Crimson Summer - Chapter Eight

Get caught up on the rest of Crimson Summer here

“Sally”

Getting corralled into the cabin she'd be spending the next month in wasn't exactly a pleasant experience for Sally but she made do. It was a madhouse the moment all the girls walked in and realized all the beds varied drastically in quality. All at once they sprinted, trying to find a bed that wouldn't squeak or leave lumps in their backs. Sally stood near the rear, not really caring much about which bed she got. She just wanted her stuff. They had taken it earlier and Sally didn't like the idea of it being handled without her permission. Her counselor Marion stood at the back, laughing at the sight of the girls going crazy over the beds.

"Hold up," said Marion, raising her hands to get everyone's attention, "Your stuff has been placed at the assigned bed. Yeah. So, Nancy, you can get off Alice's bed any day now."

        Sally looked over at the twins, seeing the brunette dressed in pink jump off the bed, pouting as she did. She wasn't too happy about losing her prime spot.

"Why the hell are we assigned beds? This is stupid," the pink-wearing Belar twin said. 

"Alice is right, we've never been assigned beds before. This is dumb," the green-wearing Belar twin said, as if she had to affirm her sister's statement.

"Did you not see what just happened?" said Marion sternly.

"You could have avoided that by telling us before we got into the cabin and just assumed," snapped Alice.

"And miss out on you pouting like someone half your age? Never. It's too adorable," Marion said, smiling wide.

"You suck," said Nancy. This seemed more like usual procedure between them rather than any animosity, or at least from what Sally could tell.

"No, I just really like seeing your sister pout since it's just so gosh darn cute. But since she's not a big baby, I just have to settle for you," Marion said, acting like she was going to pinch Nancy's cheeks.

"I really hate you sometimes," Nancy said through gritted teeth.

"Oh I know you do. And again, it's adorable," said Marion, hugging Nancy. What an odd relationship, Sally thought as she found the bed that housed her luggage.

Sally had packed light for the month, with simple short and shirt combo's for every day. The website said they had free laundry so she was going to be sure to take advantage of that.

Liz's bed was next to her own, a fact Sally was happy about. Liz seemed like a cool girl from what she had gathered. Plus she was friendly with that cute boy Chase. Sally had been waiting for a moment to spark up conversation with her but Liz hadn't really left Marion's side. Now was perfect.

"So I take it you've been coming here a while?" Sally asked Liz.

"Oh yeah. Years and years. Camp veteran. All that jazz. No worries, not a suck-up though. Marion is just really cool. Total hippie," said Liz like a she was in severe need of some Ritalin.

Sally looked over at Marion who was helping one of the girls flip her mattress, revealing a nasty stain on the other side and ultimately leaving it as it was. She certainly looked like she'd be fun to hang out with but still, she was the head counselor. Sally had her doubts. Just as she had doubts about the laundry after seeing just how much Liz had packed.

"How's the laundry here?" Sally asked.

"You're kidding right?" said Liz, laughing as she did.

"That's not a good sign," said Sally, already regretting not packing more.  She could practically hear her mother saying 'I told you so.'

"Unless you enjoy having your clothes come out dirtier than when they went in. Because then you'll be in heaven," Liz joked.

"Great . . ." Sally wasn't sure what she was going to do once she ran out of clothes, but she quickly decided that would be a problem for future Sally to sort out.

"Okay ladies, I'm leaving you to it. My cabin is right next door so if you need anything go there. If I'm not there, Carol will be and she will be more than happy to answer every question you may have . . . and probably some that you didn't even ask. All the lights go off at 11pm. No exceptions. Except if there's a cute boy just dying to get in your pants. Kidding. The entire camp is on a timer and errrthang shuts off at 11 outside of the main office. You're gonna need all the beauty sleep you can get. Depending on who your counselor is, you may be in for a super fun day or a super . . . not so fun day. Good night my sweet princesses," Marion said, closing the door behind her. Sally could see what Liz was talking about; Marion was pretty great.

The twins had begun arguing at the other side of the cabin, still annoyed that they didn't have the beds that they wanted. Sally was quickly reminded of why she always got along more with boys than with girls. The shrill voices and pompous demeanor made her crave something more down to earth. These girls were absolutely crazy.

"Fine, bitch. Can't wait to see what this cabin looks like with Alice colored paint. Wonder how crimson it'll be? Think it'll be more like a movie theater or more like an opera house?" said Nancy, angrily. 

"Oh please, like I'd miss out on camping to get deflowered by one of the boys from this camp," Alice shot back. What on earth was she talking about? Sally thought, looking over at the other girls, trying to gauge if she was the only one left in the dark. 

"What are you talking about?" said Samantha, as if she were reading Sally's mind.

"Oooh! I want to tell it!" Alice shouted.

"You? You can't tell a story to save your life. Liz is so much better," said Nancy who then leaned in towards her sister, "Don’t you remember that girl? What was her name? Sandy? Betty? -- I don't know, doesn't matter -- She got her parents to come pick her up the next day all because of Liz's story. Fucking genius. That girl was a bitch anyway."

