Necromancer Summer Camp [Part 3]
As a second muffled trumpet bellowed somewhere beyond the cabin, James’s eyes grew wide, but he did not move. I couldn’t decide what was more unnerving: James’s behavior or the lack of reaction from the other guys to the horn’s call. They had to have heard it, at least by the second time surely.
What the hell is going on?
The guys broke out the books and pencils as Raven set up his Dungeon Master’s screen. James abruptly left his near-catatonic stare and grabbed a bag of dice, asking Colton if he had seen his lucky D20 lying around.
Was James messing with me? Were the trumpets…normal?
After a few cookies and several dice rolls, these questions were almost gone from my mind. It's amazing what good company can do for a weary mind and soul. We didn’t stay up too late that night. The sugar crash was just the start of a stomach ache that lingered until the next day.
I woke up to find most beds empty. I slept in a little later than I had intended, but there was still plenty of day left. I shrugged the worry off and walked over to the only other occupied bed.
“Hey, Rave.”
“Hmm,” Raven answered, sounding tired and none too pleased.
“Do you know where the other guys are?”
He pulled his blanket over his head. “Are they in their beds?”
“...no.”
“Then no.”
I left Raven alone after that, and threw on some clean clothes. The fresh sun of a brand new day blinded me when I opened the door, then quickly bathed me in its warmth. Adventure was in the air, but my stomach growled in disapproval. I needed something more substantial than cookies.
As I grew closer to the mess hall, I heard music. The wistful strumming of an acoustic guitar, with overly romantic crooning to accompany it. It wasn’t at all bad though. Colton serenaded the girls as they entered the building. They giggled and batted their eyes as they passed. Just as I stepped up to him to say “Hi,” his attention quickly shifted away.
And then I saw why.
Like something out of a dream, my muse stepped out of the beams of light pouring from the heavens, as she descended upon the entrance of the mess hall.
“Oh, Rose! My dearest Rosie! Won’t you please be mine!” Colton belted, improvising his way to her heart—or so he thought. Elvis would have been proud.
The girl stopped in front of us and beamed warmly at Colton.
“So, Rose, you wanna go to the dance with me?” Colton raised an eyebrow seductively.
Her smile didn’t waver as she said, “You’re sweet Colton, but no thank you.” She glanced in my direction for a brief second, but it was like she was looking right past me—like I wasn’t even there. It pierced me like a knife through the heart. The one time I didn’t want to feel invisible. Did she even remember how she smiled at me a few nights before? I never forgot.
“You’re breaking my heart, Rosie.” Colton half grinning, gripped his chest and feigned agony. She maintained her smile as she passed us, entering the mess hall. She smelled sweet like vanilla and jasmine, but there was something else. A subtle earthy musk underneath the dreamy sweetness, like something wild. Colton shook his head and said, “Women.”
“She’s really pretty,” I said, instantly regretting the words that spewed out of my mouth.
Colton’s face lit up. “I’m sorry broseph, I didn’t realize she was your crush!”
“No—she’s not, I just meant—”
“Relax, homie!” Colton laughed and put a hand on my shoulder, “I’ll be your matchmaker. Summer is a good time for love, amigo.”
“No, that’s not necessary—”
“David and Rose!” Colton launched into a new improvised love song. I begged him to stop playing, and covered the fretboard of his guitar with my hands. He only stopped when I tried covering his mouth, which made him laugh. Looking back, I would gladly pay for an encore. The silence now is deafening. After packing up his guitar, we made our way to the food line.
“Do you know where the other guys are?” I asked.
“Other than Rave? Nah.”
I wonder what trouble James and Ten are getting into now.
But it didn’t take long for trouble to find me. Remington showed up a few minutes into our meal and sat down next to me. Grinning ear to ear.
He slung one big meaty hook around my shoulder—like half a bear hug—and drew me in. “Bro, I got something tight to show you after you’re done eating.”
“What is it?” I asked hoarsely, as he gently squeezed me to death.
Colton sighed. “I told you not to bring it, Remington.”
But Ten wasn’t fazed. “It's a surprise. You’re gonna love it,” Ten said, on the verge of erupting into giddy laughter. He looked at his little brother. “You wanna come, Bubba?”
