Crimson Summer - Chapter Four

“Marion”

Marion stood at the front of the convoy of buses, directing the kids into their separate lines. She had put on her "counselor face" the moment the buses peeked around the corner of the long dirt drive. Laidback could come after she went through all the rules. For now, she needed some fear and respect. All she needed was twenty minutes.

Marion certainly hoped it would be a good group this year. Every year was a gamble and last year she had fourteen kids that she had to send home for inappropriate behavior. Nearly all of it involved some kind of sexual activity. “It happens at camp,” she had said, but that made no difference to Al, who had implemented a strict policy against said activities. The biggest drama came when two of the discovered lovers were both boys. While Marion did a good job to keep news from spreading throughout the camp -- in an attempt to save the boys from any harassment -- their father's wiped all of that away in barrage of swear words as they exited office cabin. Neither boy came back and Marion shuddered to think of the things they had to go through with their homophobic fathers. Assholes.

Fortunately for the counselors, the no sex rule was in effect for campers only. If Al had the same rule for counselors, he wouldn't have any counselors by the end of the summer. Marion even had a "camp boyfriend" (definition: a standard boyfriend type who exists only during the month of summer camp attendance) several years back but that ended in heartbreak when she found him in bed with one of the older campers. It was her own fault, she supposed. It was their second summer together and she still hadn't had sex with him. Sure, they had made out and she blew him a couple times near the end of the previous summer, but it never ended in sex . . . or climax. She just didn't ever really feel like doing it with him. He was nice and all but there never seemed to be the connection that she wanted to have in order to fuck someone. One night stands weren't really her thing. Apparently they were Jake's.

The kids looked respectable enough, but with today's youth, it was certainly a different definition from generation's past. Getting them corralled was easy enough but that was more due to Carol darting all over the place, trying to put everyone in a specific spot than it actually being calm and orderly. Once everyone settled, Marion stepped to the front of them, the six other counselors taking places behind her, and everyone seemed to know it was time to shut up.

"I know that you're all anxious to get into your groups and start today's activities.  But unfortunately we have a looooot of the boring stuff to go over first."

"I think you mean uber fun stuff there, Marion," Carol chimed in. Marion ignored her, shaking her head at the fact that Carol never seemed to escape her image of total camp suck up. Marion on the other hand had an easygoing demeanor that allowed for the kids to connect with her. She was laidback and didn't care, this was just a job. This was one of the many reasons that Al chose her as head counselor four years back. The kids respected her and would actually listen when she had something to say.

"Okay, we have to do roll call.  If I butcher your names, I'm sorry but some of you have names that are next to impossible for me to pronounce. That's just a fact of life as I’m sure you’ve found out throughout school. Don't worry, I'll avoid anything that sounds like it could be turned into a bad nickname," Marion said, making some of the kids laugh and snicker to themselves, "So let's get this over -- oh!  You'll also be assigned groups.  Duh, almost forgot.  And since I'm a weirdo who always does everything backwards, I'll start at the end of the alphabet . . . Santiago Valenzuela?"

Marion was expecting the worst with this one, given that he was ordered by the court to attend the camp but honestly, he didn't look that bad. Sure, Donny was seventeen-years-old with a dozen tattoos, but he certainly didn't look any worse than the other troublemakers she had seen throughout the years. His file made him out to be a gangbanger but, outside of the glares at Carol, he seemed sweet enough.

"Elizabeth Thompson?"

Marion was relieved to see Liz, her favorite recurring camper. There weren't many carryovers from year to year so it was hard to not grow attached to those that did. Her brown hair and often punk-rock clothing, reminded Marion a lot of herself a couple years ago. It’s probably why they bonded as much as they did.

Their official bonding moment came when she caught Liz smoking a joint down by the lake.  It was nearly midnight, so given the camps early schedule, most of the campers and counselors were fast asleep. Liz usually wouldn't have had anything to worry about except that, unbeknownst to her, Marion liked to smoke by the lake too.

Liz almost hadn't noticed when Marion took a squat next to her, the joint already almost down to a roach.

"You know, smoking is bad for you," Marion said, thinking, At least that's what I think I'm supposed to say.

"I can't think of anything better for me right now," Liz shot back.

"Fucks with your memory, actually," said Marion.

"What," Liz said, not entirely believing her.

"Yeah, smoking before eighteen can be bad news. Maybe even twenty-five -- I can't remember -- but short term memory can just completely go to shit. Then you can't remember where you put your keys for the rest of your life," Marion said, before quickly correcting herself, "Oh wait -- cellphones. That’s what I meant. Keys are practically obsolete now right?"

"So are you just out here trying to catch campers smoking?" Liz asked and caused Marion to immediately erupt in laughter.

"Probably under my job description somewhere but no ma’am," Marion said.

"Midnight stroll?" Liz asked, still curious and hoping to somehow get out of trouble.

"I guess you could say that," Marion said, pulling out a joint of her own and resting it between her lips.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Liz exclaimed.

In a moment that could have gotten her fired, she lit the joint and took a massive drag, handing it over to Liz afterward. This resulted in Marion playing several songs off her cracked iPod from Pink Floyd, The Residents and Velvet Underground. It was a bonding moment they hoped to share every year after, but Marion received her head counselor promotion that next year so it was only brought out on special occasions.

Being that this was Liz's last year, there was a certain bitterness to her presence. As much as Al wanted Marion to recruit Liz as a counselor, it was the last thing Marion wanted for her. Who in their right mind would stay here that long? Marion would think but then a mental image of Carol would always pop into her head. Old reliable Carol would, that’s who.

It took nearly 20 minutes to get through the hundred campers, mostly due to Carol and her excited squeal every time she'd get a new kid for her group. Seemed by the end that every child that wasn't called yet was just hoping to be placed in any group besides that one. This was typical but Marion still found it infinitely amusing.

Marion's group seemed decently behaved, although it was next to impossible to feel out a group in that environment, so it was really still up in the air. Having Liz certainly guaranteed that she would still at least enjoy some aspect of the activities this summer. Plus, Diane and Barry were taking the kids under 15, so it wasn't going to be too difficult for the rest of them.