"Bullshit," said Brenda, a stout Mexican girl with an attitude.

Liz cracked her fingers, drawing all of the attention towards her.

"Didn't you notice how . . . off Al seemed once that guy mentioned '91? See, this was before Al was even running the place. He was just another counselor. His dad, Abe, was still holding onto the family business. Didn't think that Al was mature enough to run it yet," said Liz.

"How could you possibly know that?" asked Brenda, not believing a word coming out of Liz's mouth.

"Are you going to let her tell the fucking story?" the Belar twins sounded off in unison. Brenda sat back, rolling her eyes yet still silent, part of her wanting to hear more of the story.

"As I was saying, Abe was still holding firmly onto the family business and Al was a counselor -- not even head counselor, mind you -- and that didn't sit well with Al. Not one bit. So much so that he can hardly even take it anymore and Al decides that he's going to go down by the lake on the last day of camp and end it all. Shoot his own brains out with his dad's .22. He had the suicide note written and everything. Stole the gun out of his father's desk; even cleaned it to make sure it wouldn't jam. He did everything he needed to prepare, now with only one final step remaining. But all of that changed with a single blood curdling scream. It interrupted him just moments before pulling the trigger. His first reaction was to protect the campers so he ran to the cabins, stumbling and falling as he did; Al was never the most agile. Once he came to the cabin, he couldn't figure out what was wrong. It looked as quiet as ever. Everyone was out camping for the final night and the cabins were empty. Or so he thought.

"A shadow moved across one of the cabins and he went to investigate. He wasn't prepared for what he'd see upon opening that cabin's door. The entire room was covered in blood. Two campers lay dead, bits and pieces of them all over the room. The sight was too much to handle and Al fainted. Right there in the doorway. They say this is the only thing that saved his life. For there was another person in that cabin. The one that killed the two campers. When Al awoke, all he saw were police sirens and some disembodied voice telling him his father was dead."

"Wait, are you trying to say that Abe fucked one of the campers?" interrupted Mary-Ann, the girl with too much cleavage.

"What? No! What the hell is the matter with you? Let me finish the story. You see, the killer passed up on killing Al because it wasn't necessary --"

"Wait, who's the killer, did we already get to that part of the story?" Samantha blurted out.

"Okay, maybe I need to describe how storytelling works to you folks but sometimes leaving out certain details and then revealing them at another time is to greaten the effect," Liz tried to calmly explain.

"I just thought you forgot . . ." Samantha said with an edge.

"Holy fuck," Liz said to herself, then turned to Alice, "Go right ahead."

Before Alice can even get a word out, her sister's hand was to Alice's lips, keeping her quiet, and urging Liz to finish the story. Sally agreed, along with most of the other girls. Liz was much more of a natural storyteller than the girl who just earlier told of the awkward time she got fingered in the back of her grand-parents car.

"Okay, are we done? Can I do this," said Liz, looking at the others for any objections, "Okay then, where was I? Oh yeah, so this had just been a fit of -- god dammit. You know what?" Liz had enough of the whispering and eye rolling from Samantha and Mary-Ann. Thank god too, because Sally just about had enough of them too. 

"Fuck it, the killer was a camper who caught his girlfriend having sex with another one of the campers. Boom!" Liz said, annoyed at having to rush through her story but satisfied by the widespread disappointment.

"Awww," the Belar twins echoed each other's sentiments.

"Shut up, you two have heard this story a million times," Brenda spat back. So much for her not caring about the story.

"Doesn't mean we can't appreciate it," the girls said together. It was odd just how in sync these two were. Sally had never been around twins and, while these girls certainly were an odd example, they seemed to fit every stereotype she knew growing up.

"Wait, so how did Al's dad die?" asked Brenda, on the absolute edge of her bed.

"He took an axe to the face when he went to investigate a strange noise."  Liz commanded the room with every word she spoke.

"You'd think running a summer camp, he'd be a little more up on his horror movie clichés," Nancy said.

"You'd think so but how many times have you investigated an odd noise, just to find nothing there. Well what if something was there? Hell even if you were smart enough to bring a bat, would it really make that much of a difference? An axe wielding psychopath is still an axe wielding psychopath."

It scared Sally just how right Liz was. In that situation there wasn't much anyone could do. Would a gun have helped? What about the gun Al had taken from his father? Would Abe have had that had it not been for his son. Sally could vividly remember the times she heard a strange noise while babysitting and immediately took care of it. How vulnerable was she being without even realizing it. She suddenly felt a little more sympathy for the idiots in horror movies.

"Was it in the main office? Is that why that big window's broken?" asked Samantha.

"No, you can thank 'Wild Thing' over there for that," Alice said, pointing at her sister.

"You should have caught that ball," Nancy said.

"You should have thrown it better."

"Okay wonder twins, deactivate," Liz settled them down, "Like Alice said, the window wasn't from that. No, this happened at the house."

"The house?  What house?" Sally asked. She hadn't really thought about other houses being around the lake, she had just assumed the camp owned the entire area.