Colton shook his head. “I think I’m gonna head to the beach with my guitar.” He winked at some of the girls passing by our table. When he got up, Ten snatched up his tray and helped himself to what remained. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit. And Remington…don’t get David into any trouble.”
“I won’t!” Ten said in a laugh.
When we left, Ten locked me back into his one-armed vice grip, and escorted me into the woods beyond the cabin. We walked for a few minutes, off the trails, until we came to a small clearing. There were several boxes of cookies piled around Remington’s lair and one box stood atop a tree stump.
“Close your eyes.”
He released me, and I did as he asked.
“Ta-da!”
I opened my eyes to find Ten standing with a katana, its edge glinting brightly in the summer sun. It wasn’t some cheap mall-bought wall-hanger either. No stupid dragon head pommel or flame designs on the scabbard. It was sleek, simple, and clean. I’m no sword expert, but even I could tell this was the real deal.
“Where did you get that?!”
“I smuggled it in Bubs’ guitar case. You wanna hold it?” He could barely contain his excitement.
When my hand gripped the hilt, it was as if I had just pulled the sword from the stone. Power coursed from the weapon and filled me to the brim, but the blade was far lighter than I thought it would be. It cut the air like butter, as I slashed into the nothingness around me. I had no idea what I was doing, but it felt like magic.
Ten was watching me like it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. “Try cutting the box!” He pointed at the lone box on the tree stump.
I stared down my opponent. Letting the wind breathe—blowing my hair gently—I returned the blade to its scabbard. My hand rested on the hilt as I took careful, measured steps—positioning myself for the attack. I gave pause for the sake of theatricality—then pulled the blade free from the scabbard and down onto the box in one lightning fast motion.
But I didn’t pull the blade all the way free. The scabbard flew off and the sword missed the box entirely.
Damn.
I made another swipe, which managed to clip one corner of the box, moving it ever so slightly.
Ten, unable to hold back anymore, released his hyena laughter.
Slightly frustrated, I hacked away at the box, like a vengeful spirit was upon me. In the wake of my wrath, I left behind a violent scene of cookie crumbs and cardboard confetti. Ten was in tears, gripping his sides.
I felt a lot better after that. At one point, I’d even imagined the box as Patrick—probably not the healthiest way to handle stress.
Ten regained his composure and approached me. “Let me see it, real quick.”
I handed off the weapon and Remington set up a new box on the stump. He held the sword with disciplined ease, and like a woodcutter to the log, swung the blade cleanly through. It bifurcated the box diagonally, leaving behind two equal halves. He turned to face me—resting steel upon his shoulder—and grinned.
“Dude…can you teach me how to do that?”
He howled in laughter and we spent the rest of the afternoon hacking cookies to bits—pretending we were legendary samurai warlords. There was such a huge mess of debris afterwards. Cleaning it up would have taken hours.
In all the morning chaos, I forgot to ask Remington the question that had been burning in me since I awoke.
“Hey man, have you seen James today?”
Ten’s face scrunched up as he racked his brain over such a simple question. “No,” he said, almost as if in quiet revelation to himself.
“Remington!” A flamboyant voice called out from a distance. “I need to talk to you young man!”
We whirled around toward the direction of the voice, but didn’t see anything. However the snapping of sticks grew louder, foreshadowing our unexpected guests.
“Oh shi—that’s Tony!” Remington looked around in a panic, and then turned to me. “Dude, you gotta hide this!”
“What?! I don’t know what to do with it!”
“Please bro, just hide it anywhere that isn’t here!”
I reluctantly took the katana from a pleading Remington, and looked around at the scene of the crime one last time. Ribbons of cardboard swirled in the breeze, snagging on tree branches.
Not even Colton could talk his way out of this one.
I flew out of there like a bat out of hell, not giving much thought as to where I was going. But when I was far enough away, I realized I needed to memorize the location and how to get back there.
I made my way to a hollowed out log that sat between two big rocks, right next to a little stream. I stashed the katana in the soft moss-covered hunk of wood, then looked around trying to remember exactly how I got here.
Panic set in as the homogeneity of the forest disoriented me. Every direction appeared to be an endless maze of trees, and I couldn’t remember which way I had come. I tried retracing my steps from the stream, but no direction felt certain.
Crunch!
