Ghost Camp

by R. L. Stine

  I had to turn on the light.

  I had to see for sure that I was right. That Joey slept floating in the air above his bed.

  “Harry—what’s wrong?” Alex called after me.

  “What’s up? What time is it?” I heard Elvis groan sleepily from the bunk against the other wall.

  I pulled myself across the cabin. My hand fumbled against the wall until I found the light switch.

  I pushed it up.

  The overhead light flashed on, flooding the tiny cabin in white light.

  I raised my eyes to Joey’s bunk.

  He lifted his head from the pillow and squinted down at me. “Harry—what’s your problem?” he asked. He was sprawled on his stomach, on top of his blanket.

  Not floating in the air. Not floating.

  Resting his head in his hands, yawning and staring down at me.

  “Turn off the light!” Sam barked. “If Uncle Marv catches us with the light on …”

  “But—but—” I sputtered.

  “Turn it off !” Elvis and Sam both insisted.

  I clicked off the light.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “I thought I saw something.”

  I felt like a jerk. Why did I think I saw Joey floating in the air?

  I must be as creeped out as Alex, I decided. Now I’m seeing things!

  I scolded myself and told myself to calm down.

  You’re just nervous because it’s your first day in a new camp, I decided.

  I started slowly across the cabin to my bed. Halfway there, I stepped in a cold, sticky puddle of goo.

  The next morning, Alex and I found our white Camp Spirit Moon uniforms—white shorts and T-shirts—waiting for us at the foot of our beds.

  Now we won’t stand out like sore thumbs, I thought happily.

  Now we can really be part of Camp Spirit Moon.

  I quickly forgot about my fears from the night before. I couldn’t wait for the camp day to get started.

  That afternoon, Alex tried out for the Camp Spirit Moon talent show.

  I had to be at the soccer field. A bunch of us were supposed to practice putting up tents. We were getting ready for an overnight in the woods.

  But I stopped in front of the outdoor stage at the side of the lodge to listen to Alex sing.

  A counselor named Veronica, with long, copper-colored hair all the way down her back, was in charge of the tryouts. I leaned against a tree and watched.

  A lot of kids were trying out. I saw two guitar players, a boy with a harmonica, a tap dancer, and two baton twirlers.

  Veronica played a small upright piano at the front of the stage. She called Alex up and asked him what song he wanted to sing.

  He picked a Beatles song he likes. My brother doesn’t listen to any new groups. He likes the Beatles and the Beach Boys—all the groups from the sixties.

  He’s the only eleven-year-old I know who listens to the oldies station. I feel kind of sorry for him. It’s like he was born in the wrong time or something.

  Veronica played a few notes on the piano, and Alex started to sing.

  What a voice!

  The other kids had all been laughing and talking and messing around. But after Alex sang for a few seconds, they got real quiet. They huddled close to the stage and listened.

  He really sounded like a pro! I mean, he could probably sing with a band and make an album.

  Even Veronica was amazed. I could see her lips form the word “Wow!” as she played the piano for Alex.

  When Alex finished singing, the kids all clapped and cheered. Elvis slapped Alex a high five as he hopped off the small stage.

  Veronica called Elvis up next. He told her he wanted to sing an Elvis song, since he was named after Elvis Presley.

  He cleared his throat and started to sing a song called “Heartbreak Hotel.”

  Well … it really was a heartbreak—because Elvis couldn’t sing a single note on key!

  Veronica tried to play along with him. But I could see that she was having trouble. I think she probably wanted to stop playing the piano and cover her ears!

  Elvis had a high, scratchy voice. And the notes came out really sour. Sour enough to make your whole face pucker up.

  The kids around the stage started grumbling and walking away.

  Elvis had his eyes shut. He was so wrapped up in his song, he didn’t even see them!

  Doesn’t he know how bad he is? I wondered. Why does he want to enter a talent show when he sounds like a squealing dog?

  Elvis started to repeat the chorus. I decided I had to get away from there before my eardrums popped.

