• Chapter 1
    "Camp!" I was outraged. "The only camp around is that prissy camp that has been known for... I don't know... Losing people... including your brother" I stammered.
    "I know." my father said. My father had been quiet for my entire explosion. "But you know that your step-mother will not let you stay over the summer. And, it has been a long time since they lost Marcus. It has changed hands at least a dozen times." His voice was so calm. I hated it when he talked like this. He was talking to me as if I was a little child. I am sixteen. I can take care of myself.
    "Gruphh." I snorted and rolled my eyes.
    My father signed and continued, "You are going and it might be good for you. Complain all you like, but you are going tomorrow!" I was too busy glowering at the linoleum in the dingy kitchen to watch my father leave. Summer camp. Not only that. Summer camp with people I hate, that detest me. But as I thought about my options, it would be worse if I stayed. The past week had been full of me doing all of the meaningless tasks that popped into Gail, my step-mother's ditzy mind.
    I exhaled loudly. I had no choice in the matter. I pulled myself out of the chair I had been residing in and looked around the room blankly, not really focused on anything. This summer is going to suck! I dragged my feet as I walked to my room to pack. I lifelessly opened the door to my closet-sized bedroom. I threw the contents of my drawers into y messenger bag and fastened it. I sat on my bed.
    It was not dark. My house was on the edge of the forest. The woods had, to my knowledge, that last troupe of gypsies. I so wanted to run out into the blackness to the old fortune teller's tent and hear her wise words of foresight. Last time I had gone to see her she had spoken of a "great" change. Was this going to be the primer for it? I don't think so. The people at camp will be from the rich district, and they tended to be snooty. I lowered my back so it was resting on the mattress. I'm not going to sleep well tonight. The dark shadows on my walls twisted and morphed as the trees outside swayed in the wind. It was so... so...
    I blinked. Now I found myself in a forest. What the... I must be dreaming. All of my dreams were in this forest.
    "You are leaving, are you?" I heard a man's voice that though alien was familiar.
    "Yes," my body said as if it was not attached to my mind. There was never anyone else in my dreams.
    "Tonight?" the other had the same tone my father had earlier. I wanted to see who this man was, but my body rejected my whims. Instead my body merely nodded and started walking into the black woods.
    "Farewell, son." The man's voice got very soft with the last word, so much in fact that I barely heard it. I felt warm water on my face inching from my eyes, at first slowly then faster and faster until the tears made a steamy waterfall. I have to console my body. The drops were now so strong that I could not see. "You made the right choice." I said to my body.
    "Tell that to Dravey." was the only reply I got.
    Dravey? I had never heard that name before. Had I. Time raced by now as my dream went back to normal, but it wasn't. My dream world was now broken. I can feel it. Several times I felt my body stop and almost but then shake off the feeling. This was worse than not sleeping. I want out of here. I tried in vain to break my slumber. Something tied me to this body.
    It is hopeless. I am never waking up.
    "Mmhm" what an odd thing to hear in a forest even a dream one. My body didn't react. "Mmhmmh," the sound was getting louder. "Jerhrey."
    "What!" I tried to shout back to no avail.
    "Jarphey," the world is shaking and growing fuzzy.
    "Jeremy!" My eyes shot open at the sound of my name.
    "Dad!" my father was standing over my bed with his hands on my shoulders.
    ""You are alive," he breathed and collapsed into the chair next to my bed. "Your eyes were open and... and" My father's voice shook as he spoke.
    "Dad, I'm fine." I sat up. GACK! The sun...the sun! What time is it? When do we leave?"
    "Leave? Oh yeah. That was what I came in here for... to get you.
    "Then let me get dressed." How could I sleep through my father? I tore my bedclothes off and jumped out of bed.
    Wait. I am fully dressed and I didn't get under the covers.
    Odd... how very odd.

    Chapter 2
    The camp bus was the only way to the get to the camp, so my father drove me to the high school, which was the closest stop.
    "Thanks, Dad. I'll wait here 'til the bus comes." I said while exiting the car.
    "Okay, Jeremy," my father said warmly, "Are you sure?"
    "Yes... I'll write every week." I waved and shut the door to the oar. My dad has always been overly protective of me, and I don't know why. He drove off slowly, but didn't leave. Ugh. Why me?
    "Hey, look it is MacKaly." Aargh. Harold Cooper was the captain of the football team and the mayor's son. "This isn't the bus stop for 'tard camp."
    "Then why are you here?" I countered. Now comes the part when Harold and his grunts (Mike Tarpin, Zack Fesser, Roger Chaffee and Nic Peth) beat my brains in.