Marion was relieved because this was usually the part where Carol stepped in, taking the leadership role and talking up the camp. Which meant that Marion could tune out for a good half hour. Which is precisely what she did. While Carol droned on, going over her complete daily routine as if it would be their own, Marion stared off thinking about the fireside beers the counselors would be sharing later. She really needed that right about now.

"Okay, I'm sure all of you are antsy to start all of the crazy fun but first we have the most important part of the day! Let’s give a big round of applause to all those wonderful counselors of yours!!! And now the man you all came here to see," Carol stopped for a moment to laugh at her own joke, "The magnificent Al!" 

Makes him sound like a magician, Marion thought. 

A large man stepped out, Al Bundy-like in his characteristics; an irony not lost among the counselors and a couple campers. The most obvious of these traits was the gut that protruded from his shirt in an almost cartoon-like way and the hairline that reached around to the back of his head. 

"Hello Campers!" Al said enthusiastically but rehearsed, "Are you ready to have some fun?"

The response from the campers was mostly groans, with Carol's excited squeals piercing through it to make it at least seem like more people were all about the fun. The other counselors just stood behind Al, their interest may have been even less than the campers, having listened to this routine several times before.

"You know, this camp is a part of my being as much as the blood in my veins. My great grandfather opened up this place in 1912 with just the money he had saved up while building houses all along the great town of Hodder -- that's the town you passed on the way in, ladies and gents. Anyway, it started off small, just maybe half a dozen campers at first. Then every year there'd be more and more and he'd build more cabins and more boats. Finally, he had built all the great things you see here today -- with a little help from my father and me, obviously. So we have been providing nonstop excitement and thrills all the way since 1912, a fact I'm quite proud--"

"What about '91?" a boy shouted unexpectedly from the back. Al ignored it and plastered a big fake smile on his face, though the outburst clearly got to him. Marion couldn't believe someone actually said something. It had been years since the event was mentioned in this manner. Seemed like it gone to legend and escaped public fact.

"We've had thousands of campers enjoy the facilities and make life long bonds, be it with your peers, your counselors, or even your ole camp owner -- hey, don't laugh.  It has happened," Al said with a belly laugh. Marion could hear the nervousness in his voice. He put on a good show, but it was painfully obvious to her just how much the question affected him.

1991 was not a year that Al wanted to discuss.

END CHAPTER FOUR

NEXT CHAPTER: "DONNY"

Crimson Summer - Chapter Three

READ CHAPTER ONE AND TWO!

       

“Carol”

The level of excitement that Carol awoke with was nearly too much for her to handle. Endorphins pumped and her nerves went on edge. The day was finally here. The day she had waited for all year long. The one she thought about constantly, sitting at her boring receptionist job at the university, twiddling her thumbs and just picturing all the great things that would start this day. This was like Christmas to her. No, this was bigger than Christmas; this was the first day of Summer Camp.

It didn't matter what anyone thought about her excitement, she showed it without shame. She had been there for several weeks helping to prep the camp with most of the other counselors and it was hard enough to get the smile off her face. And while she certainly enjoyed that -- one of the only counselors that did -- this trumped everything else. No one else understood the camp like she did. Except maybe Al, whose enthusiasm was more contained than Carol's. The day of campers’ first arrival was the true beginning of all the fun for her.

The last few nights had been spent carefully preparing her routine. Every year she would follow a basic structure but there were always tweaks and areas to improve. First, she'd wake up at 5:30am, get out of bed and immediately wash her face with cold water. Then apply a cleanser and wash it off. She'd then wipe her face with Stridex pads and allow the exfoliant to work its magic. This was valuable time that she combed her hair. Getting all knots out of her mane transitioned smoothly into the ponytail she'd put it into.

After making her way to the bathroom at 6:00, she would take only a two and a half minute shower, as to not take all the hot water from the other counselors. Not to mention the annoying showering plumbing that would sometimes go ice-cold out of nowhere. The longer you were in, the higher your chances of getting iced. Simple fact of camp life. Carol tried to fix it but given that she had no experience in the subject whatsoever, she did more harm than good. Big Al certainly wasn't appreciative of the $2,000 bill from the plumber.

Spending twenty-two-and-a-half minutes adjusting her make-up, which looked shockingly similar to how she looked without said beauty products, she put her hair into its signature ponytail and started the strangest part of her daily routine. She'd stare at the mirror for a good two minutes, pumping herself up, much like a coach does to their players before a big game. She did this every morning. That was it for her personal routine. Then it came into the fun stuff: the counselor routine.

First she'd go to her campers’ bunk at precisely 7:30, waking them up with the rapid clanging of the bell, hung outside the cabin. They'd wake up on the grouchy side, but nothing Carol couldn't fix with a massive smile and interesting fact, usually regarding sleep and often more opinion than fact. Her go-to on the first morning was always, "The natural human sleep cycle follows the sun, and the more you do too, the more likely you'll grow up to be big and bright." Lots of opinion.

                After shuffling the campers off to the showers, an activity she allotted 45 minutes of time for, she'd calmly read her school books in front of the cabin. Sometimes she'd peek in on the girls and tell them to hurry up, just to keep them in line and maybe hear some choice gossip.

Once the campers were all showered and dressed, it was time for the meeting at the flag. Here, every group would stand in line and say the pledge of allegiance as the American flag was risen high in the sky. They used to have a prayer at the end but that changed in the 90's to a moment of silence, then finally in the 2000's, it was dropped completely.

The Camp Watanka song would follow. Carol, accompanying on the guitar and easily the loudest voice at the camp, would stand near the front and sway back and forth, like she was on a stage in front of thousands and thousands. She really liked that damn song. 

With the campers' stomach's grumbling, it was time for breakfast. This would usually happen at 8:30 but given Al's looseness with scheduling, it would sometime go over or under by several minutes. No matter though, Carol always kept a spare hacky sack on her when she needed to fill time and build bonds of friendship in her group.

Giving a helping hand to Marjory, the camp cook and a staple of Camp Watanka since 1973, Carol would stand behind the counter and serve food.  It was her way of making sure every camper had their meal for the day and no one went hungry. Carol had read long ago that an easy way to avoid a grouchy teenager was to give them plenty of fuel for the day ahead, something she treated like it wasn't common knowledge to society. It was.

