on the problem at hand. It was impossible  to tell if it was day or night. It was hot and difficult to breathe.  From the heat, Einstein assumed that it was daytime. From the  silence, Einstein assumed that the barbarian horde had left for  the day, off looking for other innocents to torture.

  “Hello,” Einstein cooed sweetly. “Anybody home?” Relieved to hear no response, Einstein let out a deep breath  and began to work the zipper of his sleeping bag, praying that  he could open it from the inside. After two or three minutes of  grunting and squirming, he was sweating like a pig and begin-ning to panic. He applied two shaky fingers to a thick vein in  his neck to check his racing pulse. Einstein was certain that he  was moments away from a complete shutdown of his already  overtaxed system.