—Part One— —Part Three— —Part Four—
It was late, one Saturday afternoon when the rain began to lash down over the camp. The baseball game that some of the campers and counselors had going finished abruptly, and the congregation that watched on quickly separated in different directions. I watched as they sprinted to shelter—some to the mess hall, some to their cabins—shielding themselves from the downpour. A hazy mist appeared from the rain and the sky began to darken, thunder soon followed and the humidity heightened in the air. I let the hard, warm rain wash over me. The sound of laughter and doors slamming started to fade away—I finally had some silence. Without another soul on the grounds, I took in the peace and quiet. It was the first time I felt anything close to peace in over a month. I closed my eyes so I could embrace it for a little while longer and let the rain soak me.
—
When I went inside, my cabin was empty, the other guys went to the mess hall when the rain started. I took advantage of the time alone, lay on my bed and looked up at the ceiling—I listened to the the rain hitting the roof. It sounded like thousands of tiny stones were crashing onto the roof above me. At any minute, I thought it would cave in. The sound—the feeling made me anxious—like I was suffocating. I felt like I was being buried alive. I couldn’t take it much longer, I was just torturing myself—but wasn’t that what I deserved? After what happened, I mean. I didn’t feel alive anymore anyway. I felt like I died the day I decided to play along with this place and give in to Uncle John’s idea of “paradise”. I had no other choice but to play along with it. Since then, my mind was like a never-ending record, stuck on the same song. I even started to hum a tune to the phrase I had to repeat to myself every day:
Just keep smiling . . . Just keep smiling . . . Just. Keep. Smiling.
I wasn’t the same person I was when I arrived at Camp Stanleyside—not on the outside, anyway. I had to let go of the real Brody Jackson, for the sake of my life, but it began to take a toll on my sanity. Not only that, but my face hurt from all the fake smiling I did. I often found myself hearing nothing but a ringing when campers would talk to me. I’d watch their mouths flap as I beamed ear-to-ear, nodding my head after each sentence. It didn’t matter what they were talking about, it didn’t matter because they were playing the game too. Living under the threat of Uncle John. I surprised myself with how much of the bullshit I could take. How easy it was to pretend I’d conformed. I had everyone fooled. I managed to convince everyone. Almost everyone, at least.
I looked over at Rich’s bed, which hadn’t been touched by any of us since his death. He was the last person to make it, lay in it, sit on it. It was hard for any of us to even directly look at it, and I saw that in everyone’s face. There was a pain there. To the other boys it seemed like a bad omen to look at the bed. To me, it was a constant reminder of what happened to him. It played over and over in my mind like a movie reel. I couldn’t block it out, no matter how hard I tried. I’ll never forget the way he screamed for his life that night.
I shifted my eyes away from his bed, I’d been in the cabin for long enough, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. The other boys wanted to spend most of their time with me, and tended to follow me about, much to my annoyance. I had my suspicions it was intentional and that the suggestion to “check on me” came from Luke. He always watched me like a hawk.
I put my raincoat on before I ventured out into the rain. On the way out, I looked in the mirror and practiced my best fake smile. Once I had it perfected, I instantly let it sink back down again.
‘Keep it together, Brody,’ I said to my reflection.
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could.
—
The mess hall was packed out. I shuffled my raincoat before taking it off, letting the raindrops splash over the wooden floor. Most people sat talking, some of the girls were playing tennis with a balloon of all things. I waved over at Pete who was stood in the corner flirting with some girl, I could tell she really wasn’t interested. I found my other cabin buddies sat on one of the benches playing a card game.
When I sat down I didn’t even listen to what Josh said the game was. ‘Do you want to play, Brody?’ He asked, dishing cards out to Luke and Ricky.
‘Hmm, maybe later. I’ll just watch for now. Terrible weather, isn’t it?’
Luke peered up from his deck and glared at me. The others agreed but Luke didn’t respond, just briefly narrowed his eyes before focusing on his cards again. Our friendship—before everything at the lake happened—was short lived, we barely talked to each other unless we had to. I knew he saw right through me, but I didn’t let my guard down with him—as much as I wanted to. Since the day after Rich’s death, I never said another unkind word to him, never gave him any cause to get pissed off at me—I didn’t even cuss out loud anymore. And for some reason, it only made him hate me more than when I first arrived. It was nothing compared to the rage I felt whenever I was around him. I bottled it all up and instead of anger, I replaced it with that phoney joy. Just like everyone else at Camp Stanleyside.
I imagined grabbing a tennis racket off one of the girls and smashing it repeatedly over his face. The thought made me genuinely happy. ‘Don’t you agree, Luke?’ I asked, grinning at him.