  I flashed Alex a thumbs-up and hurried to the soccer field.

  Sam, Joey, and a bunch of other kids were already unfolding tents, getting ready for tent-raising practice. Chris, the counselor, was in charge.

  He waved to me. “Harry—unroll that tent over there,” he instructed. “Let’s see how fast you can put it up.”

  I picked up the tent. It was bundled tightly, no bigger than a backpack. I turned it over in my hands. I’d never set up a tent before. I wasn’t even sure how to unwrap it.

  Chris saw me puzzling over it and walked over. “It’s easy,” he said.

  He pulled two straps, and the nylon tent started to unfold. “See? Here are the poles. Just stretch it out and prop it up.”

  He handed the bundle back to me.

  “Yeah. Easy,” I repeated.

  “What’s that noise?” Joey asked, looking up from his tent.

  I listened hard. “It’s Elvis singing,” I told them.

  The sour notes floated over the soccer field from the stage.

  Sam shook his head. “It sounds like an animal caught in a trap,” he said.

  We all laughed.

  Joey and Sam took off their sneakers and went barefoot. I took mine off, too. The warm grass felt good under my feet.

  I unfolded the tent and spread it out on the grass. I piled the tent poles to the side.

  The sun felt hot on the back of my neck. I slapped a mosquito on my arm.

  I heard a shout and glanced up to see Sam and Joey wrestling around. They weren’t fighting. They were just goofing.

  They both picked up tent poles and started dueling with them, having a wild sword fight. They were laughing and having fun.

  But then Sam tripped over a tent.

  He lost his balance. Stumbled forward. Fell hard.

  I let out a scream as the tent pole went right through his foot.

  My stomach lurched. I felt sick.

  The pointed pole had pierced the top of Sam’s foot, nailing his foot to the ground.

  Joey gaped, openmouthed, his eyes wide with surprise.

  With a gasp, I searched for Chris. I knew Sam needed help.

  Where had Chris wandered off to?

  “Sam—” I choked out. “I’ll get help. I’ll—”

  But Sam didn’t cry out. He didn’t react at all. Didn’t even grimace.

  He calmly reached down with both hands—and pulled the pole from his foot.

  I let out a groan. My foot ached! In sympathy, I guess.

  Sam tossed the pole aside.

  I stared down at his foot. No cut. No blood.

  It wasn’t bleeding!

  “Sam!” I cried. “Your foot. It’s not bleeding!”

  He turned and shrugged. “It missed my toes,” he explained.

  He dropped onto his knees and started propping up the tent.

  I swallowed hard, waiting for my stomach to stop churning.

  Missed his toes? I thought. Missed his toes?

  I saw the pole sink right into his foot!

  Or was I seeing things again?

  For the rest of the afternoon, I tried not to think about it. I worked on the tent. Once I got it spread out, it was easy to set up.

  Chris had us fold and unfold them a few times. Then we had a race to see who could set up a tent the fastest.

  I won easily.

  Sam said it was beginner�
��s luck.

  Chris said I was definitely ready for the overnight.

  “Where do we go for the overnight?” I asked.

  “Deep, deep into the woods,” Chris replied. He winked at Sam and Joey.

  I felt a chill, thinking about Uncle Marv’s ghost story.

  I shook the chill away. No way I was going to let myself get scared by a silly camp story.

  We had instructional swim at the waterfront. The lake was clear and cold. I’m up to Junior Lifesaver. Joey and I took turns rescuing each other.

  I didn’t think about Sam driving the pole through his foot. I forced it from my mind.

  After the swim, I returned to the bunk to get changed for dinner. There were fresh puddles of blue goo on the cabin floor.

  Nobody made a big deal about them. I didn’t want to, either. So I tried hard not to think about them.

  Alex came in, very excited. “I’m going to be the first act in the talent show!” he announced. “And Veronica liked my singing so much, she wants me to star in the camp musical.”

  “Way to go!” I cried. I slapped him a high five. Then I asked, “What about Elvis?”