    An air horn from around the corner. The six of us turned to watch an old, rickety bus come around the bend and stop in front of me. The driver opened the door. It was a pull open door with a lever. I have never seen that before.
    The grunts nearly trampled me to get on board the bus. WACK! Harold smacked me on my back so hard I nearly fell on my face. I rearranged my things and stepped on the bus.
    The driver smiled at me. He had tawny hair and wide teeth. I looked to the back of the bus. The others were already in the back seats of the bus, so I sat behind the driver. "Why don't you sit with your friends?" The driver's voice was deep and even.
    "They aren't my friends," I lamented scowling at the others.
    "Uh huh, so why were you with them?" he drew the question out slowly pulling each word out of his appendix.
    "That was the stop." I said shortly.
    "Oh yeah, "he chuckled slightly, "Back when I went to camp there was many more stops... There were cutbacks."
    "After Marcus MacKaly disappeared." So there!
    "Yes. Marcus was my friend. I miss him." the driver's voice trailed off.
    "Then, why do you work..."
    "For the camp?" he looked at me. We had begun driving. I hadn't noticed. "I met him there, and, I guess, I fell in love with the place. How did you know about him? Not many your age know of that."
    I didn't answer. Instead I stared out the window.
    "Hey, MacKaly" I winced at Roger's voice, "Wanna play a game?" I ignored him.
    "That is how you know of it, eh?" The driver mused.
    "Yes." I said tightly. I should have packed a book. I'll count the lines on the road. 1... 2... 3... 4...
    "That won't work." the driver smiled.
    9... 10... 11... I'll show him... 13... 14...
    The rest of the trip was like that. I got all the way to 7259 lined when we stopped at the camp.
    "How far did ya get?" the driver asked when he turned off the engine.
    "7259."
    "Ya did seven thousand more than I did." He put his hand on my arm. I shook it off. We were the only ones on the bus. I nearly knocked him over to disembark.
    A grandmotherly woman was with the other boys. She urged me to join them.
    "Now you can go to Mess." the old woman's voice cracked as she spoke. "The staff will join you soon." Oh yes this will be fun.
    I chased the other to find the Mess Hall. I was in a building not much bigger than my house. It has to be the main office. As I looked, it was the only structure around. Strange.
    I followed the others to the Hall. It was dark, dank and depressing. My eyes were still adjusting to the lack of light when the back wall peeled open to reveal an enormous meadow on rolling hills encircled completely with trees.
    "Sit." the woman commanded in her cracked voice. Harold and his troop scrambled to the seats around a round wooden table. I remained where I was. There were four others in the room: the elderly lady, the bus driver and two men in lab coats.
    "Welcome to Camp Whipshot," the bus driver said. His hair had been combed and slicked back, I am Jurard Paslen, the head... uh... guy."
    The boys at the table were oddly quiet. Did they recognize him as I had? Hardly plausible, but...
    "You will be in Cabin 16," Jurard continued, "in spite of its name it is attached to this building." He wasn't looking at us. In fact, he was pacing back and forth along the far wall more like her was practicing as opposed to delivering his speech. "These men will give you the vaccines you need to stay here."
    "Vaccines! That was..." Roger began then faded when Jurard's harsh gaze locked with his.
    "Through that door," Jurard finished and pointed at a door to his left still looking at Roger. Harold, Mike, Nic and Zach abandoned the other boy to the man's piercing eyes.
    I walked up to Roger and shook him by the shoulder. He turned and looked at my face. His eyes were empty barren wastelands, most likely the result of the terror he had felt. Color came back to Roger's eyes when he looked at me. He shoved me hard into the table and ran to catch up to his friends. Ungrateful lout.
    I glowered at Jurard who met my gaze with an equally hard look. It was an eternity before he broke eye contact.
    "Jeremy, join the others." his voice was pensive.
    I watched the dean until the door closed. He hardly moved in that time. He barely breathed or anything.
    The room was bright, white and surreal, full of medicines and needles. The grunts had already passed through the system and the doctors were waiting for me. Silently, they took my measurements; how tall, heavy, coordinated I was, how fast my reflexes were. Then the man proceeded to give me shot after shot of multi-colored liquids, so many my arms went numb to the pain.
    "You may go," the left doctor squeaked after what felt like a billion shots.
    As I looked at him, I realized he was pale and sweating as if he was being chased by a tiger or was locked in a room with a crazed monster. I reached out with my sore arm in an attempt to calm his nerves. His arm recoiled from outstretched hand and reiterated that I could leave.
    I walked to the door marked with a silver 16. I turned to look at the doctors who were not packing the vials of liquid away into brown leather cases. The door to the Mess Hall cracked opened. Jurard slipped in.
