To Curious Heights

by Sean McGowan

Chapter 4:

  Winston’s Switch

  Harold ran through the darkening hillside forest with a bag of water balloons slung over his shoulder. As he looked in every direction for a sign of his opponents, a voice called out to him.

  “Harold!” Samson ran up, carrying his own bag of balloons. Both boys wore matching green t-shirts.

  “What, Samson?”

  “I forgot the rules.”

  “Again?”

  “...Sorry.”

  Harold looked left and right, then pulled Samson against a tree and crouched down. “Ok, this is the last time. It’s not that complicated. You have three different colored balloons: red, blue, and yellow. They each have some paint in them. You want to throw the balloons at the people with brown shirts. If they get all three colors on them, then they’re out. Same thing goes for you, so don’t get hit.”

  “Alright.”

  “You got it?”

  “Yes. Next time you see me, I’ll be covered in blood. And that blood will be wearing a brown shirt!”

  Harold patted Samson on the back. “Sure. Just don’t get paint on you.”

  Samson nodded, then sprinted about fifty feet before getting hit by red, blue, and yellow balloons in quick succession, putting him face down on the ground. Harold quickly spotted the brown-shirted boy who hit Samson. The boy had red and yellow paint on him, so Harold swiftly nailed him with a blue balloon, putting him out of the match.

  Harold began to jog, in search of more brown-shirts. He only made it a few steps before getting blindsided by a red balloon, making him one third of the way out. After narrowly dodging a yellow balloon, Harold eyed the girl who threw it and quickly hit her with two balloons, thus taking her out of the game. He kept running.

  Soon, Harold came across a large oak tree. As soon as Harold stepped past it, Lorne dropped down from the tree and landed next to him.

  “Harold, you’re bleeding.”

  Harold jumped back in a panic and reached in his balloon pouch. He stopped when he realized it was Lorne and looked down at the red paint on his shirt. “Oh, ha! Right.”

  Lorne, pointed at the oak tree. “Hey, could you do me a kindness and climb up this tree?”

  “What for?”

  “To take people out from above.”

  Harold lifted an eyebrow. “Isn’t that playing dirty?” There was a rule against throwing from trees, but as it was dark and often hard to tell where the balloons came from, this rule was difficult to enforce. Besides, there was nothing saying one couldn’t simply climb a tree.

  “It’s playing winning... It’s how you win.”

  Harold looked hesitantly at the tree.

  “C’mon, we’ve already won two rounds.” Lorne patted Harold on the shoulder. “Let’s not drop the ball in the finals. Do your captain proud.”

  “Alright...” Harold nodded.

  Harold made his way up the tree and Lorne took off, dodging a balloon with a forward roll as he went. Once Harold was high enough for a good view, he looked out to the field that met the forest at the bottom of the hill. On the field stood the kids who had been taken out from both teams, along with most of the other campers. The number of green shirts and brown shirts appeared about equal.

  Just then, Wayne walked out onto the field, covered in paint, to join the green shirts. Even now, he was still wearing his grey sweatshirt with the hood over his head—he just wore his green t-shirt on top of it. While this disappointed Harold, he took some encouragement from the fact that they still had Doug in the game.

  Harold quickly scanned to find Doug running between the trees with blue and red paint on him, then... BAM! Doug was hit with a yellow balloon and taken out of the game. Harold’s hopes began to fade.

  Suddenly, a girl in a brown shirt jogged beneath Harold. He grabbed a balloon and raised his arm to throw it at her, but he stalled. He struggled to build up the nerve as she quickly began to get out of range. Harold sighed. He couldn’t do it.

  Harold dropped down from the tree and started to tail the girl, but didn’t make it far before he was nailed from behind with a yellow balloon. As Harold turned to see his attacker, a blue balloon smacked him in the face. He fell backward onto the ground and out of the game.

  Harold struggled to sit up and looked at the two boys who hit him. They went for a high-five, but were cut short when a barrage of balloons knocked both of them off their feet, revealing Lorne behind them. Lorne met eyes with Harold, shook his head in disappointment, and ran off.

  Mr. Melvin stood on a small stage with his back to the lakeshore, illuminated by torchlight. A few hundred campers looked on from wooden benches as he hoisted a golden trophy and spoke into a microphone. “It is with great pleasure that I announce this year’s Balloon Tag champion: ... Pepperdale!”