He returned the gesture. ‘Yes, Brody. Just awful.’
‘There’s a new camper arriving later,’ Josh said, changing the subject.
Luke frowned. ‘How do you know?’
‘Uncle John told me,’ Josh said, which clearly pissed off Luke. Josh was Uncle John’s new golden boy. For some reason he latched onto Josh and became quite dismissive with Luke recently. Josh continued: ‘Bart’s picking him up.’
Just the mention of Bart made me dig my nails into my palm underneath the table.
—
The rain still didn’t ease off after dinner, and it was completely dark outside. Some of the campers and counselors decided to play charades in the mess hall, seeing as there was nothing else to do.
Uncle John sat in the corner and clapped. ‘What an excellent idea!’
I made my excuses to leave, I said I was going to go back to the cabin to read for a bit.
‘Oh come on, Brody!’ Josh said. ‘You’re so good at this game.’
‘Next time,’ I said, giving him a wink.
I went to get up and Josh stood up too. ‘Do you want us to come back with you?’
God, he was a needy little bitch.
‘I’m not going,’ Luke mumbled, but I ignored him.
I started to put my rain coat on and Josh mimicked me by doing the same. ‘I might come back later,’ I said. ‘Stay, enjoy yourself. I just need a bit of time. Alone. If you know what I mean?’
Josh nodded. ‘Gotcha.’
‘Thanks for that image, dude,’ Ricky chimed in, with a thumbs up.
‘Anytime.’
Luke folded his arms and stared at me as I walked away. I quickly looked over at Uncle John before I went out the door, he wasn’t paying any attention to my exit. I hoped for my sake, the lie was convincing enough to keep them all away from the cabin.
When I left the mess hall, the night’s air was muggy. The grounds were completely empty—everyone was inside. The downpour had finally stopped, but most of the camp was occupied with the game in the mess hall and I doubted they’d want to sit at a camp fire in the damp. There were no counselors keeping tabs on the grounds either. It was the perfect opportunity, one I had been waiting for for a long time. I was going to explore the woods beyond the lake.
—
I walked slowly past the lake and stared at the stillness of the water. How calm it appeared—inviting, even. The clouds had started to shift after the rain had stopped and the moon was peeking out what remained. It reflected on the lake’s surface. I hadn’t been anywhere near it since Rich’s execution. I still didn’t understand how some of the campers could kayak on it during the day, knowing full well what was beneath them. I drew my attention to the end of the dock, and the highlights of the events that took place played over in my head. I still had no idea how it was possible—still hadn’t grasped onto the idea that it was real. But I saw it with my very own eyes that day—the way it towered over that dock—over Rich—the monster that has since found its way into my nightmares.
I pondered over the idea of Uncle John feeding campers to that thing, and over Camp Stanleyside in general. I wondered why they sent delinquent kids and young adults to this place, and what purpose they really had. Surely those that got out must have mentioned how fucked up it was? But truth be told, for as long as I had been at Camp Stanleyside, none of the campers had left—not unless they were killed by that thing in the lake or whatever else they did to them. Luckily there hadn’t been another death since Rich—so far.
I didn’t have time to waste, I cleared my head, tried not to think about it anymore. The lake remained still as I paced past it and made my way into the woods.
—
The moonlight barely cracked through the tall trees. The woods were scattered with shadows from the greenery. The temperature started to drop, and the leaves blew with the light breeze—it was like walking through a dark maze that went on for miles. The whole place just looked the same, no matter how far I went. The lack of breaks between the trees made me feel claustrophobic too. I decided it was best to make my way through the woods as linear as I could. That way I knew how to get back to the camp through the lake. There was no direct pathway, and I found myself lunging over mounds and stumps just to get through it as quickly as possible. My sneakers and socks were covered in mud the more I trekked on. I felt the dampness seep through my feet—it squelched into the soles of my shoes.
The sensation made me wince. ‘Great . . .’ I huffed.
The more I went on the more my feet felt completely soaked and my legs were getting caked in filth from the wet mud. I planned to go straight to the showers when I got back to the camp so I could wash my shoes, but I had no idea how I would get them dry. I just prayed everyone would still be in the mess hall by then. It was a stupid risk going out into the woods—I know. The anxiety had already started to kick in—what if they figured out I was gone? If someone blew the conch, I would have to keep running—no matter what. So far I had encountered no threats and the silence was reassuring. I was going in blind, not knowing what measures they had to stop campers running away—if they had any at all. I still didn’t know what it was I expected to find—a road? A gate that barricaded us in? Whatever the obstacle was, I needed to know so I knew how easy it would be to get out. One way or another, I was going to escape from Camp Stanleyside. I made my mind up about that as soon as I watched Rich die.