  “He’s going to be in the show, too,” Alex replied. “He’s going to be stage manager.”

  I pulled on my white Camp Spirit Moon shorts and T-shirt and headed to the mess hall for dinner.

  I saw a group of girls come out of the cabins on the other side. I searched for Lucy, but didn’t see her.

  I was feeling pretty good.

  Not thinking about the strange things I’d seen.

  Not thinking about the blue puddles of slime. The mysterious black fog.

  Not thinking about the ghost story that Elvis said was true.

  Not thinking about Lucy sticking her hand into the fire and pulling out my flaming hot dog.

  Not thinking about Joey floating above his bed. Or Sam jamming a thick pole through his foot.

  And not bleeding. Not crying out.

  So totally calm about it. As if he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel any pain.

  I was starving. Looking forward to dinner. Not thinking about any of these puzzling things.

  Feeling really good.

  But then Joey ruined my good mood at dinner. And forced all the scary thoughts back into my mind.

  The food had just been served. Chicken in some kind of creamy sauce, spinach, and lumpy mashed potatoes.

  I didn’t care what it was. I was so hungry, I could eat anything!

  But before I had a chance to eat, Joey called out to me from across the table. “Hey, Harry—look!”

  I glanced up from my plate.

  He picked up his fork—and jammed it deep into his neck!

  “Ohhh.” I let out a groan. My fork fell from my hand and clattered to the floor.

  Joey grinned at me. The fork bobbed up and down, stuck in his neck.

  I felt sick. My heart started to pound.

  He pulled the fork out with a hard tug. His grin didn’t fade. “You try it!” he called.

  “Joey—stop it!” Elvis cried from across the table.

  “Yeah. Give us a break,” Sam agreed.

  I stared at Joey’s neck. No cut. No fork marks. No blood.

  “How—how did you do that?” I finally stammered.

  Joey’s grin grew wider. “It’s just a trick,” he replied.

  I glimpsed Alex at the end of the table. Had he seen Joey’s “trick”?

  Yes. Alex looked green. His mouth had dropped open in horror.

  “Here. I’ll show you how to do it,” Joey offered.

  He raised the fork again—but stopped when he saw Uncle Marv leaning over his shoulder.

  “What’s going on, Joey?” Uncle Marv demanded sharply.

  Joey lowered the fork to the table. “Just kidding around,” he replied, avoiding the camp director’s hard stare.

  “Well, let’s eat our dinner, guys,” Uncle Marv said sternly. “Without kidding around.” His stubby fingers tightened over Joey’s shoulders. “We have a night soccer game, you know. Boys against the girls.”

  Uncle Marv loosened his grip on Joey’s shoulders and moved on to the next table. A food fight had broken out there. And the mashed potatoes were flying.

  Joey mumbled something under his breath. I couldn’t hear him over all the noise.

  I turned to see how Alex was doing at the end of the table. He had his fork in his hand, but he wasn’t eating. He was staring hard at Joey. My brother had a very thoughtful expression on his face.

  I knew he was wondering exactly the same thing I was.

  What is going on here?

  Joey said the fork-stabbing was just a trick. But how did he do it? Why didn’t it hurt? Why didn’t he bleed?

  “Night soccer games are cool!” Elvis declared. He was stuffing chicken into his mouth. The cream sauce ran down his chin.

  “Especially boys against the girls,” Sam agreed. “We’ll kill them! They’re pitiful.”

  I glanced at the girls’ table across the room. They were chattering noisily. Probably about the soccer game.

  I saw Lucy in the shadows near the wall. She didn’t seem to be talking to anyone. She had a solemn expression on her face.

  Did she keep looking over at me?

  I couldn’t really tell.

  I ate my dinner. But my appetite had disappeared.

  “How did you do that fork thing?” I asked Joey.

  “I told you. It’s just a trick,” he replied. He turned away from me to talk to Sam.

  Dessert was little squares of red, yellow, and green Jell-O. It was okay. But it needed some whipped cream.