    "Thanks for doing this," Jurard whispered, "I know it..."
    "It was nothing," the doctor said, "We have to get back."
    "OK. Well..."
    "Have you heard anything from Marcus?"
    "No, and..." Jurard saw me, "Jeremy! You should leave."
    "Why? What am I doing?"
    "This isn't your place, boy!" the doctor growled.
    "Really!?!" Have I lost my mind? This isn't me...
    "Jeremy, there are things you don't understand." Jurard had moved closer to me and grabbed my arm tightly. The first doctor was missing from sight, but I didn't care anymore. All I wanted was to get what I want.
    I feel a p***k of pain in my back and the world became fuzzy and warped. The sedative worked quickly and soon I was asleep.

    Chapter 3
    The sun was blinding when I finally stirred and I hurt.
    "Hello, sleepyhead."
    What? I turned and saw Roger was standing next to the bed with a grin from ear to ear. "You saved me. I saw my own death in his eyes. I am in your debt." I sat up during the pause that followed as he tried to think of my name. "...Er... What is your name? I know it starts with a 'G' or 'J'"
    "Jeremy." I answered coldly. I got out of bed. I was still fully clothed. "Rob, did you put me in bed?"
    "Roger and yes." Roger sounded like an excited puppy even though I had messed up his name. Weird.
    "Where are you friends?" I asked looking around the deserted cabin.
    "They thought that I was...er... obsessing over you."
    "Over me!" my voice broke as I shrieked,
    "Yeah. I sorta haven't left your side." Roger was notably uncomfortable with the conversation.
    "Okaaay" that's not freaky at all, "So... how have I been doing?" I jokingly said.
    "Oh... fine, sir." Roger was becoming less and less together as I watched but what was freaking me out was somewhere in my head I was enjoying this.
    I was scratching my head. Ouch! I looked at my hand. My fingernails came to points that just surpassed the tips of my phalanges.
    "Roger, do you have a nail file?"
    "Yeah? Why?"
    "Did you do this?" I asked as I showed him my hand.
    "No" Roger sounded hurt by my accusation, "but Harold's nails looked like this too."
    Something twisted inside me. I was angry and murderous.
    "Where is Harold now, Roger?" Roger stepped away from me as the question vacated my lips. "Roger" I pressed the frightened boy.
    "L-last I saw he was in the Mess hall." Roger stammered as I rose from the cot.
    "How do I get there from here?" My voice was an ice sword cutting into Roger and his answer came as readily as his very blood would.
    "Through the door by the window, down the stairs, go around to the front and your there!" He squeaked.
    I stalked out of the still cabin. The sun blazed overhead feeding my fury. Every step the rage in my chest grew. The placid meadow took on fiery tones. My blood boiled in my veins. The walk to the cafeteria was ether an eternity or an instant I was too hot to care. All I noticed was my target, my prey, Harold Copper. The mayor-let was sitting with his back to the door gabbing with his dim-witted brethren. I slipped into the room deftly and so careful as to not alert any of the morons directly ahead. I was about to attack, when...
    "Jeremy!" Jurard grabbed my shoulder, "I wanted to talk to you... in my office... please." Jurard began dragging me out the way I just came. I tried to break his vise-like hold. His response was to wrap me tighter in his arms. His grip made me more defiant. My hatred grew to encompass him as well as Harold. Now, I realized that at this rate I would have been an enemy to the world within the year, but as I was consumed completely by my rage. I couldn't have cared less.
    We went to a door I had not seen before and entered the office. It was little more than a broom closet with an ancient rusty iron desk that was bolted to the concrete slab floor. The desk had a myriad of paper, books, and half-eaten food, piled all on top of each other on the surface of it.
    Jurard used his foot to pull up a chair, sat me in its enthralling arms and tied me down, with me protesting the entire time.
    "You will sit there 'til you calm down." Jurard's hands were squarely on my shoulders as he spoke.
    "I hate you! I will ...schick... mmhmph!" He ducked taped my mouth shut.
    "There we go!" He smiled at me as he spoke.
    I began to thrash as he moved to the chair behind the desk.
    "Jeremy! Stop that." Jurard's voice was very monotone. "That chair was designed to hold enraged people. You aren't getting out."
    For the first hour and a half I didn't listen to his words. I struggled with the restraints until I was so sore it hurt to blink. Don't get me wrong, I was still angry. I was also trapped. While I was incarcerated, Jurard fiddled with some of the more loose papers and generally carried on with this work. Every now and then he would remove the tape from my mouth to replace it with a new piece of tape when I began shouting again.
