Night Camp

Night Camp

A spooky graveyard. A creepy basement. A pair of coffins.

Thirteen-year-old Shane Andrews hates summer camp. When his parents allow him to choose, Shane decides to pick the worst camp he can find. Night Camp must be terrible. For one thing, activities take place at night and campers sleep during the day. That can’t be good, Shane reasons. His parents will realize Night Camp is even worse than they thought and they’ll come back to get him. Then Shane’s plans for summer freedom fall apart. His cousin Brad, a boy with a huge collection of tabloid magazines, convinces Shane that two of the camp counselors are vampires. Shane enlists the help of Brad and a girl camper named Nicole. The three set out to save themselves and the other campers. Then Shane uncovers the secret of Night Camp…

Night Camp

by

L.C. Evans

Published by L.C. Evans at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 L.C. Evans

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This book is available in print at most online retailers

Dedicated to all the children in my family who begged me to write a book just for them.

Chapter One

I hopped off the school bus and raced into the house figuring I was minutes away from a snack. But as soon as I took two steps into the living room I could see I had a big problem.

The pile of camp brochures on the coffee table stood out as though every page were spray painted in fluorescent colors. Mom must have decided it was choose a summer camp day. Did I dare donate the brochures to a paper factory? Would my parents ground me for life if I did?

Shane? Is that you?

I sighed. My chance for summer freedom was gone. I dumped my book bag on the couch.

I'm in here, Mom. I tugged off my sneakers and socks and wiggled my toes around in the carpet. It felt almost as good as grass rubbing against my tired feet.

Hi, sweets. Dad's coming home early and we're going to make a decision about your camp.

Mom ruffled my hair. I didn’t tell her that thirteen-year-old boys do not like their moms to ruffle their hair.

I plopped down, opened my book bag and grabbed the first book, History Made Exciting for Seventh Graders. I flipped to a page about the invention of the steam engine. I let my mouth drop open and my eyes widen so Mom would think I was excited about history and she’d stop bothering me.

Shane? Are you listening?

Sure. I didn’t tear my eyes away from the page. But, Mom, you guys didn't have to go through so much fuss. Besides, I’m busy reading about history.

Mom leaned over and took the book out of my hand. Nice try, but your book’s upside down. Come on, Shane, you know how Dad and I feel about summer camp.

Outdoor fun, friends my own age, great activities, arts, crafts, I recited. They made camp sound like paradise, but I knew better.

I wouldn't mind vacationing with my parents just once. They always went to neat places such as Yosemite, while I suffered through summer after summer at kid dump off zones. These places always had cute names such as Camp Wee Luvya.

Mom gathered up the brochures and started sorting them into neat stacks. She talked out loud as she worked, her voice tinkling like wind chimes, so I couldn’t tune her out.

Computer camps. Music camps. Sports camps. Mom was right in the middle of swim camps when Dad strolled in.

He tossed his briefcase on the couch on top of my book bag. Today's the day, huh, Shane? What will it be this year? Music camp, so you can improve your trumpet playing? Or what about soccer again?

I didn't answer. I'd been to soccer camp twice and I still wasn't exactly pro material. I trudged over to stand beside Mom. Dad trailed after me and picked up a purple, green, and yellow brochure with a squinty-eyed cowboy on the cover. Camp Hidden Corral. Learn to ride horses on a real ranch. How does that sound?

Ha! Last time I went to a ranch camp, I spent more time cleaning stalls than I did riding.

Mom looked up and now she was squinting like the cowboy from Camp Hidden Corral. That's enough attitude, Shane.

I don't understand all this fuss anyway, Dad broke in. Your mother and I met at camp one summer.

I rolled my eyes. Did I care about finding a wife? I was only thirteen.

Mom picked up the last brochure. The paper was midnight black and the lettering on the front was red--blood red. Night Camp lettered in red. That was it. Nothing at all was written on the back.

Now what could this be? I don't remember sending for something called Night Camp.

Alice, you’re probably on the mailing list for every camp in the country. Dad patted Mom's shoulder and chuckled.

She slapped playfully at his arm, and he jumped out of the way. Well, where do I put this one? It doesn't fit in any of the other stacks. What's Night Camp anyway?

Let me see it.

I took the brochure from my mother and studied the cover. If I stared at the red letters on the front long enough with my eyes sort of scrunched closed the letters seemed to run toward the bottom of the page almost as though they were dripping.

I shook my head and blinked a few times to clear my vision. I opened the brochure. The paper on the inside was white, but the words were printed in the same blood red color as the cover. At the top of one page a picture showed a bat in flight as it swooped after a mouse racing for its life through a clearing.

Something different, I read out loud. Let your child experience the richness and beauty of our planet at night. Camp activities include canoe rides by moonlight, exploring the environment at midnight, studying the night animals and insects, and stargazing, among others. Buy peace of mind. Know that your loved one isn't outside getting charbroiled in the noonday sun. We guarantee no sunburns!

