The worst job I ever had was at a christian summer camp. I was a kitchen hand, but really that meant I was an untrained chef. We were severely understaffed, the hours were terrible and the housing was a nightmare, but I was in debt and I needed the cash.
What really ruined my time there was the dark. Out in the woods on an island in British Columbia, there were no city lights, and the generator shut off at ten pm sharp. Since there was only me and the main cook in the kitchen, sometimes it shut off before we were even finished in the kitchen. That’s the dark I can never forget; there was no starlight to lead us to the door, and we were forced to feel around the walls to find it.
The first incident happened on a sunday night, I remember because guests and camping groups arrived on sundays, and we’d serve cocoa. I’d been sent into the dining room to wipe down the tables. I was still in there when the genny shut off. The darkness swallowed the room in an instant. I wasn’t done with the tables, but figured I could finish in the morning and I started trying to find the door. The windows were black, the tables were black, I reached out with my hands in front of me and took small, shuffling steps. The dark seemed to seep into my eyeballs, I was blinded to anything around me.
I walked for about a minute. Even with my small steps I should have reached theend of the mess hall. I kept walking. My little shuffles were the only sound, and I was starting to get nervous that my fingers hadn’t yet brushed the wall. I turned 90 degrees and kept going, I’d been pretty close to the southern wall when the genny went out, and expected to hit it quickly. Nothing. I walked for thirty seconds with no change. Maybe I’d lost my sense of direction, maybe I was nowhere near the wall at all. That’s when the hopelessness set in. Deep, deep in my bones there was an infectious, debilitating dread. I tried to ration with myself, the sun would rise again and I’d be able to see, but it was hard to believe. The darkness was consuming.
I kept walking, I didn’t even bother being careful, I’d gladly run into a wall it it meant finding one. The walking turned to jogging turned to running, my sneakers squeaked on the waxy wooden floor. I skidded to a halt and doubled over, panting.
“Hello?” I shouted, the night consuming my words. “Hello? I’m still in here!” The only response was a slight echo. I started walking again. Whatever was happening, I’d brace myself and walk out of it. I only had eight hours between this shift and next shift, and I wouldn’t spend all of them in here.
“Hello?” A voice called out from somewhere nearby. The echo changed the voice, I couldn’t make out who it was.
I perked up, hope flooding my chest. “Hello?” I yelled. “Molly is that you? Do you have a light?”
“Hello? I’m still in here!” That gave me pause. I stood dead still, listening. “Hello? Molly is that you? Do you have a light?”
I didn’t even shift my weight, not letting myself shudder as the words were thrown back at me.
“Who is that?” I asked, praying it was some camper out of bed playing a prank.
“Who is that?”
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?” This time it was slower, more careful, as if struggling to pronounce the words.
I didn’t move. “Hey, man. Turn on the lights, I’m gonna punch anyone who comes too close.” This time, the voice didn’t return, but there was a distent squeak of shoes on the floor. “Hello? Hello?”
A sudden light blinded me. I staggered back, bumping into the wall and tripping.
“Danny?”
I heaved a sigh, even through the echo, I new that kiwi accent anywhere. “Ritta?”
“I was just coming by to lock up, are you not done in here?”
I shook my head. “No. No, I’m done.” I stood, glancing around me. Ritta’s flashlight lit up the floor, the wall, the corkboard… everything was as it should be. In fact, I was barely a few feet from the table I’d been cleaning. “Hey, what were you playing at, copying me like that?”
“Copying you?”
“Yeah, copying everything I said, you shoulda just came in and got me.” My anger and embarrassment overcame my common sense, and I was almost yelling at my manager now, words bouncing off the walls and back at me. “It’s not funny!”
“Dan, I only just got here, I was down at the shack turning off the genny.”
I checked my watch. 10:03. That whole ordeal had taken three minutes. “But, I heard someone…”
“This old place plays tricks on you.” She assured, laying a hand on my shoulder and guiding me to the door. “It spooks me all the time. You should try to get back to your trailer.”