It took almost thirty minutes to get all of the kids through the line, then an additional thirty minutes for them to eat -- thirty five if it was omelet day. This meant that by the time they were ready to separate into groups and begin the day’s activities, it was already 9:30. Carol repeatedly told Al that the kids were slow and should be faster so that they can start the activities by 8:30 but Al just wouldn't budge. He claimed, "The kids needed their sleep and don't need to be rushed everywhere," or something stupid, at least Carol thought so. She had far too much to do to have such a late start.

Once separated into groups, this was when the day really began, or so Carol believed. This was when all her hard planning paid off. See, she didn't treat the day’s activities like most other counselors; an unfortunate fact given the amount of time Carol spent lobbying for her system to be implemented camp-wide.

From health books on physical fitness for youths, to psychology books about mental stimulation through problem solving, each book was a tool in her overall plan to make these kids, at the end of the two month period, better in every way possible. These were the minds of tomorrow, and Carol needed to do everything she could to nourish them and let them flourish.

The other counselors found her odd for some reason.

The three hour period of activities before lunch ranged from scavenger hunts, hide and seek, word association games, eventually culminating in a trust fall for each of the group members. This was Carol's favorite activity because it showed how much the kids got more comfortable around each other, and more importantly around Carol, who needed their approval.

Then at 12:30, lunch would follow a similar structure to breakfast, with Carol assisting Marjory with food. Given that the campers were more awake from all the physical activity, Carol would bust out her guitar and sing upbeat poppy music. Carol could sometimes see certain campers bobbing along to the tune. That was enough for her to consider her job well done.

After lunch at precisely 1:30, all of the groups would remain as one and do a massive activity. This would range from rock climbing to baseball to basketball to capture the flag, all depending on the day. Marion would usually take the reins here but Carol would end up taking over naturally throughout the course of the session. For some reason, Marion would often look at Carol, annoyed as she yelled out commands, trying to make the game more fun. Some people just don't understand how to have fun, Carol thought.

Next came the time of the day that Carol tried to get rid of year after year, considering it was nothing other than hormonal fraternizing and nonsense: swimming time. The entire camp would venture to the lake and enjoy the water and sunshine. Carol claimed it was nothing other than a chance for the boys to oogle the girls who are themselves being inappropriate by wearing such scantily clad clothing. Carol would watch over them on top the lifeguard stand, with her custom made one-piece bathing suit; an item of clothing that looked popular in the 1950's.

5:30 the groups would separate into whatever specialty class they wanted to take. These included kayaking, archery, pottery, and woodworking. Carol taught pottery and her attendance numbers were well below the average for the other groups. Al always told Carol she needed to come up with a different one.

"Kids just aren't that into spinning clay," he once said.

Carol scoffed at the notion, refusing to believe such an art-form would go unappreciated. It just gave a cause to her pottery class. Last year she had two campers sign up.

Dinner time would spring up around 6:30 and the groups would converge much like lunch and breakfast. This time, however, Carol wouldn't join Marjory to pass out food. Since dinner had a much looser feel given the lack of planned activities afterwards, Al told Carol it was unnecessary for her to help out. Carol refused, but when Al said that dinner was valuable bonding time for the counselors, she shut up and did as told. So instead she sat at the counselor's table, trying her hand at bonding with her coworkers. It usually resulted in silence while she judged whatever the others were talking about.

Once dinner finished, it was considered "free-time" though really, it depended on your age. The older campers were allowed to either go to the campfire pits, stay in the mess hall for board games, or return to their cabins. Most would split their time between the fires and the cabins. The younger kids would be forced to stay in the mess hall. Carol remained in the hall and played board games with those that stayed. 

Once 9:00 hit, Carol would close up shop in the mess hall, sending the campers back to their cabins in order to keep the 9:30 curfew. Usually she'd have some difficulty getting some of the older kids to leave the campfire, but then Marion would come along and deal with it. Carol resented the position Marion had, but she was at least thankful for the respect she commanded. It was always something that Carol strove for.

At precisely 9:35, Carol would enter the cabin she shared with Marion who, unless she was suffering from an illness or invested in a really good book, wouldn't be back in the cabin for several hours. She'd be hanging out with the other counselors from times ranging anywhere from 12:00 to 3:33am. Once Marion didn't even come back to the cabin. Carol was shocked at Marion's pure disregard for her own mental health.

After a fairly quick routine of removing her makeup and brushing her teeth, she'd rest her head on her pillow and fall asleep, no later than 10:00pm. Usually.

These were her days. This was her routine. This was the only way she knew how she live at the camp. It may have made her predictable but that's how Carol liked it. Old reliable Carol.

The 16x16 structure that Carol called home during her time at Watanka had become more of a home to her than even her childhood house. This was where she actually enjoyed spending her time. A place that always seemed to represent something better. At least that's what Carol would often tell herself when she was away from it. It wasn't like her cabin was anything special. She shared it with Marion, the head counselor, a person Carol both looked up to and despised. So space was tight. And outside of beds, they had to share everything else. Even drawers, which sometimes lead to the wearing of each other's clothes on accident. Marion didn't care much about it. Carol did. Still, it had a comfort to it that Carol just couldn't seem to replicate anywhere else. 

Carol's appearance completely encapsulated her personality: her strawberry blonde locks almost too perfect and full of volume. Her flawless skin glowed in the most doll-like of ways. Carol clearly took good care of herself in every way. In fact, she may have even been considered attractive if she actually dressed the part.  Instead she often looked closer to that of a Mormon intent on never having sexual relations.

In the bunk next to her own, Marion stirred awake, immediately grabbing the small cartridge next to her bed and taking a small puff. Those damn electronic cigarettes, Carol thought to herself, being a person that despised all smoking. Eyes still closed, Marion exhaled deeply, opening her eyes to see Carol, her eyes already meeting Marion's gaze. Those wide, blue, doll-like eyes.

"You have to stop doing that. One of these days I'm gonna have a heart attack or you're gonna accidentally get socked in the face.  Either, or," Marion said, covering up her mouth to yawn.

"Well wake up, boss," Carol smiled obnoxiously.

