Word List:
- Expectations
- Smite
- Tent
- Blasphemous
- Relaxation
- Confusion
- Ducks
- Nuisance
- Massacre
- Crumble
- Closet
- Tone deaf
- Glare
- Mind
- Marinade
- Pizza
- Shortcuts
- Bear
- Renaissance
- Wildcard
Camping in the woods had these certain cliches and expectations,
some reasonable, others extremely ridiculous. The calmer minds imagined sitting
under an open sky and gazing up at a sky illuminated by starlight, while the
bolder entities prepared themselves to smite a predator, should the
situation present itself. Some imagined group sessions of spinning tall tales
around the campfire while roasting marshmallows, and others thought of a lonely
silence that was so delicate as to be penetrated by the crackle of steps on dry
leaves. Mike wallowed in his tent nervous as to what exactly he wanted
from his summer camp. He had never done this before. He was equal parts scared
and excited at the promise of new memories ahead. At least, that was the
optimistic way of looking at it. His elder brother warned him of all dangers that
might ensue. A wolf? A bear? A poltergeist? Such blasphemous trouble
makers would normally be tossed out as dramatic interpretations, however, while
the camp guide did reassure him, that none of them were a legitimate threat,
nobody told him that these creatures were responsible for 80% of the noises
that would be heard in the camp. Mike wanted to believe he was safe, but a howl
there and growl here, coupled with some suspicious whispers from nowhere made
it harder for him to zip open his tent. He tried and he tried to convince
himself that relaxation was what he needed. A well-rested Mike would be
able to fend off just about any threat. The confusion and anxiety
weighed heavily upon Mike’s head. He could hear voices outside but could not
discern anything. The voices in his head were louder than the noises from
outside. Besides, none were actually calling out to him, all the more reason to
block them out.
His pet duck Roger was snuggling in a corner of the
test. Roger held itself compact, like a little ball asleep and wasn’t uttering
a single quack, contrary to earlier that day when he wouldn’t calm down. Was
this nuisance finally tired and ready to be cute? Mike had clearly
missed orientation, where the housing of wild animals was clearly condemned.
But, as Mike would know it, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference.
Witnessing the massacre of the duck’s ducklings was more than enough
motivation to take things into his hands. A traumatizing experience for Mike,
which many adults (should they ever find out) would lose their minds and deem
the camps inept at protecting the students.
Mike’s calm crumbled the second a large boom
unsettled both him and Roger. It was one he recognized but was not used to. It
was the firing of a rifle. This awakened him enough for him to realize just
what he was doing to himself; he was trying to wait it out. His parents said 3
days, he could tolerate 3 days. In the next few moments Mike would get up, walk
over to the closet and change out of his pajamas. It was 6 PM, don’t
ask. He put on his best costume, and stumbled out of his tent into a view out
of a movie. It was everything he imagined, a campfire, marshmallows, a sheriff
taking aim at some distant bottles, a tone-deaf teenager telling the
scariest story he could come up with. He glared at each group looking to find
his place, and in his mind, he could not go wrong with the petting zoo
area. It was peculiar, no one seemed to take notice of mike coming out of his
hibernation. He expected welcoming greetings to come explore the various
activities, however, all he received were meh acknowledgements that he existed.
He wouldn’t lie, it took a lot of fun out of his earlier contemplation of
whether it was worth moving out of the tent.
Once the animals and Mike were satiated, he made his way to
the barbeque. He wasn’t hungry, he just didn’t know where else to go. A bowl of
marinade lay ready to be barbequed by chef Mr. Dunphy. Mr. Dunphy was
delighted at the prospect of feeding an entire camp, but was clearly lacking
skill. This however, did not worry Mike as the pile of backup pizzas were
stashed in his tent, something he wouldn’t reveal to Mr. Dunphy, but he would
take amusement at the chef’s struggles. There were no shortcuts to it,
Mike would have to put himself out there. He made his way to the extroverts
trying desperately to scare each other, and on his way, he crafted the perfect
story of a crazy bear who hadn’t eaten for days, and was going to devour
all the children of the camp any minute now. Mike didn’t know it, but he was
undergoing a sort of renaissance for himself. From nervously pondering
what it could be like, he had moved on to seeing what it is like, and while he
wasn’t shocked, he wasn’t unstartled either. He confidently placed the torch
under his chin, and began his tale. He was only halfway through his rehearsed
horror story, when he would have to entertain a wildcard entry, a blond,
about his size, rocking braces and a voice so melodious he forgot what he
himself wanted to sound like. His horror story suddenly fumbled into a barrage
of tone-deaf, unstructured happenings that terrified some hypothetical campers,
not these little tots who stared and waited for the atrocity to end.