I paused. I was wrong about all camps being alike. I read back over the part about buying peace of mind. A shiver rocketed up my spine. It sounded like an ad for a funeral home. Funeral directors were always calling people loved ones. I opened my hand and dropped the folder onto the table as though it had burned me.

What a concept. Mom pushed the brochure away. Night Camp sounds dreadful.

I'm sure it's an ordinary camp that was so bad they decided to try something a little different to attract new customers, Dad replied.

What do you think about this one, Steve?

Dad took the brochure from her and held it up. It had a football, a basketball, and a baseball lined up in a row on the front. All sports at Camp Athletes United. Perfect. Every boy could benefit from learning new sports skills.

No. I crossed my arms over my chest and bit back what Dad would call a smart remark.

What then? I know we promised you could choose this year, but you aren't cooperating, Shane. Mom's voice had taken on a sharp edge.

Why should I cooperate? I had talked until I was practically purple in the face from exhaustion, telling my parents I didn't want to go to camp. They still insisted I'd love all these golden opportunities they were giving me. Well, I'd show them, I'd...I glanced down. The black brochure with the red lettering caught my eye. It still looked as though it were dripping. Mom thought Night Camp was dreadful. Dad agreed it was probably a bad camp.

This one, I said. I snatched up the Night Camp brochure and clutched it against my chest as though I were afraid my parents would wrestle it away and toss it into the nearest Dumpster.

You aren't serious. Mom said this like she was stating a fact, like she was saying, The moon orbits the earth.

I'm tired of the same old thing. You said I could choose. I lifted my chin to show her how firm I was about my decision.

Yes, but your cousin Bradley is attending camp with you this year. You have to consider his feelings, too.

Brad said whatever camp I picked was fine with him.

Brad actually thought camp was fun. That was because he'd never been since his parents couldn't afford to send him. But this year, my parents had given Brad four weeks at camp as his birthday present.

Let him choose, Alice. Dad did something funny with his face that made him look like a camel chewing its cud.

I knew Dad was signaling Mom that they'd talk later, when I wasn't around. Hah! They could talk all they wanted. I'd made up my mind.

***

I packed the last of about five million tee shirts into my suitcase. Every summer my mother insisted on sending enough clothes along to suit up an army of Shanes. Maybe she thought that would help me adjust to the idea of getting dumped.

Shane? It's late and we still have to pick up Bradley.

I’m on my way.

I snapped my suitcase shut and dragged it off the bed. At least Brad was coming along this time. I'd have company while I suffered.

Brad and I are total opposites. Well, not in looks. We're both skinny, blond, and blue-eyed and are the same age. But Brad hates all sports except swimming. He loves science and collecting things, while I spent most of my time outdoors. The only thing I collect is rocks. And Brad hardly ever shuts up, so that makes me seem quieter than I really am. Still, we've been best friends since forever.

I watched Dad load the suitcase into the Winnebago and climb inside. He peered out the window in a final inspection of the yard. I knew he wanted to make sure no stray hedge clippers or lawn mowers had been left out. One year he forgot to put away a rake. When we got back, it was entwined with vines as though it'd been there for a hundred years.

I locked the door, I said, without waiting to be asked. I knew the routine by now.

Great. Dad jumped in behind the wheel and started the engine. Then he fiddled with the radio, until Mom slapped his hand away.

We are not going to listen to that noise you call music, Steve. I’ve brought a bunch of books on tape and once we’re well on our way, we are going to improve ourselves with the classics.

Dad turned around and winked at me, like he thought we were allies or something. I rolled my eyes. No way. As long as he and Mom insisted on forcing me to go to camp, they were not on my side.

We headed north on the interstate, zipping past scenery that was nothing but pine trees and zillions of palmettos. Pretty boring if you asked me. At least Night Camp was in a different state somewhere, and I’d get to see new stuff. We'd take the next exit and pick up Brad. Then it was off to Night Camp, wherever it was. I'd forgotten.

There'd been a few more arguments over Night Camp. Mom kept saying it would be impossible for me to stay up all night, and Dad told me I’d be sorry I hadn’t taken the golden opportunity to go to a scuba diving camp, but I'd stuck to my guns. I'd known my parents wouldn't break a promise.

Now, though, I was kind of sorry I'd decided to pick a camp just because Mom and Dad didn’t like it. I didn't know exactly why, but I’d had this uneasy feeling inside ever since Mom mailed in my application and camp fee. The uneasiness had grown stronger every day until this morning my stomach felt knotted up like tangled yarn. I wasn’t going to admit that to my parents, though.

Without warning Dad broke into a chorus of CampWeeFun, everybody loves you.

I groaned out loud, wishing Mom had let him turn on