"I don't know how you do it," Marion said, barely getting the words out through another yawn, "5AM and you're as chipper as ever. And no alarm clock, even."

"You don't have an alarm clock either," she said with a ridiculous amount of pep.

"You are my alarm clock, Carol," Marion sighed, clearly not impressed with the situation which would repeat itself for the next month.

"Well, you're welcome then," Carol responded with a big smile.

"Yeah, waking up to Princess Peach staring at me is a wonderful way to start my day. Not terrifying in the least." Marion laid the sarcasm on thick.

"Oh come on! Don't be a sour puss. The kids arrive in just a few short hours! We're about to change lives," Carol said playfully. Her voice was light and flowing, taking cadences from nearly every Disney princess, forming a unique and even ridiculous speech pattern. Marion ignored it easily, given her many, many years of practice.

"Yeah and I have paperwork to file for two last minute applicants, a phone call I need to make to Steve to figure out what's wrong with payroll since currently no one is being paid and I can't really corral a bunch of irresponsible college kids to work without reward," Marion said, catching her breath. "That's all prior to when a hundred kids join us, where they need to be separated into bunks, hopefully ones that don't cause problems but you know how that goes, it's pretty much just luck. Then we have to set up the whole schpeal about what to expect and sing that stuuuupid song. God I hate that fucking song."

"I love that song," Carol slipped right into it before Marion could even react.

"Ohhhh I looove, Camp Watanka

It's the best camp in the whole United Staaaates.

There's no sad place, on our campers face

Because with all the fun to be had youuuu must embrace,

And brace yourself, for days of fun.

Cause it’s all right here for eeeeeeveryyyyyoooooone!

Camp Watanka!"

  

Marion was out of the cabin to go shower before Carol was even done singing. 

END CHAPTER THREE 

NEXT CHAPTER: "MARION"

Crimson Summer - Chapter Two

Read Chapter One HERE

“Liz”

        Another year. That's the only thought that ever seemed to go through Liz's head as she boarded the bus for another journey into what felt like an oddly familiar alien world. Another year spent listening to Big Al tell stupid jokes, Carol act overly excited for anything going on in the camp, and that stupid "unity bash" at the end. I hate all of it, Liz thought. She walked down the cramped bus aisle, laughing at the yet-again chipping and in need of a paint job interior.  The bus driver always claimed, "He'd get to it after he dropped them off at camp."  It never happened.  The driver was just a lazy jackass, Liz had surmised. Probably not far off given his faded “Class of ‘89’” T-shirt from what must have been high school.

Even with the chipping paint, Liz probably would have been disappointed had there been a fresh coat of paint present for nostalgia’s sake. It was all part of the package and the routine of it all. Summer camp was just such a routine in and of itself that even the things she used to hate about going became things she looked forward to. She just had to go through fits of annoyance with the process to get there. Going to Watanka had become such a big part of Liz's life that she stopped complaining to her parents about it long ago. It didn't matter what she said anyway. They were sending her and that was that. Oddly enough she couldn't help but be a little grateful about the whole ordeal. The idea of staying around her parents was more torture than spending 36 days at Camp Watanka.

Taking her seat, her eyes scanned the crowd on Bus 2, trying to see if she spotted any familiar faces. Was that the cute boy from Bunk Barracuda last summer? No, he said his family was moving back to Arizona. Oh wait, Liz thought, that's definitely Molly Austin near the back. Her hand quickly rose to greet her but stopped the moment the realization came to her that Molly had a very distinct mole on her left cheek. This girl had no mole. Fuck. That girl always would sneak in whiskey.  So much for that, Liz sighed. Her eyes continued to scan, trying to figure out if this would be another summer she had to completely start over with friends.

It wouldn't be the first time that she had to start anew. Outside of the Belar Twins, she was the only consistent camper that Camp Watanka had. And that was probably for good reason. Summer camps had their hey-day in the 1980's and had casually fallen off ever since. Nowadays, the only kids that went were those that either A) wanted to try it out once or B) their parents wanted them out of the house so they were going to be leaving for the summer regardless of their own opinion. Didn't exactly leave the ripest friends for the picking but Liz made do.

No, what scared her more than the prospect of new friends were the counselors treating her like she was the teacher's pet. Given that the Camp only had three consistent campers, it was hard to not be labeled as such when every counselor and the big boss knew your name. Early on Liz had even begged her parents to let her just go to a different camp. Anywhere that would help out her social standing. They refused, despite intense whining and rebellion. Didn't matter to them. Not like they wanted a daughter to begin with.

Another year she tried to convince her parents to sign her up under a different name, and surprisingly she succeeded. Her new wardrobe, haircut, and voice lasted all of two seconds; the illusion shattering the moment she stepped off the bus. Crazy Carol was able to sniff her out in a heartbeat, making an even bigger deal about her appearance and odd trickery. She didn't make any friends that summer. In fact, that summer was definitely the worst.

        Not having learned her lesson, two years ago Liz made a scene during the opening speech, cussing out Big Al in front of the entire camp. It wasn't Liz's finest moment but she thought it would prove a point. Instead, Big Al took it upon himself to treat her as a pet project. His grand plan was to make Liz fall in love with the camp and all it offered, just like Carol did. He had her do all sorts of things: set up game nights and arts and crafts for other campers, helped serve food during all three meals, and lead the campfire songs, most of which consisted of non-participation and one person singing -- usually Carol. Liz just saw it as Al training her to be the next Carol, something all campers wanted to avoid.

While this clearly wasn't the end result, it did help Liz gain an apathetic approach to her feelings on the camp. Instead of hating everything about Watanka on the outside, she just hid those feelings on the inside, rather than ruining the time for other campers. The camp would do that job on its own. 

Liz found an empty seat near the middle of the bus that wasn't completely falling apart or covered in old gum. She sat down on it with a grunt, bringing up a cloud of dust that joined the mixture of body odor and "country air" that filled the bus. Other kids, ranging anywhere from nine to eighteen, congregated towards the back, which prompted an "I've got my eyes on you back there" from the bus driver. Staring out the window, Liz looked through the crowd of parents, searching for her own mother and that ridiculously large hat of hers. Nowhere to be found. How the hell can I not see her in that -- Just when she was going to give up the search, she spotted her mother's car speeding off down the road, blowing up dust behind her. The other parents looked at the car, then at each other, clearly disapproving of her mother and her actions. Liz just shook her head, If you only knew.