I followed the crunch of the gravel back to the old, broken-down RV I was staying in, grabbing my phone off the bed and lighting it up. The trailer had no lock, so I was always careful to check it out before going to sleep.
The next morning was normal, the sun rose, I was up and at it in the kitchen at 6:30, the generator switched on at seven, we served breakfast at 8:30. Everything was as it should be, and I found myself doubting the events of the previous night, chalking it up as overwork and nerves. It wasn’t until the next incident that I began to rethink.
The second occurrence was a few days later. One of the counsellor asked for tie dye stuff and with Molly– my cook– ‘s permission, I hung up my apron and crossed the little revine to the art lodge. The art lodge was primarily used as storage, being too chalked full of mold to be used for games or crafts. It was just past noon, and sunlight slid horizontally across the lodge’s floor. I didn’t know where the tie dye stuff was, so I started looking; under counters, in packed-full closets, in the grimy bathroom that had had its water shut off years ago…
With no where else to look, I walked deeper into the lodge, passing dusty old sleeping quarters and piled up furniture.
Finally I found a door, a camper-made crayon sign read: “Textiles”.
I opened the door. It was a closet really, with no light switch. I left the door open and began fumbling around in the messy plastic bins. Felt, shirts, yarn…
The door creaked shut behind me. Assuming it was a draft, I reached my hand back to push it open again, I needed the light. My fingers met firm wood. I pushed. Nothing shifted. Abandoning my search, I whipped around, shoving at the door. nothing. No light poured in from the crack beneath, it was all dark. I cursed, throwing my wieght against it, though it succeeded in nothing besides bruising my shoulder.
My greedy fingers felt along the wood, seeking the crack around the door. Nothing. I kept going, meeting the corner and the wall, but there was no crack where it met the door. I felt for the knob, but in the dark I couldn’t find it.
“Fuck.” I spat, for lack of anything else to say.
“Fuck.” A muffled voice replied through the not-door.
“Hello?” I shouted. “Hello? Can You let me out? I’m locked in! Hello?”
“Hello? Hello? can you let me out?” The words were slow, deliberate, not even bothering to mimmic my frantic tone. “I’m locked in. Hello?”
“Stop fucking with me!” I slammed my weight against the wall again, heartrate picking up.
“Stop fucking with me.”
I slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. I was never particularly claustrophobic, but now, feeling the shelves dig into my ribs on both sides, it was different.
I didn’t utter another word, waiting.
“Dan?”
I perked up, scrambling to my feet. “Molly? Mol! Let me out! Let me–”
I fell through the open door, practically landing on her.
“Did you lock yourself in?” Molly asked, looking down at me. “Aw, poor baby, no wonder you were gone so long.”
“So long?” I asked, trying to stop the trembling. “What, what time is it?”
“Honey, you were gone an hour!” She stooped, grabbing a plastic bin from behind me. “I’ll get this to the counsellors. You get back there and to the onions.”
I staggered out of the lodge and down the trail, nearly blinded my the sunlight. An hour. I’d been in there an hour. I could have sworn it was barely a minute…
I returned to work. I didn’t have any other choice; it was my job. We had barely two hours till dinner and over a hundred people to feed, it’s not like I could just walk it off or take a nap like before. I really needed the money.
I’d always been a skeptic, I didn’t spook easily, but after the art lodge incident I was definitely cautious. I kept my phone on me, and always made a point to block doors with my heel to be sure it wouldn’t close unexpectedly. For a day or so things seemed to be normal again, I clipped a flashlight onto my belt in the evenings and used it the second the genny went out. I would not be caught in the dark again.
On saturday the guests left, and with fifteen-ish hours until the next group arrived, the staff decided to take a swim down at the dock. After a sixteen hour work day it was a relief, I shimmied into my bathing suit and trotted down to the rocky beach with Molly and the life guards.