    Millennia passed as I slowly burned out.
    "Calm?" he asked as I began nodding off. I just looked at my jailer. "Good! Now we can talk." How are you liking Camp Wipshot?"
    "I have spent the entire day in a broom closet tied to a chair." I had a definite edge to my voice.
    "Oh yeah." Jurard whispered to something far far away.
    "You forgot!" Do you have short term memory loss?" I was outraged. Could he have really forgotten already?
    "Maybe." His eyes rolled slowly as he talked, "but that is not the point. I want to know, who were you so angry at?" His calm voice reminded me of my father. I didn't like it, not at all.
    "None of your business."
    "No no no no. If it happens in my camp it is my business... by definition."
    "Harold." I spat the name as if the very word were poison and it left an equally foul taste in my mouth.
    "Really? I wonder why? Do you know, oh angsty one?" His words were sweetly mocking and stung worse than my rage to Roger. But, Jurard did bring up a good point. Why was I so enraged?
    "I don't know." I whispered so quietly that I barely heard it.
    "Mmm... I know." He said thoughtfully.
    "You know what?" I was getting suspicious of this place.
    "Er..." Jurard's eyes rolled up and to the left. I know how that feels. Yes." The man shifted uneasily in his seat.
    "Mmm... Really?" Perhaps I was enjoying having Jurard in the hot eat too much.
    "You know you little...!" at that point my stomach bellowed a noise of anger and hunger. Jurard, who had gotten quite angry at my fun, regained his composure. "You haven't eaten I get you before you could."
    He stood and put an opened snack bag of Lay's on my lap. Jurard grabbed my hands and inspected them, then untied my right hand.
    "Is it safe?" I asked as I poked the bag with my index finger.
    The dean shrugged and sat back in his chair. I began munching on the stale crusty chips, all six of them.
    "You haven't been doin' this long." I said shaking the crumbs from the empty bag.
    "Why do you say that?" Jurard's eyes were hiding something from me and it was obviously paining him to keep its secret.
    "It is all over you body." I spoke idly.
    "Is it... well... this is hard... I am separating all of you. You kids are trouble together. You proved that." These were not his thoughts and it was hard for Jurard to speak them.
    "Okay that is fine with me." The less time around Harold the better.
    "There is one thing." Jurard paused as he stood up, "a catch, you know. And it is you." Again I felt the p***k. The familiar spin of the world and was in a dreamless sleep.

    Chapter 3.8
    David MacKaly had not heard from his son since he had seen him get on the bus and that was almost a month ago. He was worried.
    "If you were going to worry," Natalie, his wife of convenience, droned sweetly, "why did you send him?"
    David would not answer, he couldn't. All that he would disclose was that he did it for Jeremy. This was the best for him. He could remember back to last year. Jeremy's summer was full of ridicule and menial labor. This was the best way. It was. It was.

    Chapter 4
    I woke to whistling. It was a jaunty tune but was also grating. I rolled over to yell at the perpetrator. It was a tall boy my age with long, dark hair. The moment that my mouth opened to scream at the strange person he gave me a sideways smile.
    "What is your name?" he did not face me as he spoke. It was like well something foreign to me. His emerald eye that I could see was fixed on my head resting on the pillow.
    "Jeremy." My throat was dry and my name barely escaped before I started looking for water.
    "My name is Elrus." The boy said as he tossed a water bottle at my, still standing sideways to me. I consumed the water greedily. The water stung as it trickled to my waiting stomach. "I know that feeling." Elrus laughed.
    "Elrus," my voice cracked as I spoke, "why aren't you looking at me?" Something in me told me to trust this weirdo.
    "I am looking at you." He said indignantly.
    "You aren't facing me." Elrus lowered his head and turned so his chest was facing the bed. I sat up. Only then did I realize that all I was wearing was a large white shirt. At least I have clothes on.
    "For a while I thought you were dead." Now he was looking at me through his hair.
    "Look up... what do you mean?"
    "No and you have been out for weeks." Elrus's voice was very matter of fact.
    I stared at the grey wall of the bunker we were in. The room had the bare necessities: two cots, four walls, a ladder leading to a hatch, and a sky light.
    "Are you hungry, Jeremy? I ... I know you... should..." Elrus stammered all over words clumsily.
    "Yes, very." My stomach roared and gurgled on protest of my starvation.
    "Then let's eat." He said with a smile. Elrus turned to see my reaction and I saw automatically why he had avoided my gaze. His left eye had a big white scar across it that cut it completely in half. I watched him realize that his eye was in my field of vision. I saw the shame color his face.