I thought I heard someone walking in the brush. Of course, even a squirrel can sound like Bigfoot when you’re this deep in the woods. Maybe it's Remington.
My blood went cold.
I realized I couldn’t hear anything anymore. As if someone had put cotton in my ears. I was being watched. I could feel it. It's one of the worst feelings you could ever feel—especially when you're in the woods. Alone.
I backpedaled toward the sword, but before I could do anything else, I heard a stern voice coming from behind me. It sounded like Tony. While I had no desire for kitchen duty, Tony was much preferable to the devil I didn’t know.
I sprinted in his direction. It took me a little longer than I expected—I'd heard his voice so clearly—but the trip still took several minutes. I don’t know how it reached me from that far away.
I came out of the forest, right by our cabin. Tony was standing with Remington as they watched two other counselors confiscating the stolen contraband. Goodbye cookies. Honestly, they were doing us a favor. We had enough sugar to give an elephant diabetes.
Tony turned to Remington, fists on his hips. “I’m sorry to have to punish you, Remington, but you have to learn that this behavior is unacceptable. You will lead morning prayer for the next two weeks. Which means you have to be up a lot earlier than usual.”
Ten groaned.
“And, kitchen duty for a week. But no more sticky fingers. Understood?”
Ten just nodded silently.
Colton approached, looking like he was on his way to the gallows. He stood, head down, awaiting Tony’s judgement.
“Don’t worry. Your brother confessed to taking the cookies all by himself. I’m not upset with you for not telling me, Colton. Family complicates things—I get it—but remember the Lord would want you to do the right thing next time.”
“I’m sorry, boss,” Colton said quietly, eyes glued to the dirt.
“That goes for you too, David.” Tony turned his gentle wrath in my direction. “I know you just want to protect your friends, but it’s a slippery slope, young man.”
After every crumb had been accounted for, Tony departed with his goons and Raven stumbled out of the cabin, hair sticking up in all directions, pissed and confused.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He pulled out his Zippo and smokes, but before he could light up, James appeared—looking like he had been chewed up and spit out by the woods.
His skin was as pale as our bed sheets, with eyes that had a madness to them I had never seen before—not on anyone—and his ripped clothes were host to many leaves, twigs, and barbs.
We gawked at his haunting visage until he was upon us. “Let me get a cig, Rave.” His voice was shaky and faint.
Raven, mouth agape, extended his hand toward James. “Dude…are you alright?”
James took the smokes but dropped them almost instantly—then his body joined them on the ground. Ten rushed over to help him back up, but James waved him on and folded his legs. We sat down with him.
The Zippo was passed off, and the foul stench of burning tobacco hit my nostrils, causing my eyes to water.
“I don’t—I don’t really know.” James took a long drag of the cigarette, but hacked violently when he exhaled.
We all looked around at each other.
“I don't think you guys will believe me,” he said, eyes tearing up from choking—or so I thought.
“Bro, of course we will believe you.” Colton reassured him.
James gently shook his head. “Last night I heard the horns again.”
The other guys looked uncomfortable, but it was the type of discomfort you feel talking to an elderly person with Alzheimer's.
“We’ve been over this, man…” Remington began, with a familial gentleness.
“David, heard them too!” James looked at me wide eyed.
Everyone was looking at me now; I just nodded quietly. They seemed unsure.
“I heard them, just like the night Zach disappeared.” He took a smaller drag this time.
Raven sighed. “Zach wasn’t real, man, one of us would have remembered him if he was.”
“He was real! I mean he is real…you used to look up to him, Rave. He gave you this damn Zippo.” James tossed the lighter back to Raven, looking defeated.
“Who is Zach?” I asked.
Raven sparked up a square, Remington scratched his head vigorously, and Colton wrung his hands. But nobody said a word. I looked to each of them, but it was like I had gone invisible again.
“Zach was our favorite counselor. He was in charge of mentoring our cabin. We haven’t had a mentor since he disappeared. But nobody remembers him. Except me,” James said.
The distant cries of laughter from other campers cut through the silence, mockingly.
“Oh…what happened to you, though? You look like you need to see the nurse.” I said.
James took a deep and painful breath through his nostrils. “I remember hearing the horn before we went inside, but then things got fuzzy. The next thing I know, Bubba’s trying to sweet-talk our way out of a goblin lair.”