I set my flashlight on the dock beside my towel before diving in, the night lit by nothing but the stars and Ritta’s lantern.
“Danny!” I turned to Michael, the first aid attendant. “Race to Counsellor’s Rock?”
“That’s pretty far.” I replied, squinting to the tiny moonlit island.
“Are you scared?”
I wasn’t. I was a strong swimmer. We both reeled back and dove off the warf. I hit the icy water and sunk to the sand beneath. I kicked off the ground to resurface, but I didn’t. It was like my feet stuck to the ocean floor, like gravity had increased, pulling me down. I swiped wildly with my arms, kicking and flailing to get to the surface. I hadn’t taken a huge breath, so I was frantic.
I fought the pulling sensation, surfacing enough for a single breath.
I kicked off one of the warf supports, blindly swimming in what I assumed was the correct direction. I swam about a minute, panting for breath, before I opened my eyes. What I saw filled my bones with concrete dread: Nothing. I saw nothing. Just blackness. Not even the starlight on the lapping waves. I twirled my legs to stay up, glancing over my shoulder. It was like I didn’t turn around at all, it was all the same black. No warf, no lantern, no light.
“No, No, Fuck, please!” I babbled to myself, the nerves of the dark and the overwork compiling all at once. “No, please! Jack! Mike! Mol!” I kicked around in the water blindly. “Ritta? Ritta? Boss?”
I almost expected the familiar voice, mimicking my words as it had before. Nothing. Not the sound of lapping waves, not an echo, not a breeze. Just blackness and silence. I was alone. There was never any malicious voice mocking me, was there? it was just nothing that I heard. It was a feeble attempt to fill the void. My bones felt heavy, my tendons tired and weak, I was starting to sink again.
I kicked harder, but it was in vein. I gasped a final warm breath before I fell beneath the tide. I was sinking, drowning, the compress of the heavy salt water pushing the air from my lungs. I was dying. I was going to die.
I kept sinking, but never reached the ocean floor. I could feel drafts passing through my ribcage, I felt flesh bloat and slough, I felt limbs disconnect and drift away…
Dry wood splinters dug into my back. I gasped for air, darting upright so fast my forehead hit something.
“Danny!” A muffled voice shouted. My ears popped and hot water trickled from one. I could feel someone sitting over me, still straddling my chest with their hands locked in position for CPR.
“Danny, holy shit.”
Ritta grabbed my shoulders. “Danny, sweetie are you okay?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t. “Turn… Turn… Turn on the light.” I gargled.
The dock went quiet, the tide lapping beneath us.
“Danny. The light is on.”
I reached up, checking my eyes were open. My fingertip brushed eyeball. They were open. They were open and I couldn’t see.
“Holy shit.” I began to hyperventilate. “Holy shit, Holy shit…” My words became incoherent and mumbled, my wet lungs rattled. Someone was talking but I couldn’t hear them. Someone picked me up and tried to walk me somewhere, but my knees gave out, busting open on the warf. Hot blood dribbled down my legs.
I don’t remember when my sight returned. It wasn’t the next morning, because I remember feeling the sun’s warmth in the dark. I couldn’t go back to work, chained with guilt that Molly was all by herself. Ritta told me not to worry, but I could tell she was stressed. There was talk of taking me to hospital, but getting an emergency boat out there was expensive and dangerous.
On the second day I could see more, though the entire day seemed to be in eclipse. The sun looked black and anything that produced any light at all became a blind spot.
I was back to work on Tuesday, though I dodged orbs that Molly claimed weren’t there, and poured water into glasses that no one else could see.
I left at the end of the week, unable to finish the season. Since then I’ve worked a little here and there, but money’s been tight. Ritta said I was always welcome there, and with bills piling up things have been desperate. But I don’t think I can go back. There’s something… wrong at that camp. Something old and dangerous. Something that almost claimed my life.
I don’t think I can risk returning, but I guess we’ll see how desperate I get.