  As I was finishing my dessert, I heard some squeals from the front of the big room. I turned toward the cries—and saw a bat swooping wildly back and forth over the mess hall.

  Some of the younger kids were screaming. But everyone stayed calm at my table.

  The bat fluttered noisily, swooping and diving, darting from one end of the hall to the other.

  Uncle Marv followed it with a broom. And after only a minute or two, he gently pinned the bat to the wall with the straw broom head.

  Then he lifted the bat off the wall, carrying it in one hand.

  It was so tiny! No bigger than a mouse.

  He carried it out the door and let it go.

  Everyone cheered.

  “That happens all the time,” Sam said to me. “It’s because there aren’t any screens on the mess hall doors.”

  “And the woods are full of bats,” Joey added. “Killer bats that land in your hair and suck the blood out of your head.”

  Sam laughed. “Yeah. Right.” He grinned at me. “That’s what happened to Joey. That’s why he acts so weird now.”

  I laughed along with everyone else.

  But I wondered if Sam was really joking.

  I mean, Joey did act weird.

  “Soccer field, everyone!” Uncle Marv boomed from the mess hall door. “Check with the sports counselors. Alissa and Mark will set up the teams.”

  Chairs scraped over the stone floor as everyone jumped up.

  I saw Lucy waving to me. But Sam and Joey pulled me away.

  Into a cool, cloudy night. The full moon hidden behind low clouds. The grass already wet with a heavy dew.

  The counselors divided up the teams. Alex and I were on the second team. That meant we didn’t play the first period. Our job was to stand on the sidelines and cheer on the boys’ first team.

  Two floodlights on tall poles sent down wide triangles of white light over the field. It wasn’t really enough light. Long shadows spread over the field.

  But that was part of the fun.

  Alex stood close beside me as the game began. The girls’ team scored a goal in less than a minute.

  Girls on the sidelines went wild.

  The players on the boys’ team stood around, scratching their heads and muttering unhappily.

  “Lucky break! Lucky break!” yelled Mark, a tall, lanky boys’ counselor. “Go get
them, guys!”

  The game started up again.

  The light from the floodlights appeared to dim. I raised my eyes to the sky—and saw fog rolling in.

  Another swirling fog.

  Mark jogged past us, looking like a big stork. “Going to be another foggy night,” he said to Alex and me. “Night games are more fun in the fog.” He shouted instructions to the boys’ team.

  The thick fog swept over us quickly, driven by a gusting wind.

  Alex huddled close to me. I turned and caught his worried expression.

  “Did you see what Joey did at dinner?” he asked softly.

  I nodded. “He said it was a trick.”

  Alex thought about that for a moment. “Harry,” he said, keeping his eyes on the game. “Don’t you think some of these kids are a little weird?”

  “Yeah. A little,” I replied. I thought about the tent pole going through Sam’s foot.

  “Something happened at the waterfront,” Alex continued. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  I watched the game, squinting into the drifting fog. It was getting hard to see the players.

  Cheers rang out from the girls’ side. I guessed they had scored another goal. Layers of heavy fog blocked my view.

  I shivered. “What happened?” I asked my brother.

  “I had free swim. After tryouts for the show,” he said. “There was my group and a couple of girls’ groups. Younger girls, mostly.”

  “The lake is nice,” I commented. “It’s so clear and clean. And not too cold.”

  “Yeah. It’s good,” Alex agreed. He frowned. “But something strange happened. I mean—I think it was strange.”

  He took a deep breath. I could see he was really upset.

  “Let’s go, guys! Go, go, go!” Mark shouted to the team.

  The glow from the floodlights twisted and bent in the fog, sending strange shadows over the playing field. The fog was so thick now, I had trouble telling the players from the shadows.

  “I was floating on top of the water,” Alex continued, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Sort of taking it easy. Moving slowly. Stroke … stroke … very slow.

  “It was free swim. So we could do what we wanted. Some of the guys were having a back-floating race near the shore. But I floated out by myself.

  “The water was so clear. I put my face in the water, and I stared down to the bottom. And—and I saw something down there.”