Colton smiled, returning to his chipper self. “I told you Charisma isn’t a useless stat.”
“But there were two horns.” Everyone was looking at me again, and Colton’s smile dissolved back into melancholic dread.
James stared at me and nearly missed the cigarette with his mouth. “After everyone went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I was cold and sweating a bunch—and then I saw a shadow pass by the windows.”
He exhaled slowly, eyes blankly fixated on the cherry of his cigarette.
“When I peeked out the window, I saw a figure wearing like a black robe—or a coat—with a hood. They were dragging a black bag—the size of a body—into the mess hall.
His gaze shifted to the amphitheater.
“And when I looked at the clock—it was midnight exactly.”
“The Patchwork Veil…” I said in quiet horror.
Raven snorted softly. “That’s not real, man. That’s just a stupid campfire tale.”
James’s head slid into his hands and he spoke into his knees. “And then…I don’t know. I remember being so scared, and I wanted to wake you guys up, but I couldn’t move. I got this weird feeling that something was in the woods behind the cabin, but I couldn’t move. I just wanted to hide. Then—I guess I blacked out or something—I woke up in the middle of the woods right before sunrise.” James shuddered hard.
“I was so freaked out, man. I just started running—for like an hour—but I didn’t know where the hell I was going. I’ve been hiking all day. I don’t even know how I made it back here.”
Everyone was silent. Colton picked at the grass, while Remington ran his fingers through his hair. Raven, cigarette in one hand, stared at the Zippo in his palm—like it held an answer we were desperately looking for.
“Well…we should stake out the mess hall—tonight,” I said, overcome by purpose. James had inspired this confidence in me, and I was going to weaponize it to renew his.
One by one their eyes drifted toward me. I half expected them to shoot the idea down right away, but they were contemplating.
“But what if it's all real?” Colton asked.
“Then we get the hell outta here,” Ten answered.
Raven shook his head and smirked. “It's not real, dudes.”
“If it's not real, James will feel a lot better then, and things can go back to normal.” I stood up and put my hand out in front of me.
No one moved an inch. I must have looked like an idiot, but right as my confidence had nearly evaporated, Remington stood up, and walked over to me. Looking more serious than I’d ever seen him, he stopped in front of me, grinned ear to ear and gently rested his heavy paw on top of my hand.
The other guys stared at us in disbelief—then Colton shrugged and sauntered over. “Better not get kitchen duty,” Colton said, under his breath. Remington laughed.
Rave gave a long over-indulgent sigh and put out his cigarette. He rolled his eyes on the way over and begrudgingly tapped the top of Bubba’s hand.
James looked up at us on the verge of tears, but it wasn’t because of the pain he carried. And then color—nay, hope—returned to his face.
He tossed the cigarette aside and moved over to the rest of us. All eyes hungrily watched him as he said, “Word up,” and put his hand in the middle.
A single tear rolled down his cheek while we stood there in silence, but it fell away immediately when his face formed into a roguish grin. Then that feeling of invincibility returned—tenfold. We shouted to the heavens—a challenge to all that could hear.
And just like that, the party was reunited once again. Our mission was of great imperative, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.
We waited until nightfall. Bubba suggested D&D to pass the time, but we were too restless and busy discussing our ever-changing plans. We really had no idea what we were doing. Most of our schemes devolved into something you would see in an 80s action movie.
Rave was fully on board now—just to debunk the myth—but he was butting heads with James constantly. James was very quick witted and talented, but his desire for flashy stunts was better suited for a comic book rather than our real-world situation.
Rave's plan was simple. Once—if—we see the cultist enter the mess hall, we’ll break into the pantry and make our way to the kitchens where—in theory—we can spy on them. It sounded easy enough. But nothing ever goes according to plan.
“You think Tony’s in on it?” Ten asked.
James sat up sharply from his slouch. “Oh yeah, man,” he nodded firmly. “He’s gotta be. He’s the son of—”
“Guys…”
“What, Bubs?”
Bubba stood up and backed away from the window. James moved over to the light switch, and killed them. We all crouched down and peeked through the glass.
Sure enough, several black figures crept out of the shadows, and slipped into the mess hall. One by one.
From our distance it was hard to make out much more than that. This hit far harder than any jumpscare could achieve. The dread came on quickly, but there was no relief. It only grew in my stomach. Heavier and heavier—nearly making me sick.
