Chapter I: Arrival at Camp Willoughby

The old bus trundled down the road; may as well have been a tin can on wheels. It was sputtering like it had a bad case of bronchitis. Even the suspension seemed like it was on life support. I could do a 10K run around the block and still beat it easy. Last time I was in a bus like this, was in high school and needless to say, those weren't exactly the best years of my life.

The destination? Willow Wind Summer retreat. I haven't been to camp since I had my headgear taken off. I used to love the smell of the new encyclopedias they stocked up in the camp counsellors office, the nights I'd spend gazing up at the stars, the little mock up science fairs we had just to win a measly slip of paper for participation. Yeah, I was a nerd. Deal with it. And I really hated sports. Which is kind of ironic now that I think about it.

I really thought it was odd that the bus just stopped by my house that morning. My sister and I were supposed to leave for camp together but when her alarm blared for the upteenth time, I smashed it against the wall and she flared up and left with her best friend.

Looking around the bus though, I knew it wasn't just me in a slump. Willow Wind was a small town. Everyone knew each other. So on the bright side at least I knew who I was crammed into this tin can with. I looked back out the window. I don't know what I was hoping to find. Maybe a reason to stay home this summer, but these tired old buildings that were supposed to hold our history, only held my pain. And if I could get away from that for three months, then—it was absolutely worth it.

The terrain slowly shifted from the familiar brick houses, to the woody thicket. I remember it. Each tree, each branch, I remember every little detail. I remember the fake mole my third-grade math teacher used to pencil on just to make her look more French. I remember the fact that she was missing a petal in her floral brooch because she got into a squabble turned fist fight with the English teacher. I remember the little gold pin my mom used to use on my brother's nappies. And the fact that she put it in a glass display case on the third corner shelf, in her library at home. That it's cracked at the bottom because he tried to reach for it once and it slipped and it cracked. That was fifteen years ago. Every single detail. Some find it seriously unnerving that I do. Some, not o much. I mean, I remember stuff—big whoop. But it has come in handy a few times.

Mandy Bates, used to be my best friend in high school. But she used to be a leech of a best friend. What you'd call an 'inlet'. I didn't have much money. My family wasn't that well off. We were what you'd consider a middle upper class family. We could afford luxuries, we just chose more budget-friendly options. Mandy used me for every dime I had. It started small; "Hey I left my wallet at home, could you cover for me for lunch? I'll pay you back. I promise." And it graduated to, "Hey, what's a couple of hundred bucks between friends?" "I promise it's just these boots. I love em' so much!" "Of course, I'll get takeout next time." "I promise, I'll pay you next time." "Don't have my wealth, raincheck on the bowling alley?" Hey you were supposed to buy ticket for both of us on Valentine's? What aren't you my best friend ?" And no, I was not. What I was, was her personal ATM. And I paid for it dearly. With interest.

Anyway...one thing, I knew about Mandy is that she only got close to people when she wanted something. And when she got it, you were basically trash. She was done with you and she moved on to the next person. Two, she had this habit. She used to keep recordings of her exes, when they opened up to her. Like she was gathering ammo so she'd take her shot when you crossed her. She didn't know that I knew. I'm assuming she did me a mercy by not doing the same to me, or she just didn't have enough intel.

And the phone she used, she kept in a false drawer in a desk in the library at school. It was locked and no one really bothered with what was in there anyways—no one but me that is.

Call me vindictive, but I got pissed. When she finally crossed the line, I gave her a taste of her own medicine and I exposed her to her exes. It goes without saying, that house of cards came crashing down.

I shot up form my seat looking around at the camp. Or what I assume was left of it. I hadn't been here for years but even I could see that it was different. And not in a good way...My eyes went to the ginger-haired guy in the middle row, and he mirrored my confusion. He took a brave step forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

"Hey, are you sure we're supposed to be here?" he asked. "I mean where are all the other kids?"

"Got here on an early bus."

"Hey man, I'm not trying to be a prick but—"

"And I'm not trying to be a bus driver! Get in your seat boy, I don't have all day!"

And no one spoke after that. Ginger retreated to his seat wordlessly and the bus went on, choking and sputtering like it was on the brink of death. Like its driver. He reminded me of Willow Wind's cemetery groundskeeper. Short man, hunched back and the mien of the Grim Ripper himself. Just thinking about him sends a chill down my spine.

Stepping out of the bus, felt like stepping into a whole new world. I was a city girl at heart but I loved the country. Willow Wind wasn't just the country though. It was miles away from the city and basically, in the middle of nowhere. The familiar crunch of gravel beneath my boots was oddly comforting. There it was —my childhood camp. Something felt different, not quite right. You know how you put on your favourite pair of shoes, the ones you can sit in bed in all day, but then one day you put them on and you're like—someone else has been in my shoes. That's how this felt. Like something had changed but I couldn't quite put my finger on what. The sky was dull, shrouding the camp in an unnatural gloom that didn't quite fit my sunny memories here.

A number of kids filed into cabins, now covered in moss and in disrepair. Paint peeling off the walls, doors creaking like they'd crumple at so much as a single touch. Even the pine trees aren't like I remembered. They'd given way to a sodden bog, a morass of mud and murky water that seemed to have sprung up overnight. A chill ran down my spine as I trudged through the muck, the squelch of my shoes echoing in the stillness.

A weird fog hung over everything, thick and cloying. It swirled around my feet as I moved, creating ghostly shapes that danced in my peripheral vision. It was as if the camp was shrouded in a perpetual twilight, one that cast long shadows on everything.

But what struck me most was the smell. It hung heavily in the air – a mix of damp earth and decaying wood, overlaid with an odd metallic scent that made me wrinkle my nose in disgust. It was a smell that seemed to seep into everything, tainting every breath I took.

I stood there for a while, taking it all in - the sight, the smell, the eerie silence. This wasn't the camp I remembered from my childhood; yet here I was. The place felt haunted by its own past, bearing little resemblance to the haven of joy it once was. As I looked at it now - old, creepy and swampy - I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss for what used to be. I heard a squelch as I took another step forward and I held back a cringe, too scared to look down but knowing I had to get to my cabin anyway. Ugh. This was not the camp Willow Wind I remembered at all.