        Hearing more ruckus from outside, Liz looked out, seeing another vehicle, driving extremely fast as well, and coming directly towards the bus. The car skidded to a halt, some of the parents backing away a little, as a disheveled teenage boy stepped out. The driver didn't even get out, yelling something out that Liz could only catch part of: "Jeannie." Odd name for a boy, Liz pondered, wondering if she even heard it right.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, the car sped away, leaving the boy and his bag of luggage behind. Those may be worse parents than mine. Maybe. The boy made his way onto the bus, his eyes looking down at the floor. He was clearly close to Liz's age, so that was a plus, and his messy brown hair, parted to the side, reminded her of that cute boy from a couple years back. Liz scanned the seats around her, mostly full up. Those with one free seat had a bag next to them, sending a clear anti-social message. Liz, on the other hand, had her bag snugly between her legs, and plenty of room on the seat next to her. 

It didn't even seem like the boy was paying attention when he plopped down in the seat next to Liz. She greeted him with a smile but his eyes darted right down to his lap, holding tightly onto the phone in his grasp.

"I doubt you're really gonna to need that," Liz laughed. The boy's eyes darted up at her, defensive before he even got a word out.

"What?" he proclaimed, even though he clearly knew what was happening.

"They don't allow cellphones really," she stated, "They started it a couple years ago. I think some kid got his MacBook dropped in a lake or something. The parents sued, and the camp almost went under. Now they just don't let people bring expensive electronics. I think Al just really hates technology and doesn’t want us all on our phones throughout the summer. It all gets locked up in the main office. Two years ago this girl brought a vibrator and Carol thought it was a massager so she just kept it locked up with the laptops and the iPhones. Yeah . . . Al wasn't too impressed with that."

"Uh…" before the boy could even answer, Liz was at it again.

"Oh sorry, yeah, of course you don't know names. Marion is head counselor and Al is the owner. You'll randomly see him all the time. He's cool though. Just likes to get drunk and hit on the older counselors. Typical lonely bachelor stuff but he's really harmless. And Marion is pretty much the coolest person on the planet. She's the big sister you always wish you had -- do you have a sister? Doesn't really matter, she still fits that role. She's super cool. As long as you don't do something too stupid, she'll be your best friend. One summer when I had a boyfriend back home, she let me sneak off and text him at night. May not seem like much but it was the world then. That lasted until Carol tailed me and tried to get me kicked out. Sometimes I wish I had just let her. Oh and --" Liz stopped, realizing just how much she had been going on about stuff that was clearly, judging by the blank look on the boy's face, of no interest to him. She tried to make up for it with a, "Sorry, I talk a lot," but the boy still just stared at her blankly. Trying to avoid any second further of awkward silence, Liz asked quickly, "I'm Liz.  In case you couldn't tell I'm kind of a veteran."

"Yeah, I think I sherlocked that myself," the boy squeamishly said.

"And you are…" she asked, not knowing whether she'd even get a straight response. Everything about his body language was awkward and uninviting.

"Oh, sorry. Chase! My name is Chase. Chase is . . . yeah, that's my name." He was uncomfortable and stumbling over his words. Liz couldn't help but be drawn to it, as she could relate.

"You sure about that?" she smiled as Chase had seemed to finally be a little more social, even in an unconventional sense.

"According to . . . mother," he blushed a little as he struggled to even get out the words, which he didn't manage fully.

"Mother?  What are you, Norman Bates?"

Chase looked over at her, turning his head and smiling sadistically; he was a carbon copy of the ending shot of Psycho and Norman Bates' terrifying gaze into the camera. God, I fucking love that movie, Liz thought, but was careful not to say. She had to bust his balls more than that. How else would she test him?

"That is beyond creepy," Liz said.

"Sorry, people don't really get my sense of humor..." Chase trailed off towards the end, looking out the bus, away from Liz, clearly embarrassed and wanting to focus elsewhere.

"Hey, I got it. I still found it creepy though. Don't worry, funny to the max. Just, you know, in that non-laughter sort of way," Liz joked with him. She's not sure he got it though, as it was immediately met with a turn of the head and obvious signs of ignorance: eyes down, appendages facing away, and bad vibes aplenty. Liz didn't care though. She liked a good challenge.

"We're about to spend the next two hours on a bus together, do you really want to spend it acting like I'm not here? I promise, I can be a lot cooler if you don't act self-conscious about everything," Liz said, trying to convince him of anything, "Quit overthinking anything I’m saying.  Just react accordingly."

Chase waited a moment, not really knowing what to do. Didn't seem like many people called him out on his bullshit, a specialty of Liz's. And just like that, he broke out of his shell, "Sorry, I guess I just have a sort of defense mechanism where I try and test people.  Don't really put myself out there until I get a good idea of who they are. Make them prove that they're worth putting the effort into for a friendship.  I'm an introvert, so I go to the extreme to see how they react.  See if they can handle me at my worst – annnnd I just randomly spilled my guts out to a random stranger. Good start to camp."

Liz smiled wide the entire time.  It was hard not to.

"You and I are gonna get along all right," Liz said smiling as she finally had it confirmed:  Chase passed the test.

END CHAPTER TWO

NEXT CHAPTER: "CAROL"

Stereo

"Why would it matter what I think?"

"It just does.  You're important."

"To you or in general?"

"Both."

"I don't have any answers."

"Why not?  The question is simple."

"Maybe to you."

"You complicate life too much."

"Or you just simplify it too much."

"Quit avoiding the question."

"I'm not sure I even know the question."

"Yes, you do."

"How could I?"

"Because you've lost your mind."

"And your proof is?"

"My own eyes."

"I still think it's a bad idea."

"But why?  It's everything I've ever wanted.  How could it be wrong?"

"You act as if every impulse is pure and good."

"Yours are."

"And yours rarely are.  What else can you expect?  What else do you think you'll get out of me that will satiate your need for a response?  What response would be satisfying to you?"

"...kill her."

"She's done nothing to deserve it."