To tell the truth, I didn’t think we’d see something like this. Maybe an after hours janitor, or a counselor grabbing a midnight snack, but this was just too surreal. We had just found ourselves in the middle of a campfire story in the making.
“I told you!” James said triumphantly. But none of us felt any sense of victory in that moment. Raven was especially quiet—well, more so than he usually was.
“Dudes, we need to go get my sword.”
“We’re not going to get your damn sword, Remington!” Colton shot back.
“Shhh!” I hissed reflexively out of fear.
We continued to watch the figures in silent horror, until their numbers dwindled and no more came. James stood up and walked to the door.
“Alright, we’re doing Rave’s plan. You ready?”
Nobody moved. My heart raced violently. This wasn’t just sneaking out at night and skinny dipping. We were planning on eavesdropping on an allegedly violent cult. Even if the supernatural element wasn’t real, we could still find ourselves on the business end of a blade—being carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey. But there was no going back at this point. How does a lamb sleep after witnessing wolves circling in the night?
I made the first move, and the others followed. I wouldn’t say it was courage that moved me. It was more like a performance. Only I don’t know who I was trying to fool—the guys or myself. Either way, it kept me in motion as we made our way through the sticky-summer night to the back pantry door.
It was made of wood and metal and you could tell it was heavy just by looking at it. But something was off. It didn’t sit quite right in the frame. Functional perhaps, but with an exploitable weakness.
James pointed at the door. “Alright Ten, do your thing.”
He walked over to the door with a proud grin on his face—loving every second of the spotlight to show off his strength. He grabbed the door at the bottom, by a little gap, and pushed up with all of his might. The veins in his neck bulged, until he went red in the face.
Finally, he let go, exhausted. “It won’t budge. I think they fixed it, man,” Ten said, between deep breaths.
There was a shiny new keyhole for a deadbolt lock, just above the doorknob.
Ten tapped it with his finger. “That wasn't there last time.”
James paced back and forth, contemplating, but he remained determined. This was more important to him than I had previously thought. It wasn’t just about peace of mind. He didn’t say it, but looking back, it was written all over his face.
James froze. A sudden realization hit him. He turned to Raven.
“Bro, I need them.”
Raven, who hadn’t said a single word since we spotted the cultists, shook his head. “Everytime you use them you break one, and it never works.”
James threw his head back in indignation. “What’s the point in carrying a lockpick kit if you never use it?!”
“Shhh,” Bubba hissed softly.
Raven sighed in annoyance and rummaged in his pockets. He pulled out a little box roughly the size of his Zippo and opened it. “There’s only one left…”
“I can’t think of a better use for it, can you?”
Rave sighed again and gave James the lockpick.
He took it eagerly and marched right over to the door. “Did anyone bring a flashlight?”
The sound of Rave’s lighter cut through the night, spilling orange light onto James and the door. We huddled around him to shield the light from any onlookers. The heavy droning of the night insects created an eerie soundtrack for our cloak-and-dagger escapade.
James struggled quietly for several minutes with the lock, muttering curses under his breath. The feeling of dread had slowly been replaced by impatient annoyance. All of us standing there so close was causing me to sweat profusely. I just wanted to get back into the air conditioning.
“Aha!”
James made a dramatic flourish with the tools, delivering a final master stroke.
Snap!
He went very still.
“Was that the pick?” Rave asked.
James dropped his head in shame—smacking it against the door. All was for naught. I was dinner to a legion of mosquitoes just to have to turn back to our cabin and ignore the imminent threat closing in around us. Well, what was I expecting, anyway? We were no heroes, just a bunch of misfits that had imaginations too big for our own good.
And then—a slow creak. The door moved gently inward.
We all stood frozen, eyes rooted to the widening void.
James lifted his head slowly and stood up. When he finished his silent gaze into the abyss, he turned to us and said, “Alright, this is it. Everybody stay low and hug the wall to the counter window. And watch where you're stepping. Follow me.”
My heart was thundering in my chest again, but not for my sweet Rose. No, for death and glory. Or rather pointless death, and no glory whatsoever. Regardless, my newfound regret had no time to blossom—we ducked into the pitch-black pantry.