  The campground echoed with applause. A boy wearing a brown shirt and covered in paint ran to the stage, shook Mr. Melvin’s hand, and took the trophy. Harold sat clapping with his friends. He looked a ways to his left to see Lorne sitting between Magnus and Sprocket, shaking his head in dismay.

  Magnus patted Lorne on the back. “It’s all right, Lorne. We’ll get ‘em next year.”

  Lorne’s eye twitched as he stared into the ether. “We lost to a town called Pepperdale...”

  Mr. Melvin continued. “And our runners up this year: ... Curious Heights!” As this announcement received further applause, Lorne dragged himself up to the stage to take the silver trophy. While he shook Mr. Melvin’s hand, he scanned the crowd. He stopped on Harold and glared. It was a hot night, but to Harold, it suddenly felt like winter.

  The next morning, the campers gathered in the cafeteria for their final breakfast. Harold, Wayne, Doug, Samson, and Winston sat on one side of a long table, while Lorne, Magnus, and Sprocket sat on the other side of the same table, with many other campers in-between.

  “Well, that’s camp,” said Doug, with a sad but satisfied tone. He looked at Harold. “I told you it would go by in a flash.”

  “Yeah...” Harold knocked the eggs and bacon around on his plate, but didn’t eat any of it.

  “Everything all right, Harold?” asked Doug.

  “Yeah, I’m just kinda bummed about last night. I feel like I let the team down.”

  “Then by that measure, we all let the team down.” Doug nudged Harold in the arm. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Well, it’s just that Lorne...” Harold looked down at the other side of the table and made eye contact with Lorne, then quickly darted his eyes away. “Eh, never mind.”

  “You seem normal to me, Harold,” said Samson.

  “That’s good to know.” Harold smiled.

  Samson spoke through a mouthful of bacon. “Yeah, you’ve been morbose all summer.”

  “I have?” Harold was aware of his summer-long melancholy, but had no idea that it was visible from the outside. He looked to his right-hand man for confirmation.

  “Well... Kinda, yeah,” said Wayne.

  Winston let out a burp and then threw his own observation into the mix. “It’s true. Instead of Lost Woods Summer Camp, you’ve been more at like Lost Summer Camp Woods.”

  Harold stared back blankly. “Huh?”

  Winston shrugged. “Nah, I dunno man, I don’t really care.”

  Harold looked down at his plate. “Jeez, sorry guys. I didn’t mean to be such a sourpuss. I had a good time. I like being with you guys.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Doug. “We just want to make sure you’re all right. It’s not a big deal.”

  Samson agreed. “Yeah, it’s not like you killed the president or anything.”

  As Samson said this, Lorne appeared behind Harold and Wayne. He placed his hand on the hood over Wayne’s head. “Hey Wayne, can I talk to Harold for a sec?”

  “Uh, sure.” Wayne scooted to the side to make room.

  “Thanks, chief.” Lorne sat down between Wayne and Harold.

  Harold looked somewhat in Lorne’s direction, but didn’t make eye contact.
“What’s up, Lorne?”

  “Harold, I’d still like you to join,” Lorne replied.

  Harold glanced nervously at the others and then looked at Lorne. “You would?”

  “Yeah. No hard feelings about last night.”

  “You’d like him to join what?” asked Wayne, rubbing his glasses.

  “Just a...” Lorne looked back at Wayne. “Just a club that I run. And you know what?” He pointed at Wayne and the others. “These guys can all join, too.”

  “Really?” Harold cocked his head back. “What made you change your mind?”

  “Well, I realize you boys are all sort of a package deal. And, end results be danged, you all performed pretty admirably in the tournament.”

  “I didn’t even play,” said Winston.

  Lorne held out his open palms. “And, hey, the more the merrier, right?”

  Harold sat up straight. “Alright. Well what do you want us to do?”

  “Nothing right this second.” Lorne tapped the table with his index finger. “I’ll come find you on the bus before we leave and fill you in.”

  “Okay, great,” said Harold.

  Lorne stood up. “Ciao!” He slapped Wayne on the back and walked away.

  “What was that man talking about?” asked Samson.

  “I’ll just let him explain.” Harold smiled. “I think you’ll like it, though.”

  “If you say so,” said Winston. “But truth be told, I think Lorne’s kind of a turd.”

  Harold and his buddies put their suitcases on the bottom of the bus and prepared to board. Now that it was time to go, Harold felt a tinge of regret about leaving this camp. Down the road, he hoped he would forget his summer sadness and remember only the fun of it all.

  As the boys climbed onto the bus, Doug was pulled aside by Mr. Melvin.

  “Doug, before you go...” He held out a white envelope. “Here’s my recommendation. I was going to mail it, but I figure it makes more sense for you to just take it home with you.”

  Doug nodded and took the envelope. He placed it inside his backpack.

  “Make sure you have your parents sign it and send it back in the next two weeks,” said Mr. Melvin.

  “Alright. Will do.” Doug smiled and rubbed his curly black hair, feeling a tad bashful. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Melvin!”

  “Now make sure you don’t lose it. I’ll be on vacation, so I won’t be able to write you a new one.”

  “Don’t worry, I got it.”

  Mr. Melvin squeezed Doug’s shoulder. “You have a good year, Doug.”

  “Yeah, thanks. You too.” Doug boarded the bus and sat down next to Samson, across the aisle from Harold and Wayne. Winston sat by his chubby lonesome, just as he had on the way there.

  The bus driver looked at his attendance sheet and took roll. “Doug Holmes?”

  “Here,” Doug replied.

  “So what does this club do?” Wayne asked Harold.

  “I told you, I’ll let Lorne explain it. He should be here any... There he is right now!”

  Lorne stepped on the bus, wearing his backpack. After a quick exchange with the bus driver, he looked over at Harold. He motioned for Harold and company to follow him off the bus, and then exited.

  Harold stood up. “Alright, guys, let’s go.”

  “Should we bring our backpacks?” asked Wayne.

  “Sure, why not.”

  Wayne, Doug, and Samson all grabbed their bags and stood up. Winston remained slouched in his seat, playing his Gamebu.

  “Winston, get off your butt and come on!” said Doug.

  “Winston Morris?” called the bus driver.

  “Here,” Winston replied. He looked up at Doug. “What’s in it for me?”

  “Something really awesome,” said Harold. “Just trust me.”

  Winston rolled his eyes. “Oh, all right.” He stood up and placed his Gamebu in his pocket, as he didn’t have a backpack. He followed the others as they exited the bus and met Lorne in front of the welcome lodge.

  “Follow moi.” Lorne waved them on as he led them into the woods. Soon, as the forest thickened around them, they began to walk uphill. “Alright, now that we’re out of earshot...” Lorne turned around and began to walk backwards. “I’m inviting all of you join The Order of the Bull!”

  “The Order of the Bull?!” Wayne quivered. “Isn’t that the gang your brother used to run?”

  “Yes and no,” said Lorne. “That group fell apart and I started a new version. I wouldn’t really say it’s a gang anymore.”

  “So what is it now?” asked Winston. “A cult?”

  “I’d say so,” said Lorne. “If by ‘cult’ you mean ‘jolly good time’!”

  Soon, they had arrived at the stone well that concealed the hideout. Lorne turned back around and waved his hand at the well. “Harold, you can lead the way.”

  Harold lifted the rope and prepared for his descent.

  “I figure since you’re in the club now, you should know where our hideout is,” said Lorne.

  “To be honest, I always knew where this was,” said Harold. “It’s only like a half-mile from camp.” He dropped into the well.

  “Yeah, we’ve passed this on some of our hikes,” said Wayne. “Never knew it held a secret, though.”

  The rest of the boys followed Harold down, with Lorne being the last to go. As they walked down the hallway, the newcomers curiously eyed the paintings on the walls.

  “I’ve fallen down my share of wells,” said Samson, “but this is the first one with a hideout in it.”

  When they entered the interior of the base, they found the main room mostly empty except for Magnus and Sprocket, who stood by the table of valuable items, loading the items into suitcases. Lorne led Harold and his friends to the table as they took in the scene with bemusement.

  “Are we good, fellas?” asked Lorne of his henchmen.

  “Yep, looks like it will all fit,” said Magnus.

  Wayne noticed a silver laptop sitting on the table. It had a white apple symbol on it and its corner was marked with scratches. “Wh—who’s laptop is that?” he stuttered.

  Lorne turned and looked at the laptop. “Oh, that’s mine.” He took off his backpack and stuffed the laptop inside. He left the green backpack leaning against the table and walked toward the center of the room with his back to the others. “So this is where we hang out,” he said to the new inductees. “Basically, we do a few different things in this club.”

  As Lorne carried on with his explanation of The Order of the Bull, which seemed much more vague and half-hearted than the one he had given Harold, Winston pulled Samson aside and whispered in his ear. “Hey, Samson.”

  “What?”

  Winston pointed to the bottles on the shelf behind the bar. “There’s a golden spider in one of those bottles on the top shelf. Could you find it for me? I’ll hold your backpack.”

  Samson looked at the shelf, then back at Winston. “Is it, like, a golden living spider, or just a statue of one?”

  “Whatever. Just go get it.”

  “Alright, alright.” Samson gave Winston his backpack, which was identical to Lorne’s, and made his way to the bar.

  “So how do you guys pay for all this stuff?” Doug asked Lorne.

  “You’re the rich kid,” said Lorne. “Why don’t you tell me where money comes from?”

  “Um, all sorts of places.”

  Lorne looked over where Magnus and Sprocket were loading the suitcases and looked back with a deadpan expression. “We steal expensive stuff and sell it.”

  “What?!” Harold gasped. He, Doug, and Wayne shared looks of horror, but Winston didn’t react much.

  “What, what?” chirped Lorne.

  “You said you did things differently than your bother!” cried Harold.

  “We do,” said Lorne. “Byron stole money. We steal things and sell them for money.”

  Suddenly a loud crash echoed from the bar. Samson had knocked a bottle off of the shelf while attempting t
o climb it.

  “Samson!” Lorne shouted. “What the heck are you doing?” He ran over and grabbed Samson off the shelf. He carried Samson back and placed him with the others.

  Winston handed the green backpack to Samson. “Here you go. I’ll get the spider later.”

  “Here, guys.” Lorne waved toward a room at the back of the hideout. “This is what I really want to show you.”

  Harold meant to protest, but his curiosity got the better of him, so he followed Lorne with the others. Lorne opened the door to a small room which looked like a wine cellar, lined with barrels and shelves of bottles. The boys entered the room while Lorne held the door.

  Harold looked around. “A few barrels and some bottles? What’s so special about—“

  SLAM! The door closed and they were shrouded in darkness.

  “Uh, Lorne?” Harold called out.

  Silence.

  “Lorne?” Harold tried again.

  “Way to go, Harold,” said Winston.

  “How is this my fault?”

  “I should have stayed on the bus,” said Winston.

  “Who’s closest to the door?” asked Doug.

  “I believe that would be me,” said Samson.

  “Check to see if it’s locked,” said Doug. “It’s probably locked.”

  “Okay,” said Samson.

  SMASH!

  “I think I broke a bottle,” Samson murmured.

  “Hold on,” said Doug. “I have a flashlight in my backpack.”

  After some shuffling and a click, the room was partially lit by Doug’s flashlight.

  Harold walked over and jiggled the doorknob, to no avail. “Yeah, he locked us in.”

  “Here, let’s try this.” Doug walked up to the door and pulled out a Swiss army knife.

  “Wait,” said Harold. “Are they still out there?”

  Doug pressed his ear to the door. “Doesn’t sound like it.” Doug pulled up one of the knife’s blades and attempted to jimmy the lock.

  “So how long you been in on this thing, Harold?” asked Winston.

  “What?!” Harold cried. “I’m obviously not in on anything if I’m in here.”

  “Seriously, though, what’s the story?” asked Doug as he continued to work on the lock.

  Harold sighed. “Lorne brought me here on the first day of camp, told me a little about the club and said he wanted me to join. He said I had all summer to think about it and we didn’t discuss it again until today.”

  “Why did you never tell us?” asked Wayne.

  “Lorne wanted me to keep it a secret,” said Harold.

  Winston pulled a bottle of root beer off the shelf. “You know what kind of people keep secrets?” He took a swig from the bottle.

  Harold shrugged.

  “People like Lorne,” said Winston. “People who lock other people in wine cellars.”

  The lock snapped and Doug pulled the door open. “Alright, we’re good to go.”

  The boys walked out into the main room, which was empty and dark. Harold led as they climbed out of the well and ran through the forest towards camp.

  “I can’t really say I’d made up my mind, but it didn’t sound bad from the way he described it,” said Harold.

  “And you didn’t know where their money came from?” asked Doug.

  “I had no idea,” said Harold. “Lorne just told me they earned it somehow.”

  “So they earn it by stealing things from rich people?” said Winston. “What a bunch of Robin Hoodlums.”

  “Guys, I think they steal from more than just rich people,” Wayne panted.

  “What are you getting at?” asked Harold.

  “Did you see the laptop on the table?” asked Wayne. “It looked exactly like the one stolen from Colonel Seward!”

  “Whoops...” Winston muttered.

  Harold sighed. “Well this just keeps getting better.”

  They arrived back at the welcome center to find that the buses had already left.

  “No...” Harold gasped.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Doug. “They left us.”

  Wayne reached in his pocket. “And my cell phone is gone.”

  The rest of the boys checked their pockets and found that their phones, too, were missing.

  “It must have been Magnus,” said Harold. “He’s into street magic. He must have pick-pocketed us somehow.”

  Winston glared. “That little piece of poop...”

  The five stranded companions began to search feverishly for other humans. Every building and room they looked in was empty.

  Harold grabbed a phone from behind a desk at the welcome center and held it to his ear. There was no noise. “The phones are already disconnected?!”

  The boys walked through the edge of the woods to the large central field by the lakeshore.

  “So this place just becomes a ghost town the second camp ends?” Harold wondered aloud.

  “So that’s why they call it the Lost Woods.” said Samson “It’s because we’re lost.”

  “Samson, I don’t think it works like that,” said Harold.

  As they approached the field, they saw a hooded human figure in the distance. The figure sat on a rock and played a flute, with its back to the boys.

  “There’s a person,” said Wayne.

  As Harold and company got closer, the figure stopped playing and spoke with a boy’s voice. “Hello, friends. I suppose we have some questions, don’t we?”

  “I don’t know about you, but we do,” said Winston. “Like, who the heck are you?”

  “The answer to that question...” The boy turned around, revealing a full Order of the Bull costume, complete with the horned mask, upon which was carved a face with swirling eyes and a large toothy grin. “Will be of no help to you.”

  “Oh, he’s one of them,” said Harold to his friends. He threw an angry look at the boy. “What gives, man?”

  “Our grandmaster wanted to pay you back for your disobedience,” said the boy. “He was your captain and you let him down.”

  “Well what about these guys?” Harold asked about his companions.

  “He wanted you to have some company,” said the boy.

  “What a jerk!” cried Doug.

  “On the contrary,” said the boy, “he didn’t want your parents to worry, so they’ve been informed that you were asked to stay an extra week. I’m sure you can find your way home in that time.”

  “And who informed them of that?” asked Harold.

  “You did,” said the boy. “Over the phone.”

  “No we didn’t,” said Samson.

  “Well, we’ve got a guy who’s quite good at impressions. Your parents couldn’t tell the difference,” said the boy.

  “And they just took his word for it?” asked Harold in disbelief.

  “Mr. Melvin called them, too,” said the boy.

  “Impression kid, or the real Mr. Melvin?” asked Harold.

  The hooded boy shrugged. “You know Lorne wouldn’t be able to get where he is without being able to grease a few palms, but I’ll leave the answer to that up to your imagination.”

  “Why don’t you just leave, period,” said Doug.

  “I think I will. Happy trails!” The boy threw a smoke bomb at his feet and disappeared in a cloud.

  “See you in my nightmares!” yelled Samson.

  The boys stood still, scratching their heads for a moment.

  “Alright, what’s the best way back to Curious Heights?” asked Harold.

  “I don’t know,” said Wayne.

  “Whatever we do, I think we ought to get moving,” said Winston. “I have a hunch those bull crappers will be back for us.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Harold.

  “Samson, come hither.” Winston spun Samson around and unzipped his backpack, revealing Colonel Seward’s laptop inside. “I switched Lorne and Samson’s backpacks.” He observed the looks of shock and anger on his friends’ faces. “Um... Sorry.”