"She has done EVERYTHING to deserve it."

"You don't even know her."

"I know her more than enough."

"What, from the brief moments you've seen and judged?  The broad stereotype with vainly negative connotations in which you've labeled her?"

"...get the fuck out of here."

"You only think you know her."

"Because she's everything wrong about this fucking world.  The materialism.  The egotism.  Everything I fucking hate."

"And you're so perfect."

"No, but I'm very clearly aware of the my flaws."

"So ignorance invokes a death sentence?"

"Take it however you wish."

"You're no better than the Bronx Butcher.  You're just a murderer."

"Don't act like you don't get some enjoyment out of it all."

"The suffering of others is never a time for celebration.  Regardless of what you say."

"You say that, but I know different."

"Say whatever you wish in order to justify your own actions."

"Just tell me to kill her."

"You know I won't do that."

"Then just promise me one thing."

"Chances are I'm just going to tell you no."

"Let me toy with her first."

"...Okay."

"Okay?"

"Have to give you something."

"I'll need your help."

"You'll have it till the end."

"Then you're gone?"

"Then I'm gone."

"Thank you for this.  I finally feel like we're becoming more of a team."

"Of course you do.  That's the point."

"I hate how you manipulate everything to somehow get your way."

"Because all this is, is a competition.  Who can win out and be the dominant influence?"

"You think you're winning the war because you have majority?"

"No.  I really don't.  Those are just the battles.  The war is the big moments.  And you win out every time.  Logic goes out the window..."

"And that's where I come in."

"An unfortunate structure to this dynamic."

"...do we feed tonight?"

"It's been about that time for days now.  Figured it best to wait until you said something."

"Can't live without sustenance, brother."

"Don't call me that."

"Why?  We are family."

"Sharing blood and being family are different."

"You know you could just not argue with everything that I say."

"But then you'd be right."

"Yeah.  And..."

"And that doesn't happen."

"The never-ending hubris."

"What happens when you finally realize you'll never beat me."

"Because anytime I almost do... I witness otherwise."

"What do you..."

"...I smell blood."

"Hold off."

"She's mine.  It's over."

"No!  Stop.  We can't do this!  Not her.  Not her!"

"Yes, her.  Only her."

Crimson Summer - Chapter One

by

Tyler Nichols

note: This is the first chapter of a novel I've been writing.  Each chapter follows a different character and is told from their perspective, with each sequential chapter being linear to the story.  This is "comic of age" horror story with a mystery element.  While this selection may not seem overtly horrific or give a good idea of the grand plot, I plan to release other chapters for feedback.  So let me know what you think.

“Chase”

Staring up at the speckled popcorn ceiling, all that seemed to go through Chase's mind were images of bullfrogs being squished up against a gray rock. It wasn't something that he particularly wanted to think about but it was also something he just couldn't get out of his head. The guts smashing up against the rock. The sickening mixture of squish and crunch that followed. The mixture of green and red that, oddly enough, reminded him of Christmas ribbon. It was all so visceral and so unlike anything Chase had seen before; he could vividly remember even the blue shirt, tattered jeans, and white Adidas he had on. He couldn't really remember what the others had on though. He was a narcissist in that way.

The act of Tommy Tuscadero's brother smashing the frog occurred nearly three years ago yet it still seemed to haunt him, especially in the last week or so. It would play through his head on the school bus, in the grocery store, at dinner ­­­-- usually followed by said dinner not being eaten -- and even sometimes during brief moments when jerking off. It's not like he ever wanted that to happen. Half a second would happen to slip in between Kate Upton and Jennifer Lawrence and suddenly that expanded into some of the climax. I have the worst fucking luck, always popped into his head the moment one of these types of things happened. Tommy wiped himself off in shame that night, equating it to accidentally thinking about his mom during climax. Sub sequentially that thought eventually haunted him enough to manifest itself during one of those times, a moment that Chase has long since erased in his memory bank. The frog though? Impossible to forget.

It wasn't that Tommy was a sadistic child . . . or at least he didn't think so. In fact, he was quite the opposite. He couldn't imagine hurting another creature on this earth, especially not one that was so innocent. That was the problem. What had a frog ever done to him? Frogs were always put in a good light when he was grown up. They were busy chatting it up with toads or kissing princesses. What could be so wrong about them? Tommy's brother Jason seemed to have a vendetta against them, judging by the amount of hate he put behind every swing. Maybe a frog touched him in his no-no area, Chase would sometimes chuckle to himself. Accidentally repeating that joke to Tommy resulted in a severe kick in the ass the next time they crossed paths. It didn't take long for Chase to figure out that sometimes he just needed to keep his mouth shut, no matter how funny he thought he was being.

Chase's grasp on the effect of the frog smashing was certainly light. He had seen much worse things on the internet -- and to actual human beings, not just frogs.  They consisted of a man shoving a dildo down his urethra, a person having glass jar break inside their ass, two girls eating and vomiting shit onto each other. Yeah, Chase was like any teenage boy with an internet connection, testing just how far his limits were. And tested he did, yet still nothing affected him more than that damn frog. Even Tommy had no issues with it, which was all the more odd given that he tended to pass out at the sight of blood, let alone the ritualistic slaughtering of a poor amphibian. And yet Chase was the weird one.

No, Chase was as normal as anyone else. Or at least, he considered himself to be. Maybe the kids at school didn't agree but --

"Chase, hurry up, we're not gonna be late because you're busy playing with yourself. Get a move on!" his mother yelled from downstairs, breaking his train of thought. 

Quickly Chase's mind raced, Wait, does she really think I'm jerking off? Chase immediately realized how stupid that sounded. Get your head out of your ass, dumb, dumb. She was making a joke.

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute," Chase answered after a long and awkward silence.

“Not a minute. Now!" his mom barked through the wall.