The Zippo was passed to James and he led us through the maze of food. “Pantry” was a bit of an understatement. It was more like the Fort Knox of snacks and treats. This could have been a fun adventure in gluttony had our present circumstances not been so dire. But as it was, these sweets would have turned to sick had I indulged. I was doing everything I could just to keep my dinner from coming back up.
As we neared the inner pantry door that led into the kitchen, James gave us the signal to “hold up” while he peeked out the vision panel. We were all huddled together in the dark; I couldn’t even see who was crouched next to me. James and the door were all that was visible.
My heart stopped when I heard some rummaging on a shelf next to me, followed by the crinkling of plastic. Then—the muted crunch of chewing. The guys around me were all silent through this ordeal until:
“Remington…are you eating right now?”
Through a mouthful, Ten responded, “These may be the last cookies I ever eat. I don’t want to die on an empty stomach, Bubs.”
He said that with such somber finality, it left Bubba speechless. The only reply was a second mouth crunching away. But the crunching halted immediately when the door creaked open.
“Let’s go!” was James's hushed command.
I trampled the remains of the discarded cookies underfoot, as we advanced into the kitchen proper. Nothing could have prepared me for what I heard. Low voices, chanting in the fashion of Gregorian monks grew louder as we approached the counter window. James extinguished his flame, as we drew nearer. Guided only by the dim, flickering lights spilling from the inner mess hall.
What we saw as we peeked over the counter made my legs weak, and I ducked right back under. One of the guys put their hand on my shoulder and I conjured up the will to continue. My shaky legs slowly lifted me back up.
Most of the tables had been pushed all the way to the side, stacked up against the walls. Candles and candelabras were positioned ritualistically throughout the entirety of the hall. They illuminated the black mass of hooded cultists lined up before a figure in the center of the room. A divide ran between the group, as one might see between the pews of a church.
From behind the central figure came the slow, deep chime of a grandfather clock—twelve tolls marking midnight. The clock itself had been transformed into a smaller replica of the Joseph Smith statue that stands outside.
The chanting stopped, and the man spoke. “Children of Midnight, be you most welcome here!
A thunderous roar rose from the mass, cheering back in unison.
The figure gave a wicked laugh and raised his hand to quiet them. “The hour of our ascension is at hand. All of your hard work has led us to this victory. Each brother and sister has done their part to acquire the necessary components, and your rewards will be many.”
They cheered again, louder this time.
“And I’m pleased to announce that we have a bit of special entertainment for you tonight! Fresh meat! Bring in the initiate!
The dark congregation whooped while stomping their feet, and pumped their fists in a chaotic frenzy. Two more hooded figures, dragging a third by their arms, proceeded up the divide to the leader. They dropped him and he fell to his knees. A dark-gloved hand yanked back the initiate’s hood, revealing one of the counselors who had confiscated the cookies from earlier.
“That son of a—” Ten growled.
“We need to leave! Now!” Bubba wheezed over the profane mob’s fanfare.
But none of us moved. The initiate’s brow dripped with sweat as he looked around wildly at the other cultists.
“What is thy name brother?!”
The initiate mumbled something inaudible.
The High Priest waved his arms. “Quiet!”
The congregation instantly fell into graveyard silence.
“You were saying, brother?”
The initiate’s head was bent down low, as if peering into the depths of Sheol. “My—my name is Brandon!”
The High Priest circled the initiate, studying him from every angle.
“Are you ready for your trial, brother Brandon?”
Brandon said nothing. He shook on his hands and knees in the most uncomfortable silence I have ever known. The black Bishop held out his hand, and one of his lieutenants—head bowed—presented him an ancient-looking tome.
“Read aloud from this Grimoire, brother.”
Brandon reluctantly took the book, and the High Priest signaled the clergy. Brandon rose to his feet and flipped frantically through the pages. He landed on a page and cleared his throat.
“He who seeketh the glory of pleasure…”
Brandon trailed off as he watched a cultist approach, dragging an overstuffed body bag.
“Continue!”
Brandon jumped and snapped back to the book. “He who seeketh the glory of pleasure, must hence imbibe the spirit of worldly treasure!”
The High Priest made a gesture with his hand. Two cultists overtook Brandon, and held him up by his ankles. A third unzipped the massive black bag.
