Storytime 4

 Word List:

1. Expectations 
2. Smite 
3. Tent 
4. Blasphemous 
5. Relaxation 
6. Confusion 
7. Ducks
8. Nuisance 
9. Massacre
10. Crumble
11. Closet
12. Tone deaf 
13. Glare 
14. Mind 
15. Marinade 
16. Pizza
17. Shortcuts 
18. Bear 
19. Renaissance 
20. Wildcard

HuMan:

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.

Goldie:

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.