Chase jumped off the bed, shaking his head, Jesus mom, be more of a stereotype. He grabbed his bag, something catching his eye from the corner of his room -- a dark blue pouch, small enough to fit a lunch in. Chase shook his head, debating whether or not to bring it or not. It could help him make friends. Or enemies. At least I'll be known as something, Chase thought as he grabbed the small pouch. Taking one last look at his room, the various video game posters and massive gaming computer in the corner, he sighed. Chase was in his room more than he spent time anywhere else (though some of that could easily be attributed to sleep. Either way, he spent a lot of time in there). And he was almost always attached to technology. Now he was going to be without it for two weeks. With a sigh, he shut the door behind them, hauling ass down the hall and down the stairs, just in time to hear his mother shout out, "I swear to god, if you take one more--"

"Mom, relax. I was just talking to Evan. Can I talk to my friends?" he asked with at least a little sincerity, despite the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

"I told you, 12:30. The bus leaves at 1:00 and it takes twenty-five minutes to get to Spaulding. So we now have…" his mother angrily checked her watch, ". . . nineteen minutes to get there. And I am not taking you all the way to Camp Watanka. My car can't take that long of a drive.  We're doing the bus for a reason."

"Yeah. . . I know." he said, angrily. Why did his mom always have to state the obvious every time to prove her point? It's not like Chase wasn't fully aware of her reasoning's for not going. She wanted to meet up with that boyfriend of hers. Chase never understood why his mother couldn't just be honest with him. He was in High School; she should have been able to treat him like an adult.

"You better stop acting like such a mopey little brat. How're you ever going to make friends with an attitude like that?" she said harshly. She didn't mean to be so cruel, she was just raised in a very tough and straightforward house. She was raised to take and give no bullshit, a trait she carried onto her parenting. Chase knew this, but he didn't really care.

"Yes, because a smile is gonna do the trick," Chase replied with defeated sarcasm. It's not like Chase hadn't tried to fit in. He had gone through more haircuts and wardrobe changes than he could remember. Yet none of them really fit his personality and everyone seemed to know. The kids at school were like rabid dogs, smelling any sign of weakness. Chase's lack of personal identity made him more than a target: it made him a prisoner. No matter what he did, he was always seen as fake. The reputation seemed to follow him around as well.

Being the new kid was just another aspect of life that Chase had become used to. His mother moved around so much, jumping job to job or boyfriend to boyfriend, it made it hard to even finish out a single school year, let alone make anything resembling a "best friend." Hell, the more years passed by, the more it became harder to make something even close to a "friend."

"You need to just get over your whole fear of new places. This is healthy for you. Helps you meet new people," she said with a southern drawl, not present before.

"Yeah, it's really fucking helped," Chase said, rolling his eyes. Yet another time where his mother would pick up a trait from her boyfriend, just like the time she switched to cigars from cigarettes and ended up sick all night.

"Chase Daniel! Language! I am not your father.  Do not think for one second that you can do that around me," she snorted. Chase shook his head, knowing just how far from the truth that ever could be. His father was far more strict than his mother. Much more strict. It was so bad that he considered his mom to be the lesser of two evils, deciding to live with her instead, a decision that may haunt his older self. Maybe a little guidance would have done him good. Maybe he could have really turned things around. Maybe he'd be going out to parties on the lake with his beautiful girlfriend and loyal best friends. But he couldn’t just live his life in a world of maybes. No matter how much he thought of these things, nothing ever changed. Why would it? For effect there must be cause, and Chase just never seemed to be able to light the candle.

"Look, I just want you to have a good time.  I'm sick of spending all this money to send you places --"

"No," Chase corrected, "You're spending Dad’s money."

"Regardless," She responded, treating the situation as if he wasn't dead on, "There has been a lot of money spent on you in order for you to have fun. So please, I don't want to hear anything from you or from one of your counselors. I won't be picking you up within a day just because you decided to get yourself in trouble. In fact, the number I left with the camp is your Aunt Jeannie's so if you want to leave, you're going to be spending the rest of the time with her, got it?"

Oh god.  Not Aunt Jeannie, Chase thought, shaking his head at the suggestion.

"That's what I thought," His mother said with a pompous attitude, "Just remember this is something that you're going to look back on years from now and wish you could go back to.  Once in a life time.  You'll never forget it."

        Like he could ever forget.  He was going to summer camp.  He had been dreading it for weeks.

        And hoping like hell for no frogs.

END CHAPTER ONE

NEXT CHAPTER: "LIZ"

Must Be Getting Soft

There are many instances that I can recall where I gave my stepmom, Kim, a hard time when it came to depressing movies.  She just hated them.  Didn't matter how great the acting or cinematography was, if it was sad then she didn't see the point.  I, on the other hand, thought that sad endings were the best because they were "real."  And I'd be sure to give her a hard time whenever I saw her watch a cliché romcom with the most stereotypical ending possible.  It just didn't make sense to me.  They were on all accounts "bad movies" from the acting to the directing and especially to the story.  And she knew that and agreed but she watched them anyway.  "Why would anyone ever want to watch something that hits all these happy beats in the worst ways and has a stupid happy ending?"  Kim argued that life was already sad enough, she didn't need that in her movies.  At the time, I didn't really understand the concept.  Now I do.

Life is fucking sad.  People die and don't get to magically come back due to mysterious circumstances.  People go missing without a trace and their families are never given an ounce of closure.  Karma does not exist.  Good guys do not always get the bad guys and bad guys don't always go punished.  Life sucks.  So why would I want to focus on anything but the good?  I want to see a movie about a cancer patient overcoming their terminal illness.  I want to see a movie where they find the missing person and arrest the sonuvabitch who abducted them.  Hell, I don't WANT to see a good guy catch a bad guy, I NEED to see it.

I rarely watch anything that isn't comedy-related nowadays.  I've always had a love for comedy (with a recent obsession with stand-up) as it's just been my "go-to" for something to put on when I need something to fall asleep to, write to, or just mindlessly watch.  I become too invested in dramas and they effect my life too much.  The Red Wedding?  That shit wrecked me for days.  Felt like I had lost a relative.  Hell, I have a difficult time nowadays when it comes to watching any film drama.  Just the other day I put on Short Term 12 and had to shut it off during the first scene that even hinted at something bad going on.  I just couldn't handle it.  Kim was right, life is depressing enough.  Why would I use my escape as just another look at someone else's unhappiness?