“Wa—wait!”
“Be brave, my child.”
The crowd stirred again. A new chant was brewing.
The third cultist started to retrieve the contents from the bag. Brandon wailed as the hellish choir swelled. First they pulled out a tube, and gave it to the High Priest. He held it in the air, to the cheers of the black masses. Next was a pump. The priest attached it to the tube. And then the final ingredient—the keg.
“Chug! Chug! Chug!”
Once the keg was tapped, the apparatus was brought to Brandon’s mouth.
“Chug! Chug! Chug!
Brandon inhaled the brew until he was overcome by choking, shooting beer from his mouth and nose. The crowd cheered and laughed, and Brandon was put back on his feet. The priest put his arm around a damp Brandon, as he held up a Budweiser.
The room had fallen silent once more in obedient anticipation.
“Par-Tay!” was the new edict, as the headpriest disrobed himself.
The others cast off their cloaks and kicked them aside, revealing a host of camp counselors in their early 20’s.
Music boomed from the speakers, as brightly colored lights pulsed to the beat from overhead. We ducked back down, before we were noticed.
I felt like a new man. Like my birthday and Christmas just happened at the same time. A smile grew on my face, pushing the last remnants of fear to the wayside.
Raven put a cigarette in his mouth. “I told you it wasn't real.”
James sat looking at his feet. His body had relaxed, but he looked almost—disappointed.
“Hey man—you good?” I asked.
It was like his consciousness was drifting back from a great distance. He looked at me. “Yeah! Yeah.”
A funny smelling smoke pervaded over us, stinging my eyes. Ten looked back over the counter and grinned. “You think they’d let me hit their bong?” He asked, on his way back down.
“I don't know, Remington. You want me to go ask them?” Bubba replied, sounding less annoyed than usual.
Remington laughed, and we all joined in. Except for James.
On our way back, I caught James staring deep into the woods. He tried to not make it obvious. The other guys weren’t paying attention anyway. But I was.
And then it hit me.
What about the trumpets?
The guys stepped into the cabin, yet I lingered outside for a moment. Now it was I who stared deep within the woods. And while I could see nothing in its blackness, I was sure something was staring back.
The days after that blended together, as our campaign dominated the summer. Our friendships grew deep as time stretched on. But where did it all go wrong, you may ask.
Well, one perfectly ordinary day, James said he had something special to show me. He called it a rite of passage, my true initiation into the group. It could have sounded vaguely ominous to me. The me from the start of the summer—I mean. But I trusted him like a brother. All of them, for that matter. I would have followed them all into the lake of fire, and never looked back.
“Yo, I’m gonna take David to you-know-where, y’all comin’?” James asked as we walked up to our breakfast table in the mess hall.
None of the guys seemed to show much interest. Raven was going through Bubba’s Magic: The Gathering deck and laughing every so often. Bubba's expression hovered between amusement and offense as he defended each “unique” card Raven pulled to the side. Ten was doing what he did best, and simply groaned in his half-asleep state, hair forming a tent around his head as it rested upon his arms and the table.
“Hello, Earth to dummies, y’all in or what?” James said as he brought his hand down, hard onto the table. Ten raised his head to reveal half-closed red eyes, and immediately put his head back down.
Raven looked up. “I'm good, man.”
Bubba shrugged and tried to recover his deck, but Raven pulled away, silently laughing at the next card.
“Alright, have fun being lame then.” James turned back to me and we started to walk away.
Raven sighed loudly. “I’ll have a special DnD session ready for you two when you get back!”
“There better be a matching +1 dagger to go with the one I got last week!” James shouted in response, as we exited.
We made our way to the trails that led past our cabin, and set off on our journey. I still had no idea what was in store for me. James and I talked about our DnD character builds, and theorycrafted ways to break the game as we sojourned deeper into the woods.
It rained heavily all throughout the previous night while we slept, and the rest of the day was a cool and dreary gray day. The forest itself was misty and damp, which at first felt somewhat comforting. The mist heavily obscured the deep woods around us, creating the feeling of a cozy little pocket.
We had been hiking for roughly thirty or forty minutes when James assured me we were close. At least he was “pretty sure.” I was starting to understand why the guys didn’t want to make the trip. If it wasn’t obvious, none of us were the athletic outdoorsy types.
