Camp Creepy Time_The Adventures of Einstein P. Fleet

by Dann Gershon

  Sincerely,

  Einstein P. Fleet

  Shirley Fleet walked into the living room just as her husband  finished reading the letter. She was carrying a large platter of  freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

  “Is that another letter from Einstein?” Shirley asked, sam-pling one of the cookies.

  Norman leaned back in his easy chair and nodded. “It’s  more like a handwritten blog.”

  “Is he having a good time yet?” she asked.

  Norman handed her the letter. She read the first few lines  and began to giggle.

  “Trained killer bees and campfire conspiracies,” she said,  laughing out loud. Shirley put down the letter and picked  up another cookie. “You gotta admit that our little guy has  some imagination.”

  “His imagination almost got us arrested,” Norman replied.  “Or have you forgotten about the Wilson incident already?”

  Mr. Wilson was Einstein’s fourth-grade history teacher. For  reasons that no one but Einstein could understand, he was con-vinced that the man was part of a “sleeper cell” that had been  sent by the forces of darkness to study the decaying school sys-tem in Los Angeles and replicate it throughout the country. The  plot was to make America stupid. Einstein posted daily blogs  on The Smoking Peashooter to warn anyone who would listen. An  overzealous FBI agent in the counterterrorism division acted  on the information and arrested the poor man. As it turned  out, all Mr. Wilson was guilty of was changing his last name  from Wilnofski to Wilson, but his motives were hardly sinister.  His new name was easier for the kids to pronounce. The FBI  released Wilson a few days later, but his lawsuit against the  federal government and the Fleets was still pending.

  Shirley walked across the room and handed her husband  the plate. “Relax, Norman. Have a cookie.”

  “Only Einstein could turn summer camp into a corporate  conspiracy. If he keeps this up, they will probably give him the  boot—which is exactly what he wants.”

  “Give  him  a  call  and  have  a  talk  with  him,”  his  wife   suggested.

  “It’s against camp rules. Besides, if Einstein thinks that we’re  buying into this nonsense, he’s got another thing coming.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  Norman considered the matter as he helped himself to a  cookie. Suddenly he had an idea. Why not turn a bad situation  into a golden brown opportunity? As the regional marketing  director for Hostess, he could provide Einstein and the rest of  the campers with an eight-week supply of Twinkies and write  off the cost of camp as a marketing expense. They didn’t call  him “El Cheapo” for nothing.

   “I’ll call the office and have them send a couple dozen  boxes of Twinkies,” he said, winking at his wife. “Two can play  at this game.”

  5

  Cha p te r

  1

  V

  Day Six — 5:30 A.M. innie looked at his watch and yawned. He’d been up all  night. No wonder he was exhausted.

  Over  the  past  few  days  Vinnie  had  become  extremely

   sensitive to sunlight. Every camper in V-Block seemed to be  suffering from the same condition. As a result, they roamed the  camp during the darkness of night and returned before sun-rise. Oddly enough, the camp counselors did not seem to mind  these nocturnal activities. Curly even set up a special midnight  feeding at the camp cafeteria to accommodate their schedule.  The menu of blood-rare meat was limited, but no one seemed  to mind. Given their snow-white complexions from the lack of  exposure to the sun, a little red meat couldn’t hurt.

  Vinnie had a terrible taste in his mouth and his breath  smelled like rancid milk. He rifled his suitcase for his tooth-brush and some toothpaste, then made his way to the sink  at the end of the hall. Every single window was covered with  blankets and anything else that would block out the sunlight.  The cabin was pitch-black, but Vinnie had no problem navi-gating. His night vision improved with each passing day. He  assumed it was from living like a mole in the darkness.

  Vinnie turned on the faucet and squeezed a thick wad of  toothpaste directly into his mouth. No matter how hard he  brushed, the foul taste would not go away. After several min-utes, he finally gave up and took a long swig of mouthwash. He  held up his toothbrush and examined the bristles. They looked  as if they’d been passed through a shredder. He inserted his  index finger into his mouth and cut it on something sharp. His  fake plastic fangs had been replaced with the real thing. He de-cided to call his father to let him know that he had contracted  some rare strain of hoof-and-fang disease. Vinnie reached for  his cell phone and remembered that he didn’t have one at his  disposal. Unable to procure dental advice, he took matters into  his own hands. Leaning into the mirror, he examined his new  canines. Vinnie could feel the sharpened fangs, but he couldn’t  see them. In fact, he couldn’t see a thing. He was standing di-rectly in front of the mirror, but no longer had a reflection.

