#sumer camp

“You’re Weird Watt, right?” she asked me.

I ask her how she knows this, and she says

“Because you said your name was Weird Watt during the name game, remember? Also, we’ve been sitting across from each other in the mess hall for a couple of days now.”

What do you want?” I ask her. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful, but my Mom raised a smart boy (or at least tried to) and I knew that when someone bailed you out of a situation like this, there was usually a catch.

“You impress me, Weird Watt.”

“Watterson.” I said, “It’s Watterson.”

“You impress me, Weird Watt. I saw what you did with that lifesaver at the pool. Impressive stuff. Which is why I want to make you an offer: You can live out your sentence here like the rest of these sticker-happy morons, or we can take back our summer. The being you call God may not look down on this wretched camp, but I know someone who just might heed our prayers. So what do you say? You in?”

On one hand, I was kinda suspicious a girl was actually talking to me, but on the other, I knew I was a good kid who didn’t deserve to be in this sorry excuse for a camp. So it made sense that me breaking out, since I was innocent, was also a good thing. Whatever additional cost there was, I was sure my allowance could pay it off.

“Sure, why not?”

“I like your style, Watterson. Next time you have free time, let’s meet in the bushes behind the tetherball court.”

I wasn’t quite sure what I’d just done, but whatever it was, I was in it for the long haul.

The lights flickered, then went out. When the flickered back to life, the girl was gone.

More importantly, I’d made it out, brain intact. Little did I know, this was only the beginning of many, many brushes with death.

                                                         .   .   .

           Sure enough, next time we had free time, there she was, in the bushes. The way she looked at me, I could tell she’d been waiting a long time, waiting for the perfect moment to invite me over. Either that or she’d been weirded out by my favorite free time activity: slowly banging my head against the tetherball pole. We crawled through the bushes on all fours, only stopping to eat a few raspberries we saw growing along the way. When I tried to ask her where we were headed, she just pinched my lips with her fingers, the touch ice cold.  

           As luck would have it, the place we arrived at was none other than the back entrance of the main cabin. For a second I thought of backing out, running as far away from that slaughterhouse floor as I could. Goth girl must have thought of this, too, ‘cause she gripped my wrist and dragged me right in.

           Together we walked into the main hall, the hall where we’d played that stupid name game. But we weren’t alone. From a corner of the room a round form emerged from the shadows, finally stopping in the center of the room.

“…Booger Kid?”

“My name is ‘Stalwart Shatner’, thank you very much.” He held out a hand “I believe I informed you of this during the Name Game, yes?”

As a matter of fact, I’d been having my first existential crisis during that game, but Booger Kid- I mean, Shatner- wouldn’t have any of it.

“Are you sure we should let this guy join our club, Hilda?” he asked the girl.

And Hilda said “You saw the pool incident. We’ve seen what he can endure. Besides, we could use some extra hands.”

Shatner sighed. “I guess-“

“We should take him to Freddie, then?” “

“Let’s not waste time.”

Freddie. It was a name I- scratch that, everyone- in camp knew well. You’d think that would’ve started to clear things up, yet now I was even more confused. Mostly because for some reason, every kid in the state who bore the name Fred was currently enrolled in this particular camp. (Looking back, Camp Sham: Where Freds go to die! Would have been a good slogan.) One behind the other, the three of us went to an ominous corner of the room where no light reached (mostly due to poor decisions by the architect). In that corner, behind a forest of fold up chairs, there was a wooden table. And on that table were a pair of candles. And between those candles was a glass terrarium. And in that terrarium was…

None other than our camp mascot, Freddie the Ferret! He put his adorable little ferret paws up to the glass and stared at me with those vacant black eyes of his. He seemed just as confused by this as I was.

“Freddie is the key.” Explained Hilda.

“Freddie is the gate.” Added Shatner.

“Freddie is the Key and Gate to our salvation.” They said in unison.

I just stared. Key and Gate to salvation? I had a hard time buying that. Key and Gate to cute yawns and cuddles, maybe, but this little fuzztube didn’t exactly look like bring-down-camp material.

“Do you think he got it?” Shatner whispered behind my back.

“Darn it! I told you we should’ve said something less pretentious!” Was the hissed reply.

Freddie, meanwhile, was chewing on a squeaky toy.

“Okay, let me explain.” Sighed Hilda. “I’ve been assigned to feeding this dumb furball for activity hour. But then I realized he would be the prefect vessel to summon our liberator! Basically, all we’ve gotta do is steal some stuff to act as offerings, say some dumb chants while wearing hoodies, and BAM! Freddie will help us escape the camp!”

“So all I’ve gotta do is steal some stuff?”

“Exactly!” cried Shatner “I’m already offering up the ticks I’m raising under my cot, and Hilda here is offering up some salt and pepper she swiped from the mess hall.”

“Ferret food is pretty bland, so he likes the seasoning.” Hilda explained.

Now that she mentioned it, there were a whole herbs and spices around Freddie’s terrarium. I was gonna tell Hilda she should probably keep the cinnamon away from the paprika, but she didn’t seem like someone who took criticism very well.

“You have clever hands, Weird Watt. And an act of selfishness would be perfect for our ritual. You in?”

Hilda took out a packet of ketchup, squeezing it into our hands. We shook.