I was cautious with every step I took, taking care to stay out of sight just in case there was someone patrolling the area. All the counselors were in the mess hall when I last saw them, but for all I knew there could be guards or something near the edges of the woods.
I stopped for a moment, and rested against a tree to catch my breath. When I assessed what was left ahead of me, I had to admit defeat. There was no way I would be able to go any further, there was no end in sight to the trees. If I didn’t turn back there and then, the likelihood was that I would be screwed. For a brief moment, I toyed with the idea to keep going; take the risk; fuck the consequences. That’s what the old me would have done, before coming to Stanleyside. But I was dealing with something that was bigger than authority—what that is, is still to be confirmed. I had to tread carefully if I wanted to survive. I moved my back away from the tree, and was about to trek back to camp until the tree I rested on began to shake. Above me, leaves fell from the branches.
I stopped in my tracks when I saw the fat, pointed tail drop down in front of me like a noose. I followed the end of the tail, scanning it as it bent over the treetop. The more I looked up, the bigger the tail got—its body began to slither over the top of the tree. It was hard to make out fully due to the lack of light—it was camouflaged in the darkness. All I knew was that it was abnormally large, but nowhere near as big as the cobra in the lake. The end of the tail traveled back up—I didn’t dare turn around. I knew it was behind me, ready to yawn and ready to pounce. It was only when I heard it hiss that I leaped away from the tree and sprinted for my life. I heard the twigs and leaves rustle as it followed me.
The snake banged into the trees during its pursuit, inches away from my feet—it was fast—lightning fast. I looked behind me and saw its thick head push past the trees. I got a quick glimpse of it’s reddish scales in the light and its amber eyes illuminated in the dark—they were hungry. I thought I was done for—the jaws expanded and it yawned, exposing its fangs. As soon as it launched from the ground, I threw myself to my left and landed in the mud. I keep my eyes closed—accepted my fate, until I heard it hiss and struggle. When I looked up, I saw its mouth was still expanded. It landed on a trunk, the fangs were embedded deeply into it. My balls raised right up to my stomach and for a moment I felt like I was about to piss myself. I panted breathlessly as I got back onto my feet and examined the serpent. It was determined, and attempted to shuffle back so it could get its fangs out of the trunk— and the whole time it tried, it never took its eyes off me. I don’t know where I found the the energy, but I carried on running while I had the chance.
—
I ran for as long as I could without stopping—without looking back. I finally saw the opening, and I was back near the lake. When I did finally stop, I bent over and coughed my guts out. I felt the sting from the cuts and grazes on my arms, legs and face. I didn’t even feel them happen when I was trying to get away from the snake.
‘Shit,’ I muttered, as I touched a cut on my arm.
I thought my heart was going to explode. I couldn’t believe how close to death I was. I guessed that was how they stopped people from escaping through the woods. I couldn’t fathom it. How many of those things are there in this place? I wondered. When I finally calmed down, I began to walk back to the camp.
I was startled when I heard footsteps, someone running. I went to hide in the bushes, but before I could he was already in front of me. He raised his touch.
‘Brody . . .What the hell happened to you?’
His voice was soft—unsure. I had déjà vu of the first time he caught me at the lake. Only this time, he didn’t know how to approach me. I avoided Bart as much as I could since Rich. Anytime he attempted to talk to me, I just smiled and walked off. It was hard to even be around him—after what he did.
‘So you’re back then?’ I asked.
Bart sighed and looked me over from head to toe. ‘I came to look for you, you weren’t with any of the others. I thought you’d ran away. What have you been doing?’
He went to walk towards me, but when he saw me flinch away from him, he reconsidered it.
‘And what if I was—running away? Would you write me up, counselor?’ I nodded my head to the lake. ‘Or would you throw me in there instead?’
‘No,’ Bart said, defiantly. ‘No. I wouldn’t—‘
I held my hand up before he could finish. I asked him: ‘Why?’
My anger bubbled in my stomach, I fought with it, tried not to let it out. But I couldn’t control it, I felt myself starting to shake. I thought I was dead meat anyway now that Bart had found me and knew what I had been up to, so there was no point in pretending.
Bart tried again. ‘Because I don’t want you to—‘
‘No!’ I said, interrupting him again. ‘Why did you drag Rich to the bottom of that dock and let that happen?’
Bart was stumped for words, he looked down at his feet like a guilty child.
‘How many times have you done that, Bart?’
Bart shook his head. ‘I’m not doing this.’