"Just because we're told not to venture off into the woods, doesn't mean that area doesn't exist, dumbass," Alice said and Sally's eyes went to the floor.

"The house is where the Shepards used to live. Al grew up there actually. But he hasn't stepped foot in it since. He absolutely refuses to. That's why there's all those 'Trespassers will be shot' signs on the west side of camp."

"Not like it works though. You remember that sick party the boys threw in there last summer?" said Nancy.

"Yeah, and I remember you getting boned in the upstairs bathroom by Darren Matthews.  Uck," Alice gagged.

"Whatever. He was sweet."

"So is that it?" Brenda asked, "Is that all the resolution we're getting."

"They cleaned everything up. Al took over the camp. We're here now. End of story. It's not a real complex one," Liz said and glanced down at her watch.

"Thanks for the wisdom," said Mary-Ann, rolling her eyes.

"You want real wisdom?" Liz asked, tucking her bottom half into the covers, "Just try not to bring any boys back here. Best wisdom I can give you." 

"Thanks for the parental advice, mom," said Mary-Ann, clearly not taking to the advice since this seemed to interfere with her plans to hook up with every cute boy in the camp. At least that's what Sally assumed based on how much she put her boobs on display.

"Hey I'm just looking out for you. No one wants to lose their v card in the cabin where a double homicide happened. Okay. G'night!" Liz said abruptly.

What was she talking about? The campers were . . . murdered here? In this cabin?

        Before Sally even had time to ask, the lights turned off, leaving the room in pitch black. She had one thought on her mind: When could she go and investigate the house?

END CHAPTER EIGHT

NEXT CHAPTER: "LOUIE"

Crimson Summer - Chapter Seven

Read previous chapters here!

“Chase”

Chaos. That's what this was, pure chaos. It was like all the campers went right back into school mode on cue. The dining hall, if it could even be classified as such, was an absolute mess. Over a hundred kids crammed into an area that should have only sat fifty. Everyone was elbows to assholes and, given his slight claustrophobia, Chase wasn't looking forward to the next month of meals in here. That was before even seeing the food itself.

"This place is always such a fucking madhouse," a familiar girl's voice said from behind. He turned to see Liz, the cute girl from the bus that had talked to him. He had been looking for her since they'd all been herded into the dining hall but had no luck until now.

"I feel like I'm going to be touched inappropriately just by taking my seat," Chase jested.

"Just pray that it's just a camper and not Al and you'll be golden," Liz said, Chase hoped jokingly.

"I don't think there's even any place to --"

Before he even knew it, the decision was made for him as Liz grabbed his arm and lead him towards a spot away from the counselors, who were stationed at the head of the chaos. There just happened to be a handful of spots here, clearly out of view of the others furiously searching for any possible place to sit.

"Is this place usually so cramped?  Did they forget to open the other dining hall or something," Chase asked.  There had to be some kind of explanation for this. Chase wasn't even sure if this was legal.  Liz just laughed.

"You may need to drop those expectations a little bit. Watanka is definitely no five star resort."

"Well, yeah, I get that. But . . . do you seriously see this?" Chase asked, pointing around him.

"It'll settle eventually. Especially since the cabins aren’t open till after dinner. Once everyone drops into their routine it won't be nearly as crazy. You just happened to have kids on a bus for, some of them, up to nine hours," Liz said it all rather calmly, but the news shocked Chase. I wouldn't spend nine hours to come to this shithole.

"You're seriously fucking blowing my mind right now. How in the hell is that even possible? Jesus, why are people coming from all over to this shitty place? Is there some kind of hidden charm I'm just not seeing?" Chase asked.

"Not many summer camps left nowadays. Especially not any that take your kids for a whole fucking month. That right there is good business for any parent . . . not wanting to be a parents, which I think is most. So I guess you could say that's the charm," said Liz as she peaked up at the line, seeing if it was getting shorter. It wasn't.

"You know, some parents actually like being around their children."

"Oh those poor people. Just not understanding what bitches and bastards we can all be," Liz said with a big smile.

"I take it you weren't hugged much as a child?"

Even if Liz was right, Chase still couldn't believe he'd be placed into such conditions. His mother made Watanka out to be much nicer than it actually was. The pictures on the website were clearly from a late 80's remodel that hadn't been touched up in the years following. He would have loved to have come to the place that the website claimed it to be. He was now certain that place didn't exist.

Waiting five more minutes for the line to go down, Liz and Chase finally went up to get food. Chase grabbed a tray, bringing with it another tray attached to the bottom. He pulled them apart to reveal something sticky connecting the two together. Gum? Chase wasn't sure if he even wanted to know. Liz just looked at it with a gag then a smirk, taking a different tray instead. They moved towards the counter where Carol and the lunch-lady, her name tag reading Marjory, served the meals.

"Spaghetti or Chicken?" said Marjory.

"Chicken?" said Chase, not entirely sure which he should choose or if it was even real chicken.

"Hey Marge.  Got any vegetarians left?" Liz asked with smile.