The embarrassment was hard to take for sure. But it was
obvious Mike came out the winner style. The blonde needed to be brought up to
speed, and Mike got all the chances he needed. For a nervous little wreck, the
last 10 minutes weren’t so bad. Eventually by bedtime, he came back to his
tent. The pizzas were all gone and Roger seemed to have moved on. This time
Mike had different thoughts, about how he could have done things differently.
How he could’ve done them better. Many critics would say that was the prime
achievement of the camp, Mike had changed in a mere 10 minutes.
Sally had high expectations for the
Airbnb villa that she had booked for herself and her friends. After all, it was
spacious and luxurious, with teakwood floors and minimalistic Swedish furniture
that was also carved in wood of utmost quality. The windows spanned the living
room from inch to inch, which provided a scenic view of the North American
forest. She’d found the listing after hours and hours of searching, and had
been taken by the place the second she’d laid eyes on the pictures. Honestly,
she was surprised by how cheap it actually was. Naturally, she was proud that
she’d found an absolute steal. The place didn’t seem to have a lot of reviews-
there were thirty overwhelmingly positive reviews by verified customers and one
unverified review that seemed to smite the place. She chose to ignore that, and
didn’t think much of the fact that the sample space was quite small. The cabin
was in a remote part of the forest, in an area that was not explored as much.
In hindsight, Sally should have been more wary. But alas, she and her friends
pride themselves in being avid explorers of the world’s oceans, forests,
deserts, and tundras. Of course they wouldn’t let a suspiciously inexpensive
cabin in an entirely remote location deter them. Moreover, this was a welcome
change from months of camping in tents. And so the group of six set off into
the heart of the forest, blissfully unaware of what was to come. The first day
went by perfectly. Nightfall was a different story. Everyone was tired after
the trek, so they all drifted off to sleep quickly. Well, all but one- Sally
herself. Insomnia was her oldest companion; Sally had learnt to make peace with
her a long time ago. Now, Sally loved night time. Being unable to sleep was
less than ideal but nights were her time to be herself, a perfect opportunity
to shut off the rest of the world and relish in the tranquillity of the
darkness and stars. In the cabin, she heard a number of eerie noises. If she
were her ten year old self, she’d have immediately thought that the source of
all those noises was a supernatural being. This idea seemed blasphemous now.
The swishing was coming from the trees, the low hum could be owls, and the
occasional cracking was probably a wild animal walking around the forest. None
of this was going to disturb her relaxation. Every once in a while she did
think she could hear someone whispering, but John in the next room had a habit
of talking in his sleep, and she often found his face contorted in a look of
confusion when he was going through one of his sleep talking bouts. One time
she heard him deliver an entire sleepy polemic about how ducks were a nuisance
and deserved to be massacred till the entire duck population crumbled to an
end. Even as a lover of all creatures, she couldn’t help but agree.
Suddenly, she thought she heard the
voice utter her name. This time it came from somewhere closer, sounding a
little muffled, as if the source was hiding inside the closet near the bed. The
hair on her arms stood on end, but a small part of her still stuck to the
notion that it was only John being John. She started to get up from the lounge
chair in the room and check in on him when the voice that was only mumbling so
far broke into song. The fight or flight instincts in Sally kicked in
immediately. She knew now that the voice was unlike anything she’d heard
before, and it certainly was not natural. This voice was shrill, raspy, and
almost tone deaf, and only seemed to get louder by the minute. Sally tried to
walk towards the source of the voice, but the voice seemed to be coming from
all directions. Panic kicked in. The moonlight glared against the windows,
which only added to Sally’s disorientation. Her mind was racing at a thousand
miles a minute as her panic attack got worse. The voice was only getting louder;
Sally could feel it penetrate into her head till it felt like it was coming
from inside her own brain. She tried to think of things that made her happy:
ice cream, her mother’s special marinade, cold leftover pizza, well, anything
food related. Thinking of food was one of the sure shot shortcuts that always
grounded her during a panic attack. This time, however, it did not seem to
work. In fact, the more she thought happy thoughts, the louder the voice rose.
It was getting harder and harder to bear. She still tried her hardest to look
for that one extraordinarily jubilant memory that might drown out the voice and
give her back her control, not unlike that renaissance painting of God reaching
out to Adam. The voice continued to rise. Sally continued to feel pressure in
her head. And then, suddenly, she found her wildcard. Her happiest memory- her
first trek with her parents. She was six years old, and her parents took her up
a mountain, where she saw the best sunrise of her entire life. Sally knew that
this memory was it. This would bring her back to reality. This would beat that
sinister, awful voice. She thought of every single detail about that trek. The
thought of exactly how that sunrise made her feel. The pressure in her head
continued to build, until she heard an almost ultrasonic screech. And then,
silence. Sally’s relief knew no bounds. The ordeal was over. She wondered what
had just happened, and decided to walk outside to see if she could figure it
out, stepping right past a body on the floor with its head blown out so the
brains were scattered across the floor, wearing clothes that were eerily
similar to her own.
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