Spoilers for Edge of Tomorrow

As a matter of fact, I recently had the ending of Tom Cruise's latest film, Edge of Tomorrow, spoiled for me via facebook.  At first I was a little annoyed that a key aspect was ruined for me.  "Oh hey, it's a super happy ending. Don't worry though, I'm not giving details so it's not a spoiler."  Fuck you, asshole.  Anyhoo, I saw the film despite that and I couldn't help but keep thinking "I'm so glad that this has a happy ending.  These characters have been put through fucking hell.  I don't want to see a sad ending."  And that was the moment I realized I was not even close to the same movie fan I once was.  I'm used to constantly rooting for the sadder ending.  Hell, in the horror genre, the sadder the better.

Does this mean that I won't ever appreciate a fantastically executed sad ending?  Of course not.  Se7en is still one of my favorite movies ever and The Mist is fucking brilliant.  Don't worry, I still like sad endings but I think the main difference is that I'll actually be rooting for the happy ending nowadays.  I'll be rooting for the survivor girl in whatever slasher I'm watching to make it to the end without the killer coming back.  I'll be hoping that Seth Rogen can totally land whichever out-of-his-league actress is involved with him in Apatow's latest.  Because I've realized that rooting for the sad ending isn't campaigning for artistic merit or wanting a real representation of life.  It's fucked up.

I think it's really just about growing up.  When I was in high school, watching a dark depressing film on something related outside to schooling, I could have an outsiders perspective.  As soon as films start taking you back to bad memories PTSD-style, then it's usually the time that they become harder to watch.  I know that's how it has been for me and while I haven't lost an appreciation for what I liked before, it could easily affect my viewing of anything else in the future.  Change in perspectives happen, I'm just not sure with me how much it's "I love happy endings" vs. "I hate sad endings" because neither is true.  However, if you make me really feel for your character and make them a deep, dimensional person, then yeah, like in life, I'm gonna root for the happy ending for them.  Because everyone deserves that.  And I'm not an asshole.

Or at least I try not to be.

Swayed Back By Nothing New

I used to play video games a lot when I was in high school.  Like, a fucking lot.  Some days I'd be putting 8 hours into a video game all the while going to school and having a social life.  Thankfully my social life transferred over into gaming.  Most of my best friends had Xbox Live and we'd voice chat on there for hours while we played.  It was just a part of growing up and being kids.  As you may remember, I recently wrote a blog post about my falling out of love with video games and so, after several suggestions from readers, I decided to see if it was just a phase, if I had finally "grown up" or if I just hate having fun. 

Someone suggested that I seek out games/genres that I had never really played before -- this meant J-RPG's and post-N64 Nintendo.  I tried some out and thought that all was lost because of my growing hatred while the controller was in my hand.  In fact, I think that I hated video games a little more after playing some of the newer Zelda and Final Fantasy games.  So I wanted to go an entirely different route -- revisit some of the older games that I sunk weeks and weeks, months and months, what felt like years and years into.  

Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare and Halo: Reach.  Dear god do I love these games.  I really thought that I was just completely done with FPS' and that the genre had lost its appeal to me.  Not the case at all, if anything this has made me realize that it's the games themselves, not the type of game which has been turning me off.  Halo and COD4 are both FUN games, either epitomizing the series or the starting point for something new.  I'm sure I put more hours into Halo 2 and Halo 3 but I can't exactly play 2 online and 3 is in a deep, dark place in Michigan known as under my bed.  So Reach it was.  Now I'm sure that a lot of it is nostalgia.  I'm an extremely nostalgic person, sometimes to a fault, so this hits all the right notes.  The maps in both of these games are etched so hard into my memory that I can close my eyes and walk perfectly around them.  It's that bad.  So the cards were stacked in gamings favor for this and I must say, I think I may have been won back.

The recent announcement of Halo: The Master Chief Collection and the rumored Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Collection and Gears of War Collection show that my hobby of gaming just may continue, but not in the way it did before.  These are the same games I've played before, just with some updated graphics and, sometimes, a new engine.  But that's really the point in my enjoyment of it.  I don't want to have to learn an entirely new game and maps.  If I did that, I wouldn't be playing a franchise game like either of these.  It's kind of sad, I remember my dad using the same reasoning for not wanting to play video games whenever I'd try to prod him into a game of Madden.  "It's too much work, I can't invest the time to be good."  At the time I just saw it as an old-person-response (my dad was like 35 at the time.  That's old to young me) and moved on.  Now I get it.

I've actually had several discussions with friends recently about the state of gaming.  I seem to be the only one not upset about the fact that all these games are being remade for Next-Gen.  They all claim that they want new content, not another remake.  Maybe if original content hadn't disappointed me so much for the past few years, then maybe I'd share their sentiment.  But unfortunately the state of gaming is sad one.  Games are constantly being released broken just because developers are able to release patches for them and so a release date is not the ultimate quality control for them.  Except it is to this gamer.  I'm sick of broken games being released just to make a deadline.  As soon as it trickled into my beloved Mass Effect series, I knew we were in for trouble.  Then the debacle known as Battlefield 4 happened and here we are -- hesitant at every release.  Will it be broken?  Will I even be able to play on Day One (*ahem*Titanfall).

The lying going on in the videogame industry is worse than ever.  E3 seems to just be an opportunity to promise original content that never ends up delivering.  I quite enjoy the recently released Watchdogs and it's one of my favorite games for Xbox One.  However, the graphics are not even a sliver of what we were promised when the game was first announced.  Hell, we were treated to "gameplay video" that looked like it was the future of gaming.  Cut to release and it looks about on par with Rockstar's Grand Theft Auto V.  And yeah, in case you weren't aware, that was for LAST generation.  It's made it so I don't believe anything going on at E3.  The only thing I can trust is an update to my favorite from the past.  Kind of sad.

I suppose I'm just retreating into what's familiar due to the fact that I have no faith in original content.  I've been disappointed too many times.  I'm the type of person that learns from experience and as of this point in my life, I know that if it's not coming from Rockstar, then chances are 50/50 that it's going to suck. These upcoming remakes are not just that.  It's not like they're replacing voice actors and changing what we once knew.  This is a remastering of what I consider to be some of my favorite games of all time.  And they couldn't have come at a more pivotal times.  Who knows, given a little more time, I may have been forced to grow up.

As if.