July 14, 1984
1:43 am
Sam woke with a gnawing ache in his stomach. The only sounds he heard seemed to be the normal nighttime sounds of breathing and soft snores coupled with the occasional crinkle-crunch of sheets as one of the other five boys turned over in bed. Flipping onto his stomach, he reached into his pillowcase, frowning when his hand came out empty. Leaning off the edge of the bed, Sam ran his fingers along the edge of the metal bed frame. Nothing. Panic surged, and the pain in his belly increased with his fear.
Chewing anxiously on his lip, Sam weighed his options. Breakfast was still almost six hours away, and all of his stash was gone. He glanced at Kris, sleeping in the bed next to him. Sam knew that he wasn’t supposed to go anywhere alone. Cowboy and Ranger had paired them all up, warning them each to stick with their buddy. But Sam’s buddy, Denis was asleep. Everyone except Sam was asleep, and Sam was starving.
You aren’t starving, he told himself. You’re just hungry because you woke up. Go back to sleep until breakfast. Sam forced his eyes closed, and tried to relax, but the ache didn’t subside. What if there isn’t any breakfast? his subconscious asked. What if whoever tied up Kris steals all the food? What if he takes you and puts you in the closet with nothing to eat? What if that apple Ranger gave you yesterday was the last thing you ever get? Sam’s stomach growled in protest, and he gave in. Slipping out of his bunk, he crept toward the door, a stealthy predator on the hunt for food.
Once outside, Sam rose to his feet and moved silently toward the kitchen. To his surprise and relief, the back door was unlocked, and he was able to slip through and into the pantry. Perfect! The shelves were stocked with crackers, rolls, and cereal. Wire baskets full of fruit hung from the ceiling. Peeling a banana, Sam took a big bite, calming his grumbling stomach. Stuffing an apple into his pajama pocket, he was reaching for a package of crackers when a noise from outside stopped him dead in his tracks. Someone was coming!
Sam flicked off the pantry light and sank to the ground, making himself as small and quiet as possible. Whispered voices came close to the door, and Sam shrank back even further, for the whispers sounded angry. The voices grew louder, but the heavy door muffled the words. Sam covered his ears; but he still heard the thud of something heavy hitting the floor.
Silence followed.
Jim woke with a start. Quieting his racing heart, he tried to figure out what had disturbed his sleep. He listened intently, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. Sliding out of bed, he moved silently, trying not to wake Dan. Jim passed into the bunkroom, briefly shining his penlight across each bed. Luis, Brady, Kris, Sam… Jim swung his light back to Sam’s bed. It was empty, the covers rumpled, as if Sam had left in a hurry. Muttering to himself, Jim quickly checked the bathroom. Empty. He hurried back into the room he shared with Dan.
“Wake up,” he whispered, shaking his friend’s shoulder. “We have a problem.”
Dan sat up, instantly awake. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Sam’s gone.”
“Did you check the bathroom?” Dan whispered, setting his feet on the floor.
“Of course. He’s not in the cabin.
“What about the other boys?” Dan grabbed a t-shirt out of his closet, and pulled it over his head, reaching for his shoes.
“Asleep and accounted for.” Jim paced back and forth. “I just know he went out scrounging for food. I knew I should have given him something before lights-out.”
“Live and learn,” Dan said. “Sam’s been doing better, you didn’t know tonight would be the night he felt the need to wander. I’ll go and find him.”
“Where? He could be anywhere.”
“True, but chances are he’s down at the kitchen, looking for food. I’ll run down there and check. If he isn’t there, we’ll sound the alarm and get everyone searching. Okay?” Dan finished tying his shoes, and faced Jim.
“Okay,” Jim said slowly, “but maybe we should both go.”
“I’m dressed,” Dan pointed out, “and one of us should stay with the boys. If I don’t find him, I’ll ring the dinner bell. How about that?”
Jim nodded, reluctantly agreeing with Dan’s suggestion. “Be careful.”
“I will. Back in a flash.” Dan, moving silently, slipped out of the cabin, and headed down the path.
Inside the pantry, Sam huddled in the corner, waiting. There was only silence. Still he waited, listening, and counting to three hundred in his head. Slowly, he pulled himself up and cautiously pushed on the door. It didn’t open. Sam pushed harder on the solid wood, and it moved an inch, maybe less. Backing away, Sam tried not to panic. He was trapped. Locked in, in the dark. In desperation, he threw himself at the door, trying to force it open. All he managed to do was bounce himself off of the door and onto the floor. Sprawled on the slab floor, Sam considered his options. He had just about decided to try the door one more time, when he heard footsteps in the kitchen. Scrambling backwards, crab style, Sam tucked himself under the last shelf, pressing his back hard against the wall, and covering his face with his hands. He heard a muffled shout, but it was drowned out by the voice in his head screaming, Go away! Go away!
“Sam?” Dan called out softly. The back door to the kitchen was ajar, but only the small light over the stove was on, its pale glow casting an eerie green haze over the whole room. The clock on the microwave glowed red from the corner: 1:58.
“Sam, it’s Cowboy. Let’s get your snack and head back to our bunks. It’s late, buddy.” Dan made his voice calm, shining his flashlight over the appliances. The edge of his beam caught something on the floor, near the pantry. Bile rose in the back of his throat, and his heart began to beat faster, as he moved cautiously toward the unknown.
