[spoiler]This is a series where I spin my dreams into short stories. For the sake of story telling some elements are fabricated but for the most part this is what I saw. This ones a dark one so I feel the need to make a disclaimer stating that I am ok.[/spoiler] I often look back and reminisce about the things that I’ve done for this camp, and I always come to the conclusion that it was worth it. I’ve been here since I was 7 years old. Being allowed to stay as a counselor was the greatest honor in the world, even though nobody was more deserving of the job than I. I was loyal to Camp Riddlebrook. I knew all the campers by name, all the campfire songs and ghost stories. There was no place on earth I would rather be. This was home and it always was. Counselors come and go summer to summer, but never me. They needed me. It was the first day of summer when Mr Henley broke the news to the staff. Camp Riddlebrook was finished. After this summer we would never return and the camp would be torn down. Mr Henley ruled we should not tell the campers until the last day, but we should strive to make it the best summer yet. I found that was cruel. Giving them the “best summer yet” only to taint it with the knowledge that this memory was their last I walked out of there in a daze of confusion and hurt. They couldn’t do this to me, to the kids. Tearing down our little town of memories was a twisted joke. This was all I had. Two months a year in the happiest place on earth. A sanctuary. I will not allow it to be taken from me. Every day that summer, I awoke to hustle the smiling, sleepy faces into the dining hall. I watched them morning to night as they played relentlessly. The laughter never ceased, the magic feeling never faded. All that had changed was me and my sense of dread. This was the end. As I was organizing life jacket sizes in the boathouse, I came to my conclusion of what must be done. It only took a moment to decide. I barely gave it a second thought. The final two weeks of summer had arrived. I began by taking out the phone lines. They cut very easily. No phones meant no outside interference. But of course to really achieve that, I had to break the cars as well. The staff cars, the campers bus, the golf carts, even the bicycles. Slashed, cut, ruined. Unless someone was willing to walk 57 miles back to civilization, nobody was leaving. This drew the reaction I predicted. The phones were not discovered for a few days, but lead to serious concern. The cars were discovered shortly after that. It was then that I started killing. Night by night, cabin by cabin. One silent slice of my knife and the camper was forever preserved in this sacred place. I felt no remorse when I opened their necks, watching their life leak out of them and spread across the blue bed sheets. How could I be sad knowing they would spend their eternity in this happy place. Their playtime will never end. I wasn’t able to kill all of them in one night, I grew far too tired. I can still hear those horrible screams that echoed throughout camp the next morning. Counselors awoke to find cabins full of silent kids with lakes of blood running out the doors. Panic ensued. The remaining campers were ushered into the dining hall and searched to the bone for weapons. None of them had any notion of what had taken place the night before, but of course they noticed their missing friends. Mr Henley was in a manic state. He could hardly speak. I took it upon myself to make the kids feel safe, make them happy again. This was supposed to be the happiest place on earth. We sang our campfire songs in a circle on the floor, though enthusiasm was low. Counselors fetched campers sleeping bags and set them in rows along the hall. Every door remained locked that night, every light on. Counselors Jack and Terry departed to hike 57 miles in search of help. Their only suspect being some outside force, they never even checked me. Why would they? I didn’t try to stop them, there was no use. Everyone else would be gone by the time they returned. That night I killed Counselor Tam. She put up quite a fight but I kept her quiet. I didn’t care so much about killing the staff, they didn’t matter to me. But Tam found my knife behind the stack of salad bowls in the pantry. To keep up the theory of an unseen intruder, I threw open the back door and flicked off the floodlights. Not a single kid slept soundly that night, it would’ve been far too risky to try anything. The next morning was when mail was scheduled to arrive. Counselor Pat and I were the only two to remember. Pat thought to intercept the mail carrier in a desperate attempt for contact with the outside world, but I intercepted Pat and stuffed him in the trunk of Mr Henleys Ford. Pat bled on me a lot, so I gashed my shoulder and stomach before running back to the hall, screaming in terror. It took only 3 days to kill the campers. This “unseen intruder” would strike the moment a counselor turned their head. We moved from the dining hall, to Mr Henley’s cabin, to the counselor commons. Each time having fewer kids to move. Several other counselors abandoned the camp altogether, choosing to march the length rather than protect the children. I had several close encounters with Mr Henley as he patrolled around outside with an axe. By the time the fleet of police cars screeched into the campsite all that remained were the lifeless husks of released souls, and 4 bloodshot staff members. I was taken to a hospital to treat my wounds, then questioned for several hours. 16 years later I sit at the edge of the dock at Camp Riddlebrook. The camp was never torn down. It stands as a monument to the campers preserved within it’s boundaries. It stood untouched for years until it began to attract the attention of ghost hunters and True Crime enthusiasts. The incredible amount of paranormal activity made the case all the more famous, and the camp was sold to a man who transformed into a haunted attraction. For 30$ a person you can explore the ghostly campsite where 63 campers, aged 7 to 13 years old, lost their lives in a series of unsolved attacks. For 100$ you can spend the night at your own risk. Many believed the killings to be the actions of the malicious Boathouse Ghost, but all she was ever good for was knocking paddles off the racks. I visit quite often. I can still hear the squeals of delight as the kids cannonball in the water, see them parade about the trails singing and clapping as they hike. I’m happy they’re still here, and they always will be. I know Tam and Pat are looking after them, making sure they wake up for breakfast and fasten their life jackets tight. I can imagine them thanking me in joyous unison for giving them this never ending fun in the camp we love so dearly, for making the magic a reality. All this I thought as I sit on the edge of that dock with a smile, as the cool summer breeze tickles my face and whispers praise and gratitude in my ear. My final memory of the happiest place on earth before an unseen and silent force grabbed me by the ankle and dragged me to the bottom of the lake, holding me resolutely until the water replaced my breath and the struggling stopped.