"Of course I do. You're the only one that actually eats them. Damn vegan and your morals," said Marge. Taking some bread and a chocolate milk -- Chase quickly doing the same -- Liz walked over to their spot near the back, which had now been taken over. Entering the search again, their eyes scanned, looking for an available spot. Liz seemed to see one as she guided him over to a table with two twins. Before reaching it, she whispered back at him, "The brunette is Nancy and the blonde is Alice. They can be a tad . . . bitchy."

"I thought for sure we wouldn't see you again," Nancy said on cue.

"Can we sit?" Liz asked, trying to ignore the rude comment.

"Sure, who's the boy toy? Very unlike you to pull a Pattie Nelson." Alice may have been the nicer of the two, but not by much. Chase quickly said his name as he and Liz tried to squeeze onto the bench. There was barely enough room for one person, let alone two. They managed to squeeze in but just barely, with Chase immediately apologizing to the hunched up guy next to him.

"You two fucking wish," Liz shot at them, pissed they'd even accuse her of such a thing.

Liz clearly knew the two twins, but Chase was having trouble finding where the friendship part actually began. Their reunion in the camp felt more like they were feeling sorry for each other for having to come back to there for yet another year, and not genuine joy for seeing long lost friends. Being the nostalgic person he was, this astounded Chase. How could they not be at least a little happy to see each other? They must be holding it in.

"So what's the deal?  Thought you had some lifeguard thing lined up to get you out of this?" said Alice. Lifeguard thing? Chase thought. She made it seem like she never had a choice.

"You know how things go. Just didn't work out," she said, evidently annoyed she was reminded of her past plans.

"And you fucking love this place," said Nancy, her voice reeking of sarcasm.

"Oh you know I’m just glutton for punishment. Plus I heard that after seven years you get an eighth one for free." Liz was quick with her words. "So you know I just couldn't pass that up."

"Oh damn.  Looks like we're gonna have to miss out on our free year," Alice said through perfect pearly whites.

"Boohoo, what a tragedy."  Nancy's sarcasm almost outdid her sister's.

"Wait, you're seriously not coming back next year either? What happened to the parental ruling? I thought you two would be counselors and all that jazz?" asked Liz.

"Daddy left. Went with some Oncologist to California to live on the beach," Nancy started.

"Mom's devastated and all that. Wants to go spend dad's money seeing the world -- Europe, actually," Alice continued.

"So we'll be joining her in a couple months AKA the time that this lovely hell-hole opens up next year, we're gonna be sipping daiquiris on the beach in France."

"Wait, so she's already gone? She didn't take you with her?" Liz asked, somewhat amused by their parent's neglect.

"She's a whore," Nancy spat out, clearly at annoyed at their mother's decision not to take them immediately.

"She wanted to find a place," Alice tried to reason, "Plus she already paid for the camp."

"Paid for camp or wants to get plowed by half of Western Europe?  You decide."

"Ignore her she's just sour. Always was daddy's little girl," Alice's words stung Nancy who glared daggers at her.

"He's your father too."

"Yeah and it doesn't mean I need to blame either of them. Divorce happens. People fall out of love all the time -- if those two ever happened to fall into that category in the first place. Most everyone we know has divorced parents. Quit being a child."

"God, you're just like mom."  This was the worst thing Nancy could have said to Alice, who erupted in a fit of obscenities. The two argued, with Liz interjecting occasionally, seemingly very amused by the happenings. Maybe they were friends and this was just how their dynamic worked out? Chase wasn't sure but found the situation extremely uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that his arm was slowly going to sleep. Pulling his left arm back, his shoulders angled more, he was able to get more space, breathing a sigh of relief.

The girls continued to argue at his left so he turned to the people to the right, some of whom were watching the twins with amusement. The boy sitting directly next to Chase was keeping to himself, eating his food in silence. Chase wasn't sure if he wanted to engage in conversation but knew he needed to fight those first instincts. He needed to socialize. Be normal.

"So how's your relationship with your parents? Think we can outdo these girls?" quipped Chase, just loud enough that the twins couldn't hear him.

"Heh. Yeah," the boy said, clearly in his own little world.

"So either I'm really unfunny or you're more the dark and brooding type."

"I agree with the first one," Liz said out of nowhere, apparently paying attention to both conversations. Chase playfully nudged her.

"Sorry, just nervous. Lots of new people," the boy said meekly.

"I hear ya. I'm Chase. That's Liz next to me, who may or may not be spying on our conversation." Right on cue Liz nudged Chase, acknowledging that she was in fact listening.

"I'm James. It's nice to meet you Chase," said the boy now identified as James.

"I take it you're like me and not really knowing what to expect from this place?" asked Chase.

"Actually both my sisters went here so I have a decent idea of what's going on. They tried to prep me," James responded.

"I can only imagine what that consisted of. So wait, your sisters were regulars? Wonder if Liz --"

"What are their names?" Liz interjected.

"Well I wouldn't call them regulars. We go to one secular summer camp before we're 18. Helps open our eyes to non-religious folk," said James.