“Holy crap!” Dan couldn’t prevent the shout that escaped as he shined his light on the unconscious face of Vince Vulturo, known around camp as ‘Buzzard’. Dropping to the floor, Dan felt Buzzard’s neck, searching for a pulse. Placing his ear close to the assistant cook’s face, he was relieved to hear shallow breaths, and repulsed by the sour alcohol smell that accompanied each one. Rising, Dan stumbled toward the telephone. His fingers shook as he punched the numbers to Ted’s private line.
A drowsy voice answered. Dan blurted out, “Ted! You need to get down to the kitchen right now. And call an ambulance.”
“Like I told you,” Dan said for the tenth time. “I came down here looking for Sam, and I found him, found Vince. I don’t know what happened to him, or why.”
The sheriff chewed on the end of his droopy mustache. “And you found the boy in the pantry, right?”
Yes.” Dan repressed a shudder, remembering kneeling next to Buzzard and hearing a faint whimpering from inside the pantry. It had taken an eternity for the paramedics to arrive and move Buzzard from his place in front of the door. “He was hiding in the corner. I managed to pull him out, and thankfully, he wasn’t hurt, but he’s a mess. Ted took him in to the hospital to get checked out.”
“You friendly with Vulturo?”
“No, sir.” Dan ran his hand through his hair. “He isn’t a counselor, so our paths don’t cross much, except for meals.” He hesitated. “Look, Buzzard and I had words once, back during orientation week. He said some untrue things about my friend. I set him straight. After that, we just kind of ignored each other.”
The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “Did you come to blows?”
“No, sir. Just words, and they weren’t even that loud.” Dan licked his lips, nervously. Even when he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, being interviewed by a cop was always nerve-wracking.
“Hmmm.” The sheriff scribbled on his notebook. “So, when I test that cast iron skillet we found on the floor, am I going to find your prints on it?”
“No, sir.” Dan forced himself to remain still, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Do you think someone hit him with the skillet?”
“Maybe.” The sheriff rose, stretching his neck to relieve the kinks. “And maybe he slipped on a grease spot and knocked himself out. Man smells like a brewery. Meanwhile, don’t get any bright ideas about leaving. I might still want to talk to you.”
Yes, sir. May I go now?” The sheriff grunted his consent, and Dan wasted no time taking himself back to the cabin.
“What happened, Cowboy?”
“Why were the police here?”
“Where’s Sam?”
The questions came fast and furious. Dan held up a hand, and they all went quiet. “Sam went to the kitchen to get some food. While he was there, something happened to Buzzard--I don’t know what, exactly, but he got knocked out, and fell in front of the door. Sam couldn’t get out, and he got scared. I found them. That’s where I was. Ted took Sam to see the doctor, to make sure he’s okay. Now let’s get some sleep, okay?”
Grumbling, the boys went back to their beds. Dan started for his own bed, when a tremulous voice stopped him.
“Cowboy? Why did Sam go alone? I’m his buddy.”
“I don’t know Denis.” Dan crossed the room and sat down on the boy’s bed. “Maybe Sam didn’t want to wake you up. Maybe he just wasn’t thinking. Either way, what happened was not your fault.” Dan scanned the room, making eye contact with each of the campers. “But from here on out, I think we need to make sure we stick together. One goes, we all go. What do you think?”
The boys nodded, each one looking a little less worried. Jim added his agreement. “I think that’s a great idea. But now we need to get some sleep. Lights out fellas.”
Dan ruffled Denis’ hair, and flicked off the lights before going into his room.
“Was it bad?” Jim asked, his voice barely audible.
“Yes,” Dan answered tersely. “Somebody clobbered Buzzard, and because I found him, I’m a suspect. Sam was nearly out of his mind with fear.” He clutched his hair, shaking his head. “I literally had to drag him out of the pantry, Jim, and he couldn’t even speak. He was stuttering and I swear, I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.” Dan’s hand moved to his mouth, and he unconsciously gnawed on his fingernail. “This is wrong. Something very weird is going on, and I can’t figure out what it is. Too much stuff is happening for all of this to be a coincidence.”
“You don’t know that.” Jim rolled over on his bed, punching his pillow.
“True,” Dan admitted. “But can you honestly say you don’t feel as if we’re being targeted?”
Jim could not.
July 14, 1984
Sam was back. Quiet, but calm, and seemingly recovered from the ordeal of the early morning. All of the campers were dispersed to various activities, while the counselors met with the administrative staff.
“This is the second incident in the last few days,” Ted said, his expression grim. “Such things have not happened at Camp Kensey before, and I find it very disturbing. Mr. Davis and I spoke for a long time on the telephone today. We needed to consider the possibility of ending camp early, and sending everyone home.” Ted raised his hand, as the counselors began protesting. “Listen, please. The safety of our campers and our staff is our utmost concern. One of our campers was assaulted in his cabin. One of our cook staff may have been attacked in the kitchen. While our camper was not seriously injured, Vince has suffered a serious head injury; his skull is fractured, and he remains unconscious. He could die.”
The murmuring stopped, all eyes on Ted, as he paced in front of them. “We only have two weeks left of camp, and up until a few days ago, it was going well. Our survival weekend is scheduled for next week, and I know that everyone is looking forward to it. After speaking with local law enforcement, Mr. Davis and I have decided to continue camp, but with heightened security.” The room seemed to resonate with a collective sigh of relief. “The police will be investigating, and I would ask you to cooperate fully with them. Please be alert to what is happening around you, and report anything suspicious. Until we figure out exactly what is happening here, Mr. Davis and I have made a list of some precautions we would like you to take. I have one for each of you. Bill will pass them out. Does anyone have any questions?”