  “Vat in the name of good dental hygiene is going on here?”  he mumbled, feeling the surface of the mirror, certain that it  was some type of practical joke.

  All of a sudden, Vinnie was overwhelmed by the need to go  back to bed. Whatever the problem was, it would hold until  later. Vinnie went to his cot and shut his eyes, but sleep was  impossible. A symphony of clogged sinuses and snoring echoed  throughout the cabin. He placed his pillow on top of his head  to muffle the noise. After a few minutes he sat up and screamed  at the top of his lungs, “Vill you keep it down over there? I’m  trying to get some sleep!”

  The symphony continued.

  Vinnie got up and walked through the cabin. Something

   wasn’t right. He could hear his roommates snoring like chain  saws, but they weren’t in their cots. Vinnie looked up at the  ceiling and gasped. The entire population of V-Block was sound  asleep, hanging upside down from the rafters.

  Vinnie felt an odd sensation course through his body. He  began to float slowly toward the ceiling like a balloon filled  with helium. He drifted until he came to an unoccupied spot  and parked himself next to another camper, hanging upside  down from the wooden rafter like the others. The odd sensa-tion soon passed and Vinnie began to feel better. In fact, he had 
never felt better in his entire life. He felt strong and vibrant. His  night vision was perfect, his hearing more acute, and his sense  of smell had dramatically improved. The foul taste was worse  than ever and his breath still smelled like rotten eggs, but it no  longer bothered him in the least.

  “I am Vinnie the Vampire!” he shouted. “I am immortal!” “You vant to keep it down there, pal?” the vampire hanging  next to him snarled. “You’re not the only guy trying to get some  sleep around here.”

  Cha p te r

  1

  R

  Day Six — 4:55 P.M. ise and shine, comrade,” Roxie demanded as she stood  over the cot. Einstein had the blankets pulled tightly over  his head and refused to move a muscle. She noticed that his  clothes were strewn on the floor and he was moaning in his  sleep. Perhaps Einstein was in worse shape than she thought.  Roxie pulled back the blankets and gasped. Einstein was bound  to the cot with electrician’s tape. A werewolf mask was taped  to his head, and his own clothes had been replaced with a plaid  shirt and a pair of gray slacks. Roxie gently removed the tape  and then struggled with the rubber mask until she finally pried  it off. She pulled a dirty sock out of Einstein’s mouth and used  it to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “I really hate this place,” Einstein said, rubbing the corners  of his mouth. He sat up and stretched, but did not get out  of bed.

  “What happened?” Roxie asked as she opened her pocket-knife. She began to saw through the tape that bound his arms  and legs, doing her best not to cut Einstein in the process.

  “What do you think happened?” he answered testily. “Nurse  Knockwurst, Bucky, Billy, and a few of the other Hitler Youth

  0 jumped me last night. They force-fed me a couple of salt tablets  and gagged me so I couldn’t spit them out. Then they stripped  me down to my underwear and dressed me up as a werewolf.  It was another fun-filled night at good old Camp Creepy Time.  So, what did you do last night?”

  “Did you swallow the salt tablets?” Roxie asked, clearly  concerned.

  “I didn’t have much choice,” Einstein replied. “I thought  I was going to puke in my sleep and die, but I wasn’t that   fortunate.”

  “Remove that costume immediately,” Roxie commanded.  “Move it, Fleet. We have to get out of here and find a place  to hide.”

  “Einstein P. Fleet does not hide,” he replied indignantly.

  “Is  that  right?”  Roxie  said.  “Then  what  are  you  doing  here?”

  “I’m recovering.”

  “You look just fine to me,” Roxie replied as she stripped the  bed with him in it and tossed the blanket aside. Einstein hit the  floor with a loud thud.

  “Are you crazy?” Einstein shouted.

  “Here you go, Fleet,” Roxie said, tossing him his fishing cap  and the rest of his clothes.