    "Yes we should." I said as I grabbed the pair of pants that were folded at my foot and began putting them on.
    Elrus nodded half in agreement, half to hide his scar.
    "How'd ya get that? I asked gesturing to his covered eye.
    "I was wrestling with my brother, Dravey." I stopped cold. Dravey. Dr... avey. That was... but it couldn't... could it?
    "What's wrong?" Elrus's question snapped me back to reality.
    "Nothing." I lied, "we should get some food before I eat my shoe."
    "Yeah." He concurred and started up to the surface, "I heard that you don't get along with Harold?"
    "Sooo..." I responded as I watched my new friend undo the hatch at the top.
    "I don't get along with him either." The hatch flew open letting the low summer sun into the dank bunker. Blinking, I stepped through the port hole and on to the most grass.
    "The sun is foreign to me." Elrus said shielding his eyes from the light.
    "Me too." I groaned as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the attacking light.
    "Yeah," he chuckled, "but I grew up in the deepest recesses of the woods where sun is scarce and plus my family is mostly nocturnal." I focused on Elrus, not the way the sun hit the trees or the pristine pool with a flawless reflection of this bald spot of the world or the way the wind made the wild grasses look like gold, there was only Elrus. He was painted with his shame again.
    "They don't know you are here," I whispered, "do they?"
    "No they don't." Elrus's shame was bleeding into the tranquil meadow almost staining my mind's eye.
    "Let's eat." I changed the subject from the sensitive mark on his self marred ego.
    "Yes," he smiled, "let's." We walked to the main building; Elrus had a re-ignited bounce to his step.
    The dining hall was loud inside. Harold was whaling on Roger as Harold's posse stood around and mocked the battered boy. Before I knew it I was firmly latched on Harold's broad back trying to pop the b*****d's head off. The large oaf dropped Roger who scrambled to the far was of the hall. There was perfect silence as Harold gasped for precious air, a commodity he was rapidly running out of. Blood filled my mind; murder my only vice. There was nothing but my fury. I did not even hear the man open the door. I did not hear his screams for me to stop. I did not see him grab his weapon of opportunity. I did feel the heavy stool crash into my spine dislodging me from my dilapidated foe.
    "I am going to lock you up and throw away the ******** key." Jurard's face was colored with anger.
    "He was hammering Roger." I said pointing at the two of them: Harold still forcing oxygen into his lungs and Roger nursing a bloody nose and numerous contusions.
    "So you decided the only way to save Roger was to kill Harold?" Jurard could yell really loud.
    "Sounds right to me." Elrus chimed in musically.
    "Not helping!" Jurard bellowed. Then he began kicking me. I had nothing I could really do. The force of this made my liver want to come through my aching back. I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed the rampaging leg. It was a bucking bronco, but it hurt less. Then I go the bright idea to wrap my legs around his other leg. Something must have happened because Jurard landed on me when he lost his balance. The whole thing lasts less than half a minute.
    "Ya okay?" Elrus asked as he picked me off the ground.
    "Ohh" I groaned, "yeah." After looking me over he sat me at a table. I tasted metal. I touched the warm blood dripping freely from my puffy lip. I had also bitten my tongue so hard that a chunk of it had to be missing and that was gushing as well. I stood and fell right back down. I tried again more slowly this time and hobbled out of the room. Jurard was there.
    "Where's the bathroom?" I asked bitterly. He nodded roughly to a booth next to the bus. I stumbled over to it and busted the door in.
    It was little more than a glorified outhouse with a mirror over the hole and hand sanitizer. I spat the lake of blood from my swollen mouth then looked up to face the mirror.
    My face was that of a stranger. My features were correct but that look. A look that would make the devil run for the hills. A look fashioned out of hatred, anguish and poor hygiene.
    The odd face opened its lips to reveal a row of blood covered fangs. His face showed the fear I felt. He moved to scream but it was my voice that was heard. I punched the stranger. My sharp nails dug into my skin adding to the blood in the pit. I fell to the floor. I felt the stranger's uncombed hair on my scalp. My hands slid to my ears that now came to points at the tips. Hot salty tears stung my battle wounds. What was happening to me?
    There was a knock at the door.
    "Go away!" my voice was a mix of anger and sadness.
    "Jeremy, it is Jurard." I propped my feet on the door, "I want to say I am sorry for kicking you."
    "Fine! Go away!" I yelled. Jurard opened the door. Stupid panic doors. Jurard was holding a peace offering a tray heaped with food and a plain white towel. I grabbed the towel first to mop up the rest of the blood in my mouth then I scarfed the food down so fast I nearly ate the fork that came with the meal.
    "Was that good?" