Alice entered the common room at around eight thirty that evening, finding most of her kids lounging around and talking, many of the younger ones looking tired after a long day of travel, sunshine, swimming, and the waning excitement of their first day. Crystal Dean, a Morgantown resident and junior high school teacher who had worked as a night cabin supervisor at Camp Durand for six years, was there a little early for her shift.
“You’re welcome to go if you like,” Crystal told Alice brightly, looking up from the game of crazy eights she was playing with Matt Dinorio and Rochelle Phelps. “I’ve got everything under control here. These kids won’t have any problem settling in to sleep tonight,” she added with a grin as Rochelle gave a wide yawn.
“No, Alice!” Terrance Brown called out from the sofa where he was watching television. He picked up the remote and shut it off. “You’ve got to stay for some ghost stories,” he said, grinning excitedly.
Alice gave him a droll look. Matt Dinorio and Justin Arun, two Red Team experts, had been explaining at dinner how they made a bonfire sometimes and told ghost stories while at camp. Terrance, who had never been to a camp, had acted like the whole idea was hilarious. He was obviously secretly interested, though.
“We can’t light a campfire in here,” Alice said.
“Why not?” he joked. Matt shot him a dirty look and told Terrance to shut up.
“No, seriously, I want to!” Terrance insisted, unswayed. He pointed at the modern gas fireplace that was safely behind a pane of glass. “We’ll dim the lights and turn that on.”
“Yeah,” several of the kids enthused, some of the older kids acting like it was beneath them, but they’d endure it because it’d be worth a laugh.
Alice checked her watch. She’d been highly aware of the clock ticking away the minutes until she was supposed to meet Dylan all day. Now that the time was drawing near, and her anxiety and uncertainty were growing, she thought it might be helpful to have a distraction at the present moment.
“Okay,” she conceded. “But nothing too scary. We don’t want any nightmares,” she warned, as Terrance moved faster than she would have thought was possible given his size, standing and starting to turn down the lamps.
“No offensive language or gore, that’s the rule,” Crystal called out as the other drowsy kids seemed to reanimate, laughing and helping Terrance turn down the lights. Terrance flipped on the switch for the fireplace, and the common room was bathed in shadow and the glow from the fire. “And if anyone has any nightmares, no more ghost stories,” Crystal warned.
“Don’t any of you midgets mention it if you have a nightmare,” Terrance warned a couple of the middle school kids before he bounced back on the couch.
“That’s not the point, Terrance,” Noble D remonstrated before Alice could.
“Who’s going first?” Terrance asked, ignoring D.
“I’ll go,” Justin Arun said. Alice sat down on the sectional couch, interested and warmed by the fact that Justin had volunteered first. Justin had a speech impediment due to a cleft palette. Even though he’d had a surgical repair, he still had residual problems with speech. She knew from his history that when he’d first come to Camp Durand two years ago, he’d hardly spoken at all, far too used to bullying and beatings to put himself at risk. Currently, Justin spoke loudly and without any evidence of shyness despite a slight lingering lisp and a nasal quality to his speech. Justin had blossomed at Camp Durand during the past two summers. His mother and teachers attributed his improvement to the weeks spent here at camp.
Alice was impressed.
Justin told Resurrection Mary highlights, the urban legend about the pale teenage girl who hitched rides with unsuspecting males requesting they take her “home,” only to have them drop her off at Resurrection Cemetery and then disappear.
“That one is real,” Terrance said with a dramatic, somber glance at fourteen-year-old Angela Knox, who sat next to him. The girl’s eyes widened.
“Really?” Angela squeaked.
“No. Terrance, give it a rest,” Judith said scornfully, gliding into the room. Alice had noticed she’d kept separate from the others ever since they arrived at the cabin. “You guys are telling ghost stories? Lame,” she muttered under her breath, sitting and hoisting long legs onto the arm of the upholstered chair.
“I don’t know if there’s any truth to Resurrection Mary,” Matt Dinorio piped up. “But I can tell you one ghost story about Camp Durand that’s real.”
“Not that one about the mother who haunts the woods and the castle because her baby was killed in there, and she wanders around looking for her,” Justin Arun said disgustedly, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s just a story Jackson Jones made up two years ago because he said something white was chasing him in the woods,” Noble D said.
“Chasing him in the woods?” Alice asked with an amused tone, despite the goose bumps that popped up along her arms.
“Jackson Jones is full of it,” Noble D said, shaking his head dismissively. “He was a camper here for three years. He went to Ohio State to learn how to be a writer like Stephen King or something, but Jones doesn’t need classes to know how to spin some …”
“Bullshit,” Judith said succinct
ly when Noble D faded off. She rolled her eyes. “Can’t you even say the word, preacher boy?” she asked Noble pointedly. Alice noticed that D’s eyes flashed with anger at the girl, and then quickly turned warm as his stare fixed on her face.
“No, I’m telling you, it’s true,” Matt insisted excitedly. “I told one of my teachers about it after I heard the story last year, and Mr. Glyer said he did remember something about that happening years ago, right here at Camp Durand. It was all over the news. Mr. Glyer wasn’t talking about a ghost, he just meant a kid really was snatched and killed here.”
“A kid was killed at Camp Durand?” Rochelle repeated shakily.
“No camper has ever been killed or died at Camp Durand! That’s ridiculous,” Crystal said suddenly with an air of sharp finality. “The worst thing that’s ever happened to a kid here is a bad case of poison ivy.”