‘How. Many. Fucking. Times?’
‘Brody . . .’ Bart rubbed his hands over his face. ‘There are things you don’t understand about this place—about me. I’m just as powerless as you are. I didn’t have a choice.’
All I saw when I looked into his eyes was someone who was a lie. A complete fake. A murderer. Someone I thought was my only true ally.
‘You had a choice,’ I said. ‘We all have a choice.’
Bart’s face hardened. ‘And maybe if you had chosen yours more wisely, you wouldn’t even be here right now.’
‘You know that’s not fair,’ I quivered, I tried my best not to cry. Not in front of him—I wouldn’t let him see me that weak. I looked over at the lake. ‘What if it was me on the end of that dock?’
Bart stared at me for a few moments, biting his lip. Eventually he shrugged. ‘What makes you think that if it was you, that the situation would be any different?’
I nodded. ‘That’s all I needed to hear.’
I don’t know why, but hearing that from him was like taking a bullet—despite how much I hated him. I finally stopped shaking. He stood there without saying a word, he didn’t even move.
‘Well?’ I said. ‘Aren’t you going to alert he others?’
I glanced at him, I could tell he was definitely considering it. But instead he rolled his eyes, and motioned for me to come over. ‘Come on, we need to go. Now.’
I looked back over the lake one last time before I followed. I jumped back. In the middle of the lake, red eyes glared at me above the surface, and the scales on the cobra’s head reflected in the moonlight. Even from far away, it was almost as if it dared me to come closer.
‘Brody?’ Bart grabbed my hand and pulled me away, he briefly looked at the lake and I saw the fear in his eyes too. ‘If we don’t leave now, we are both fucked.’
I didn’t take my eyes off it, even as Bart dragged me away. When I was out of its sight, I could still see the top of the cobra’s head just resting above the water. It didn’t move an inch before until we were back on the trail, then it dunked back below.
—
Back at the camp, I heard the laughter and noise from the mess hall. Everyone was still indoors and no one was on the grounds. Instead of taking me back to my cabin, Bart took me into his. I refused at first but he insisted, practically dragging me.
‘You can’t go back in there looking like that,’ Bart said. ‘There’s a shower in my cabin, you can use that to get cleaned up.’
Bart’s cabin was small, but was a lot more homely than any of the camper cabins. It was covered in posters of 80s bands, and he even had his own TV in the corner. When I finished taking in his surroundings, he grabbed some spare clothes from his drawer, which I knew would be too big for me. In the bathroom, I finally saw myself in the mirror. I looked like I had been brutally attacked. A mixture of mud, drying blood and sweat covered my face and my clothes—I was a mess.
After I got cleaned up, Bart had a first aid kit ready and began to treat my wounds. He wiped over a cut on my leg and the alcohol burnt my skin. ‘Ow! Jesus!’
‘Don’t be such a baby,’ he said, smirking. ‘They’re just scratches.’
There was part of me that wanted to smile back at him, but it was just too much to deal with. His face reminded me of Rich—the cobra—uncle john. All of it, every time I looked at it. When he saw I wasn’t amused, he dropped his smile and carried on treating my leg. The sting felt worse every time he worked on another wound.
‘Well, I think you’ll live,’ he said, then stopped cleaning for a second so he could meet my eyes. ‘So I suppose you’re not going to tell me what happened out there, are you?’
‘Why would I? I don’t trust you.’
‘That’s fair enough.’
I shook my head side to side. I didn’t trust him, but at least he didn’t give me up to Uncle John. That was something at least. I had no one else to talk to—really talk to about any of this, so I decided to take the opportunity while it was there.
‘I saw . . . the other one.’
Bart nodded. ‘You’re very lucky to be alive.’
‘Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. How many of those things are out there?’
Bart kept his eyes down on my leg—purposefully, he avoided looking at me. ‘All done,’ he said, throwing the wipes into his trash can. ‘If anyone asks about what happened to you, which they will, say we went for a walk and you fell into a thorn bush. I’ll confirm it.’
I got up, ready to leave, but I still wanted an answer. ‘Bart?’
He walked over to his door and opened it. ‘It’s best if you don’t know. Go back to your cabin.’
I raced past him.
‘Wait,’ Bart said before I left. ‘The next time you go out there, you won’t be so lucky. There’s no way out of this place in those woods. So please, promise me you won’t go out there again?’
I walked away without responding.
—
When I went into the cabin, all the boys were in there. They all stopped talking as soon as I entered. Pete looked me up and down.
‘Brody, what happened?’ He said.