  Einstein pulled the mosquito netting down over his face  and stood there.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “A little privacy, if you don’t mind,” he grumbled. “Unless   you’re looking for a cheap thrill.”

  Roxie scanned the infirmary as Einstein dressed. Nine other  cots were filled with injured campers, every one of them ban-daged from head to toe. The parts that were still visible looked  withered and gray, more like the skin of elephants than of  human beings. The sick campers stared at Roxie. Their eyes  were dead and lifeless.

  “Let’s go, Fleet.”

  “What’s the hurry?” Einstein asked, tilting his cap to the  side. “Are they running short of seats at the arts and crafts  center?”

  Einstein had been weighing his options for the past few  minutes and was still undecided. Despite the hazing that he  had suffered, staying in the infirmary had its advantages. If  Einstein remained in the sick bay, he would be free of C-Block  and his mentally defective roommates. He would have ample  time to work on his planned exposé of Creepy Time for his  website. Einstein was certain that his fellow bloggers would  be appalled at the torture and use of experimental drugs on  innocent campers in a laboratory disguised as a summer camp.  Most important of all, Einstein would be freed from the physi-cal rigors of day-to-day camp activities, such as they were. No  more running aimlessly through an empty field while being  baked to a crisp and chased by man-eating wasps. Granted, the  food in the infirmary was the same hog slop they served in the  camp cafeteria, but at least the bathroom line was shorter.

  On the other hand, there was Nurse Knockwurst and a  room full of sick campers bandaged like mummies to consider.  The room was beginning to smell like rotting flesh and the  constant moaning was driving him crazy. Worst of all, he was  starving. Einstein hadn’t eaten in days and recovering his stash

  1 of Twinkies required leaving the infirmary. He had to admit, it  was not an easy decision.

  “Hey, Manny,” Einstein shouted across the room.

  “Mmmmm?” the camper replied in a low, guttural moan  that sounded more animal-like than human.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have something to eat over there,  would you?”

  “Mmmmm,” Manny replied, slowly moving his head from  side to side.

  “This is an outrage!” Einstein shouted. “We have been incar-cerated against our will and starved. We must organize, com-rades. I’ll draft a letter of protest to camp management and let  them know that this is not acceptable. Even captured prisoners  of war have rights under the Geneva Convention.”

  “Mmmmm,” the mummies moaned in unison, nodding in  agreement.

  “Poor devils,” Einstein whispered to Roxie. “They seem  to have lost the power of speech. Did you notice that Nurse  Knockwurst taped their hands and feet to the bedposts? She  claims it keeps them from scratching their rashes raw. Now  they can’t even raise their hands to go to the bathroom, let  alone ask permission. The woman is a complete quack and a  disgrace to the medical profession. It’s all in my report.”

  “We really don’t have time for this, Fleet,” Roxie persisted.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

   “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered. “The walls have ears.”

  Einstein looked around the room. Thanks to the handiwork  of Nurse Knockwurst, there wasn’t an ear in sight.

>   “How ’bout a Twinkie?” Roxie asked, watching his eyes light  up at the very mention of the word. “Golden brown, baked to  perfection, oozing with cream in the center.”

  Einstein thought of the treasure trove of tasty treats that  were wasting away in the walls of C-Block. His stomach began  to gurgle and churn. After three long Twinkie-less days and  nights, Einstein realized that the decision was really a no- brainer. He swung his hat around backward, removing the   netting from his eyes.

  “Let’s go,” he said, walking toward the door. “No fight was  ever won on an empty stomach.”

  “That’s  the  spirit,”  Roxie  said.  “I’m  right  behind  you,   comrade.”

  Cha p te r

  1

  C

  Day Six — 5:22 P.M. urly the Cook placed the steaming hot bowl of earthworms,  chopped wasp wings, and mashed butterfly gravy on the  table and stepped back to admire his work. He added a bot-tle of Tabasco for flavor and sampled the dish again. It was   perfect. “Come and get it while it’s still moving,” he shouted.  “Dinner is served.”

   “You’ve outdone yourself, Curly,” Big Al bellowed, savoring  the aroma. Big Al tasted the thick gray sludge and smacked his  lips. Years of training and discipline had taught him to impro-vise and adapt to any environment. Big Al had no clue what he  was eating, nor did he care. The food was nutritious and could  be foraged without leaving the camp.