"Oh so you're religious?" Chase asked, somewhat skeptical. It wasn't that he hated religion. No, Chase always found it intriguing. He just didn't understand how anyone could put such blind faith into anything. He needed proof. He needed science. He needed some kind of logic. Still, Chase was just hoping for less evangelical and more casual.

"I believe in God, yes. My father is a traveling minister and my mom homeschooled all of us," said James, seemingly getting more comfortable.

"How many in the family?" asked Liz, even though Chase could have sworn she had just responded to something Nancy had said. How did she do that?

"Eight total. Five girls. Three boys."

"Oh wow, that's a big family. And all homeschooled," Chase said, just imagining how loony the education had to have been. I wonder if he's ever even heard the word 'evolution.'

"Yes, my mother was quite the saint. Certainly wasn't an easy task. Us kids certainly can get into some trouble but she raised us right so in the end it all worked out."

Liz leaned into Chase and whispered, "Only five more minutes till we get to leave this place.  Power through."

"It can't come quick enough," Chase responded, adjusting in his cramped seat. He slowly realized his left arm had casually rested right behind Liz's back. Shit! Chase thought, quickly pulling it back. They had known each other for six hours, what did he want to do, scare her off? Had she even noticed? Was Chase just worrying about something that wasn't even a problem? He had apparently been sitting and thinking for a long time because before he knew it, Liz was standing up, ready to go.

"Let's go, cuddlebug," Liz joked, making Chase cringe a little at the acknowledgement of his prior actions.

Chase and Liz left the twins to their arguing and strolled out of the dining hall, as other waited around, not really knowing what to do. Most just wanted to go back to their cabins and go to sleep but for some reason, they were closed until bed time. Not for Chase and Liz, who strolled out of the dining hall, ready to go on a little adventure. At least that's how Liz put it. Chase had his doubts that anything in this camp could be considered an "adventure."

The camp had a certain charm to it at night. At least Chase thought so. But he was always a fan of the strange and unusual so he wasn't sure how many shared his opinion. The old rotting cabins, ancient rock-climbing wall, and hobbled together archery range. This is what they should be advertising on the website, Chase thought, truly believing it'd drive sales. His favorite part of the tour, that lasted all of ten minutes given the camp's size, was the lake. The way the moonlight bounced off it and illuminated the area around it was mesmerizing.

He liked it so much that he ended up asking Liz if she wanted to sit by it and she quickly accepted. 

"So what do you think?" she asked, half-joking.

"You know, you're going to think I'm crazy for saying this but I actually don't think it's too bad. Though I guess that would mean that maybe you're crazy too since you keep coming back here."

"I guess that's certainly one way to look at it."

"I take it that means you don't?" Chase asked, wondering if he had read her wrong.

"Depends on the day," she responded honestly.

"I think I hate the world on most days so this is a nice change of pace."

"Hating the world is a lot of work."

"So is loving it."

"No it's not.  If you love it, then it shouldn't be considered work.  Work is for something negative."

"Tell that to Carol," Chase said immediately.

"Okay, Carol is not from the planet earth so I don't think that's exactly fair."

"You have to appreciate how much she loves her job though."

"Yeah, it certainly was inspiring when I first saw it.  Now it's just sad."

"Really? I think it's great that she cares that much about anything, let alone the job she's going to have to do no matter what. From someone with two parents in jobs they hate, that means more than you think." It was the truth too. Being around his parents made him decide one thing in life: he'd make his career something he loved, not something he had to do to survive.

"Yeah, I guess that's true. My parents always were a bit more artistic in their endeavors." Liz leaned her head back onto the ground, staring up at the stars that started peeking out.

"Which were?"

"Art. They painted and all that."

"And they actually made a decent living?" Chase had genuinely never known anyone who made money artistically. His life was full of worker bees.

"I didn't say that," Liz said laughing, "They did alright at times. Had to get jobs teaching eventually. At least my dad did. Mom kept on keeping on. 

"Probably a stupid question but . . . were they any good?" He wasn’t sure how she would respond to the question given the position of hostility some people would take from one of that nature.

"Yeah, they were good . . . I think. But what do I know about art?"

"Still, pretty impressive." Chase settled into the grass next to Liz, staring up at what he thought was Persesus, but having done terribly in astrology, he wasn’t sure.

"So Mr. Watson, what is it you want in life?" Liz asked out of nowhere. It was the last question Chase was expecting and one he didn't think he'd ever been asked before. The question bounced around his head for several moments, trying to find the right answer.

"That's kind of a deep question isn't it?" said Chase, deflecting. He wasn't so sure he even wanted to respond to the question.

"Agreed. But that's the point. My grandma used to ask me that all the time. I'd see her once every year -- either Christmas or Thanksgiving depending on the rotation -- and that question would always come up," said Liz, staring forward at the lake, mind clearly back in the past.

"Yeah, really deep question for a little kid. I'm sure the response certainly . . . evolved over the years," he said, wondering what he even would have said at six-years-old. Probably a Power Ranger.

"That was the fun of it all. Every single year she'd ask me and every year it'd be different. It started at toys, then graduated to jewelry and eventually landed at plain ole money. Everything I chose just seemed to be materialistic and stupid in hindsight. But then? Then it was all that mattered to me. And yet every year she'd meet me with the same response: 'That's nice, dear.' She was the sweetest lady in the world but for some reason, those words always stung. Every time. It got to the point where I was pretty much obsessed with finding the right answer.

"So I'd come up with exactly what I thought she'd want to hear. 'To grow up and have a nice big family. To get all A's and go to Harvard. To break records in cross country' -- I was a bit of a runner. But nothing I came up with ever received a new response. It was always just 'That's nice, dear.' Every time," said Liz, growing a little teary eyed as she walked down memory lane.

"Did you ever get her to say something else?" Chase asked, entirely entranced by the story.

"You know I wish I did. Marion and I have talked about it out here before. She seems to have an idea what her answer is. But that's just Marion. She may not have everything figured out but she definitely knows what she wants out of life."

"I take it you don't?" said Chase and Liz huffed.

"Not in the slightest. Maybe one day I'll have it figured out. But the more I grow up and see the adults around me the more I think that not everyone figures that."

"So you asked me what I wanted in life but you don't even have your own answer to it? Kind of expecting a lot, aren't you?" he said, further dodging the question.

"Because maybe when I hear yours, I'll have a better idea of what my own is."

"Oh so you just plan on copying me?  I see how it is," joked Chase.

"Inspiration and thievery are two entirely different entities my dear Watson." A grin spread across Liz's face.

". . . you've been dying to say that haven't you?" asked Chase, already knowing the answer.

"Oh you have no idea. Sherlock is my hero," said Liz, swooning a little.

"Yeah, I like the BBC show."

"Wait, there's something other than the TV show?" she said, straight-faced. Chase took a moment, not really knowing how to react. Was she being serious? Did she really not know about the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories? Hell, it even says so in the credits to the show.

Chase's trepidation was met with a huge laugh from Liz.

"Oh my god, I'm obviously kidding. I totally had you going. I've read Adventures of Sherlock like twenty times. That is my shit. Although I won't lie, I do enjoy some Cumberbatch as well," she said, successfully lightening the mood.

"You definitely had me worried for a second," said Chase, relieved. It would have been just his luck to find a cool girl who ended up being culturally ignorant. 

"Gotta keep you on your toes,” Marion said, bringing her knees up to her body and resting her arms around them.

"You've offended me and I now think I'd rather just go back to the dining hall," said Chase sarcastically.

"Oh. Well if cramped is your style then please take a look to your right," she said motioning over to the bathrooms, almost like a tour guide in her tones and hand movements. The building couldn't have been more than fifteen feet by fifteen feet, housing showers and toilets and sinks for one of the camps genders.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I told you, this place is practically a five star resort . . . in North Korea."

"Hey, what're you two doing?" the authoritative voice struck through the darkness and startled Chase. A flashlight shined on them, making Chase immediately feel guilty. Liz had said this was okay, why would she lie?

"Chill out there, spaz. It's just Marion." And Liz was right. Marion lowered the flashlight and rolled her eyes.

"Of course it's you. Always up to no good," Marion said, obviously joking.

"You know me, always trying to start fights and murder fellow campers," said Liz.

"Well while you're busy stargazing, I'm busy trying to get all the girls round up like cattle so I can lead them to their sleeping quarters. So will you please join me, madam?" said Marion, putting a little English accent on the end and curtseying a little.

"Do I have to?  Can't I just sleep out under the stars?"

"Done it before. Not all it's cracked up to be. Very wet. And not in the good way," Marion said and finally turned towards Chase, "Mr. Watson right? Don't you think you should be heading back to your bunk?"

Chase froze, not really sure what to say. Was he supposed to be back at his bunk? He must be if Marion was coming out to get Liz. But then why would Liz not have said something earlier? He should have waited around for an official announcement, not just gone out because Liz said they had free-time.

"Chase, I told you, you should have --" said Liz, but was quickly cut off by Marion.

"I think that he can speak for himself, Ms. Thompson."

"I . . . umm," Chase mumbled. He was absolutely terrified. Wasn't Marion supposed to be Liz's buddy and confidant? Yet Liz looked like they were in huge trouble, staring at the ground and hardly saying a word now that Marion had changed her tone.

"Mr. Watson, please return to your cabin," Marion said with authority, "And make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, m'am.  Will do," he said, trying to make eye contact with Liz but her eyes refused raise.

       

Chase walked away from the lake, as he did he could have sworn he heard giggling behind him. Then he heard howling laughter and had it confirmed: Yep, they were fucking with me.

END CHAPTER SEVEN

NEXT CHAPTER: "SALLY"

Crimson Summer - Chapter Six

“Al”

        "These kids are going to be the fucking death of me," Al said, just moments after Donny left his office, "Not even a full day and I already have one of these brats getting sent to me. I told you we should have stopped taking these juvie kids. Nothing but problems."

"Yeah well those juvie kids are the only reason we're actually able to stay afloat. Those government checks are about the only thing that keeps this place going, what with your oh-so-wonderful prices," said Marion. She sat across from him at the desk, helping him sort through the chaos, as she always did.

"We raise the prices anymore and we have about half the kids, which means even less money," Al said matter-of-factly. What didn't kids these days understand about economics? The solution couldn't always just be raising the price, that’s why this great country of ours is where it's at in life.

"Yeah, I'm well aware. I just think you need to remind yourself of that when you threaten to pull the only funding we get." This was the third summer they'd had this conversation. At this point, it was just another item to mark off on the conversation checklist.

"Oh come on, Marion, you know I'm just frustrated. That little shit wouldn't even look me in the eye. Kids today just have no fucking respect," said Al, for what felt like the millionth time in his life.

"So what do you want to do with him?" asked Marion.

"What do you mean?  He's with Carol, she'll whip him into shape eventually."

"Or he'll attempt to set her cabin on fire AKA my cabin," Marion said, speaking from experience.

"Just keep an eye on him. If he becomes too much of a problem, we'll send him packing . . . after two weeks of course," said Al, always budget conscious. The courts weren't able to retract their funding if the juvenile was there for half the time. As ignorant as Al was when it came to most financial aspects of the business, that was one part he was always on point with.

"Eventually they're going to start noticing that you send home half of them at the two week mark and then we're going to lose them all," Marion said, trying to be the voice of reason. Al knew she was right, but if there was one thing he hated, it was disrespectful campers, which meant most of the juveniles.

"Fine, if he has any more issues, he's your problem," Al said, looking down on the mounds of paperwork on his desk. It was his usual routine of freaking out about the many campers -- a number that kept lowering with every passing year. Yet this was still his routine, and without it, he wasn't sure if he was even able to run the camp the rest of the summer. He was a man of routine.

"How is it that this gets more and more complicated every year? Isn't it supposed to be easier the more years under the belt?"

        "That's the theory but who's to say life ever gets easier," she said, writing furiously into the ledger.

"You fucking said it," said Al, moving over to the other side of the office. He opened up one of the filing cabinets, sticking some more papers into the mass of previous documents. “God dammit. I think I need to get another filing cabinet. Think we have it in the budget?" A seemingly ridiculous question, given the small price of cabinets but . . .

"No. Not in the slightest. I can't believe you'd even ask that after the hell I just went through will Carl. I've stretched this budget as far it as it'll go. I'm not adding one more expense; I don't care if it's paperclips," Marion stressed.

"Tell me again why the boss has to ask his head counselor for permission to do things in his own camp?"

"Because without his head counselor, the boss wouldn't have the reliable counselors he has now, not to mention the countless number of hours I've spent on the phone with parents, asking for more money. Not an easy task," Marion said, too busy to look up from her paperwork.

"Good point. I think you may be the closest thing I've had to a wife. I also think I get why I've never been married," Al joked. Looking at the office space around him, he should have known they didn't have the money for it. The wooden walls were just days away from rotting. Every window had at least a tiny crack in it, with some being full on shattered and replaced with wood planks. 

"Why don't you just get rid of the older papers? All they do is take up space," Marion pointed out, her head buried in the accounting books, trying to figure out the billing for all the campers.

"I can't do that. What if they come back? How else am I going to remember them? The ol' memory ain't what it used to be." Al knew it was sad that he even thought like that but it was a hard one to let go. 

Back when his father ran the camp, people returned all the time. Watanka was the place to be during summers in the whole tri-state area. Past campers would even bring their kids, wanting them to embark on the same great experience that they had as youths. Nowadays, he was lucky enough to have three regulars, a far cry from his father's 75% return rate. It seemed like his father did just about everything right when it came to the camp while Al felt his head was barely above water most of the time.

Al desperately wanted to return the camp to its former glory but he just didn't have the money to do so. Watanka already had a reputation that was hard to outgrow. The camp was falling apart -- even the sign out front had trouble staying on its hinges. Two of the cabins had succumbed to termites, although given the lack of campers it may have been a blessing. The greatest problem of all seemed to be that kids just weren't going to camp like they used to; something the bank was sure to point out when declining his request for another loan. Whenever Al tried to turn the camp around, the world always had different plans.

"You know that's not gonna happen," she said, unenthusiastic at the prospect of returning campers. Marion was always the voice of reason, even when Al didn't want her to be. She would tell him what he needed to hear and not what he wanted to hear, a rarity in his life.

"A man can dream." 

Al's mind wandered off, heading into the glory days of the camp.  He could remember so vividly the remodeled cabins, hundreds upon hundreds of kids and the man at the center of it all, his father Abe. The kids loved him, the counselors respected him, and the parents envied him. There was nothing that brought a smile to his father's face more than the operating hours of the camp. He even refused hiring a maintenance man, deciding he would fix any problem himself. The camp was like his child, and he treated it with the utmost care. 

One huge difference in operations was in the 80’s they would even operate for two months, rather than the current system of just one. By the end the kids would be begging to stay, exclaiming how they couldn't wait to be back the next year. And they weren't lying either. They'd be back in spades, sometimes even bringing friends with them. Abe had to turn kids away, not having enough room to house them all, a problem Al could only dream of having.