I walked over to my bed and flopped down on it. ‘I couldn’t see where I was going, I fell into a bush and cut myself. Bart had to give me some of his clothes because mine were ruined.’
Josh looked at me quizzically. ‘A bush did that?’
I laughed. ‘Yeah, I’m so clumsy.’
Josh carried on quizzing me. ‘But you said you were coming back here to read your book?’
I was stumped for an answer, too tired to explain myself. And too tired to keep up the act. I was about to tell Josh to piss off when Luke answered for me, to my surprise.
‘Is Brody not allowed to hang out with other people besides us now, Josh?’
‘No,’ Josh said, sternly. ‘I mean—yes! Of course he is! I was just saying . . .’
After that Josh, changed the subject and the other boys started talking amongst themselves. I raised myself up from the bed and winced, not only did my wounds sting but my legs felt heavy. Luke shook his head at me and mouthed: ‘Idiot.’
I cocked my head at him—he knew something. I was about to ask him to come outside with me for a chat, until the cabin door opened. It was a camper I’d never seen before. His arms were scattered in tattoos and he was almost as tall as Luke. He shifted his eyes around the room as I stared on.
Josh stood up and introduced him: ‘Brody, this is Tommy Wallace. The new camper I was telling you about. Bart introduced him to everyone earlier.’
‘Nice to meet you, Brady,’ Tommy said.
I corrected him: ‘It’s Brody.’
‘Whatever.’
When Tommy sat on Rich’s old bed, the other boys looked around at each other. I knew what they were all thinking about. I was thinking it too.
—
The next morning, Ricky, Pete and Josh took Tommy to the mess hall. I went to follow when Luke grabbed my arm.
‘Luke,’ I said, politely. ‘You’re hurting me.’
He was furious—his face was blotched and he even gritted his teeth. ‘What. The. Actual. Hell?’
I shook my head. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Drop the act. I know full well you didn’t just go for a walk with Bart last night. I watched you head for the lake when you left the mess hall. I’m not stupid, Brody.’
I shook my arm away from him, my voice back to its usual tone. ‘And so what if I did?’
‘Do you have a death wish?’
I shrugged. ‘What are you gonna do, Luke? Tell on me?’
‘You’re smarter than that. You could’ve ended up on the end of that dock—Bart too.’
‘I bet you’d love that,’ I whispered. ‘You’d probably drag me there yourself wouldn’t you?’
Luke crossed his arms. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You cheered on as your friend was slaughtered by that…that thing.’
Luke stepped away from me and sat on his bed. He gulped before he spoke again. ‘I did what I had to to survive. And I was protecting you too.’
‘You shouldn’t have bothered,’ I hissed. ‘You should have protected Rich.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe if he told me what he was planning to do, I could’ve. I’m trying to do the same thing for you now.’
‘Bullshit, you are.’
I walked out of the cabin door and my eyes widened when I saw Uncle John standing in the doorway.
‘Brody, are you alright?’ He asked. He was frowning my face, narrowing his eyes at one of the cuts.
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I said, smiling. Unconvincingly. His presence always made me uneasy, and he saw it. He thrived on it.
‘Bart already told me. How unfortunate. I just came to check they weren’t too severe, we wouldn’t want you to get an infection.’
Uncle John looked past me at look, his expression was hard to read. Did he suspect?
‘Well, I’m sure they’ll heal in no time. You boys better grab some food before it’s all gone.’
‘Thanks, Uncle John.’ I said. He bowed his head at me before he walked in the direction of the mess hall.
I let out a deep breath and leaned my head onto the door frame. Luke brushed past me. ‘Word of warning, it’s not just the monsters out there you should be scared of.’
‘I’m not scared of him,’ I lied. ‘Or anything else.’ Another lie. ‘When my time here is done, I won’t ever have to think about any of you—any of what’s happened here ever again.’
Luke stepped up to me, there wasn’t even a hint of anger there anymore. He just looked glum and defeated. He looked exhausted by it all.
‘We’re never getting out of here, Brody.’
I scoffed at him. ‘Of course we are.’
Luke bit his lip, and looked out into the distance. ‘My sentence ended nearly 18 months ago,’ he gulped again. ‘And I’m still here. I’m trying to tell you that no one has ever been released from Camp Stanleyside.’
I couldn’t speak. Luke didn’t even look at me when he walked away.
I stumbled back inside the cabin, my whole body pulsated with adrenaline, rage . . . dread. I grabbed the nearest pillow and smothered it over my face—as loud as I could, I screamed into it.
I stopped, when something fell out of the case and dropped to the floor. The pillow I grabbed was from Rich’s old bed—now Tommy’s.
On the floor, there was a phone.