SNAP!
The sound of sticks breaking somewhere in the woods around us brought us to a halt. We fell silent mid-sentence. James broke off from me and moved closer to the tree line. He peered deep into the misty silhouettes of trees.
“What is it…”
James was unnervingly quiet as he stared into the near-nothingness.
“I think it was just a deer,” he said, finally breaking his silence.
We resumed our quest, but after that I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder. Every shadow around us threatened to jump out and attack without warning. James noticed I was distracted from our conversation and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Relax bro. Bambi ain't comin’ to get ya.”
I laughed off the fear, and my stomach growled in protest. I didn’t eat breakfast and all the hiking was really taking it out of me. James told me we could rest once we got to where we were going.
“So where are we going anyway?”
“It's a surprise. But it’s special…Zach brought us here our first summer.”
The invocation of that name threatened to bring an awkward silence, but I refused to let it manifest.
“What was he like? Zach, I mean.”
There was a moment's pause. “He was the best. He never treated us like outsiders. Not like the rest of the camp does. He always found something special in everyone. Ya know, like their strengths or what made them tick. And he taught me a lot…like how to take care of the people I care about.” James’s voice had dropped to nearly a whisper by the end. I put a hand on his shoulder.
“It really shows, man. I think he would be proud.”
James smiled and brought me into a headlock with a quick noogie before letting go.
The smell of freshwater grew with each passing step, and so did the sound of it falling. The mist was breaking, the sun was growing stronger, and the trees were opening up to a breathtaking sight.
“This is it!” James said, as he gently pushed me ahead of him.
The trail turned sharply around the edge of a cliff that had a spectacular view of a waterfall. It seemed to surge with a natural revitalizing energy that emanated throughout the immediate area. Words fail me in describing its majesty. And the smell was so fresh, it cleansed my very soul. It was absolutely enchanting—real-life magic.
“Well, I’d say this trip was definitely worth—” my lungs deflated, when I turned to see James was nowhere in sight. I looked all around, panic increasing with every passing second.
I was too scared to even move, so I listened instead. But the only thing I could hear was the water pouring down into the flowing stream below.
“James! Hey, man—this isn’t funny!” I started moving to the nearest tree, fear turning into impatience. I came to the first tree and quickly peeked around it. Nothing. My heart raced but my head told me that I was being stupid. It was like that feeling of knowing a jump scare is about to happen, but still flinching at every slight movement.
I moved to the next tree. “James! Don’t be a—”
Right as I went to search the tree, James jumped out from behind it and yelled in my face. “Boo!”
I fell hard onto the ground behind me while James doubled over in breathless laughter. My heart pounded in my chest as my cheeks grew hot. In my childlike anger, I felt betrayed. James was my hero, and my brother. He was taking me somewhere special. He was supposed to be my protector, and instead he humiliated me—just like Patrick.
I jumped up off the ground and huffed over to him, as he continued to point and laugh.
“It’s not funny!”
With all of the strength I had in me, I gave him one good shove—the first act of violence I had ever committed in my life. He didn’t stop laughing as he lost his balance and started falling backwards onto the ground behind him.
But the ground was no longer there—I had just seen it, how does something like that disappear? It was as if the space between James and the cliff had folded in the blink of an eye, and instead of falling back onto the soft ground next to the tree—James went backwards off the cliff. His laughter turned to silence.
I stood completely frozen. Replaying the scene that just unfolded over and over again in my mind. It wasn’t real, this was another prank.
“James…JAMES!” But I was met only with the sound of the rushing water.
I tried to move my feet, but they felt like lead. My strength failed me and I fell to my knees, crawling shakily to the edge. I slowly peered over—what I saw is forever burned into the back of my mind. I see it every time I close my eyes.
On the rocks, hundreds of feet below, lay James’s mangled body. His face was still frozen in a gruesome smile. His arms and legs were twisted around him unnaturally, and a pool of red grew around his head—growing larger and larger—and spilling off into the stream.
A chill ran through my body and collected in my stomach. If I had any breakfast that morning, it surely would have landed on the rocks next to James. I dry-heaved as I weakly pushed myself away from the edge, losing what little remained of my strength. I rolled onto my back as my vision grew fuzzy. And right before I faded to black—I saw two cloaked figures approaching me.