Now the only reason they could even last one month was due to parents wanting a break from their kids. It was no longer about sending their children off to better themselves, it was just a reason to get them out of the house so they could fuck in peace. If the kids had their way, they wouldn't even be at the camp. Most hated it and just wanted to be behind their computers and video games, wasting their lives away. Al loathed the current generation. Not to mention their insistence on sex.

Outside of a few rare occurrence's, Al's father didn't really have a problem with sex at the camp. If it was happening, it was happening out of view, making sure none of the adults were aware. That was respect for their elders. Nowadays Al was lucky if he didn't have a disgusting same-sex hookup during the summer. The world was going to shit and all of the horny millennials were taking it with them.

"So do you think we're going to have any issues this year with the counselors?" Al asked, knowing Marion always had a better perspective when it came to these things.

"Al, I told you, sex is gonna happen. You just have to accept that. College kids like to fuck. It's a simple fact of life," she said, finally closing out one of the books in front of her.

"They have ten months to do that, why can't they just be respectable citizens for the short time that they're here?" Al asked, truly wondering.

"Either we have a bunch of counselors fucking or a lot of counselors masturbating. At least one’s more social."

It was true but Al didn't want to believe it. He hadn't had sex in eight years, so it had just become another thing in life that he wasn't getting. He wasn't sure if he held resentment towards it or not. Probably.

"I would just like to go a summer without walking in on two of my counselors fucking. Can't even respect me enough to hide it," Al said, shaking his head.

"Most of our lives are spent hiding sex. When we're teens it's hiding it from our parents. When we're adults it's hiding it from our kids. This is just the time in life where people can fuck without hiding it. It's the beauty of the college years."

"I just wish --"

"That it was 1982?  I think you're gonna have to start giving up on that dream," Marion laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.  You say what you want, but I'm convinced those fuckers do it just to spite me."

"Now you just sound like a bitter old man. No one is out to get you. They're just living their own lives. This just happens to be a pit stop during the summer." Marion sounded sincere but the words still stung.

"Is that what this place is to you? A pit stop?" Al asked, really only hoping for one specific answer.

"Absolutely. I hate this place almost as much as you do," Marion said. The exact words Al wanted to hear.

"Every year I just tell myself 'one more year. Then you'll finally be done with this place.' And yet every year, I'm back.  What does that say about me?" Al asked, genuinely wanting an answer most would have just deemed rhetorical.

"It says you're in a routine. It happens to the best of us. Just look at Louie, he was supposed to be off at film school --"

"Please do not compare me to Louie. Ever."  Al didn't like being compared to the idiot jester he somehow hired as a counselor. Marion claimed he was good at his job but Al saw no proof.

"Fine, then compare yourself to me. I hate this place. I tell myself every year that I'm not coming back. But I just keep coming back. Why? Because it's easy and I know what I'm doing. It can be a lot of work, but nothing I can't handle. I probably could have gotten several different jobs -- better paying ones at that -- while I'm going to school. But sometimes when you live in a crazy world, all you want is familiarity." Her words sat with Al for a moment, as he stared forward, face drooping downward.

"You're right. Maybe this is the year I do it. Hell, Carol is just chomping at the bit to take this place over. Some days I wonder if I should just do it and get it over with."

"Ha! You do that then you'll need to find yourself a new head counselor," Marion trailed off towards the end, already thinking what Al was about to say.

"Oh silly Marion. You actually think that she wouldn't just appoint herself?" Al joked.

"The thought certainly entered my head but I wanted to hold out a little hope for her own humility."

"If she weren't so damn extreme I'd happily put her in charge. No offense but she's definitely the most committed counselor I've ever had. No one loves his place more than her."  Al certainly believed it but it was odd to admit out loud.

"Please don't tell her that. It'd destroy the image she has of you in her head. Not to mention the insane heartbreak that would follow." 

She was right. Al put on a show for everyone except Marion, the only person he'd trusted since his dad's passing. He couldn't help putting on the façade. He wanted everyone to view him in the same light as his father. It was hard though, and each passing year was just making it more and more difficult. Especially when he used to hate the camp so much. But he had to keep putting on a show. 

No one would even know this reality if it weren't for a drunken confession to Marion during her second year. He regretted it at first but grew to appreciate having a person to turn to. It made the decision to make her head counselor in her third year an easy one. Carol wasn't pleased but it was Al's decision so she respected it. He certainly knew that Carol would make a tremendous head counselor -- she was undoubtedly the best worker he had -- but he just couldn't imagine giving her that much power. It was sure to go to her head. When he finally decided he was done with the camp? When he'd move down to Florida and never think of camps or campers every again? That's when he'd let her run the madhouse.

Until then it was his playground.

END CHAPTER SIX

NEXT CHAPTER: "CHASE"

Crimson Summer update

Hello folks,

I just wanted to post something because I know people were curious about more chapters in Crimson Summer. A lot has been written but editing is a bitch. So it takes time. Just to give you a little taste at what's to come (and a little peak at my creative process):

Chapter six coming soon!