Page 7 of The Girl in the Mist
“That’s right. I did hear they were opening it just for a week this summer to see how it went. Just older teenagers. Probably because too many parents wouldn’t want their young kids there,” hesays.
“That’s what she was saying. Because it’scursed.”
Sam laughs a little. “Just another urbanlegend.”
“So, no one actually died at the camp? Did they close it because it wasn’t profitable?” Iask,
“Well, no. It did close because campers weremurdered.”
I pause, struck by the revelation. I was really thinking he was going to tell me the whole thing was made up and people only kept spreading the story because it was fun to talk about cursed summer camps. It made for a much better story than just saying a camp had been there for a long time and people stopped going so they went bankrupt. There’s also just the strange human tendency to want to create wild, macabre tales that get shared and spread, and as they make the circuit around, they tend to get bigger and more dramatic, the details more gruesome, the validity more solidly cemented in the minds of every person who repeats them, even as they are getting further and further from any actual truth that might have inspired them.
Sometimes there’s an actual purpose behind the crafting of these stories. Xavier has given me a very full and deeply disturbing education on the origins of fairy tales, little bits of which he likes to sprinkle on whatever unsuspecting person happens to mention something that reminds him of one of them. Far from the lovely children’s tales we know them as today, these stories were overflowing with mutilation, murder, drugging, assault, dubious consent, and all sorts of other things we would rather not have in our minds right before bedtime. But they were products of their times, designed to speak to what was going on in the world and to influence behavior.
Then there are other horrific stories just created to terrify people for the hell of it.
I’d been leaning toward that being the actual source of the rumors about the camp, but now that Sam has confirmed there truly were murders there, I’mintrigued.
“Some guy from out in the woods actually wiped out the campers?” Iask.
“Not exactly,” Sam says. “At least, that’s not how I heard it. Granted, I wasn’t all that old so watching the news wasn’t so much a priority to me, so I don’t have all the details. But from what I remember, ten or so campers were murdered and one girl went missing. Presumed also murdered, of course, but her body was never found. Her boyfriend was one of the victims, too. It was pretty gruesome. They tried to find the killer, but he was gone by the time the police got there and they couldn’t track him down. They closed the camp saying they would still reopen the next summer, but there was so much backlash from the families of the kids who died and just from the community in general that they neverdid.”
“Until now,” Isay.
“Apparently. I haven’t really been paying attention to it, but earlier in the summer I heard something about it being opened just for one session this summer with hopes of opening for the full summer next year,” Sam tells me. “The new owners said they want to show that there’s nothing wrong with the camp so they can get people back outthere.”
“It sounds like a lot of people are still unsure about it,” Inote.
“I’m sure they are. It was twenty years ago, which is still so recent that some people are still upset by it, but long enough ago that it’s hazy and seems like a completely different time. Even though I don’t remember much about it, I know I heard about people whose siblings were there at the time and some who even said their siblings were some of the ones who died. They were terrified to even go near woods or anything that reminded them ofcamping.”
I can’t believe I’ve never even heard of this place or of anything that happened there. I don’t have the same consistent roots here that other people do, but I spent a considerable amount of my childhood here in Sherwood. I went to school here for parts of several years. I spent summers and holidays here. It’s the only hometown I’ve ever known. And yet, there’s this piece of the lore I know nothing about.
It’s especially strange hearing Sam talk about the camp and the people he knew who went. And the fact that even he spent time there. Just for day camp, perhaps, but he was there. If I knew his mother as well as I think I did, there’s probably an old Camp Hollow t-shirt in the attic of his old house right now. But I’ve never heard him mention it. He’s never told a single camp story. He’s never introduced me to a friend as one of his “summer camp friends.” I’ve not seen so much as one craft.
“But I guess there are enough who aren’t worried about it that the camp went ahead,” I tell him. “The women at breakfast this morning were talking about how they wouldn’t even think about sending their children, but a friend of theirshad.”
“Who was it?” Samasks.
“I can’t think of their names off the top of my head, but I recognized one of them as working up at the bank. The one with the brown, curly hair. She wears that coral lipstick alot.”
“I know who you’re talking about,” he says.
He’s probably aware of the lipstick only because the first time I saw her wear it I thought it looked great and wanted to try it for myself. It turns out, coral lipstick is not for everyone.
“What about you? Would you go back there? Since you have permission to go to sleepaway things now,” Isay.
“Well, I’m in my thirties, so probably not,” he says with alaugh.
“You know what I mean. Do you think it’scursed?”
“No,” Sam answers without hesitation. “I don’t think the camp is cursed. People were murdered there, so it would probably be a little eerie. I can understand being uncomfortable. But I don’t think there’s any more danger in going there than there is anywhere else. Two decades is a very long time. It’s a little strange, but that’s about it. Don’t let the date mess with yourhead.”
“I’m not,” I tell him. “You should know by now I’m not superstitious. And despite Xavier’s very best efforts, I still wouldn’t say I am a firm believer in ghosts, either. It just seems creepy tome.”
“Don’t worry. It’s almost over. A few more hours, and it won’t be Friday the thirteenthanymore.”
I hadn’t even thought about that. Until right now, I’ve been thinking it was the twelfth. But that does make the women’s conversation at the diner seem a bit more timely.
“I’ll wait with bated breath,” I saysarcastically.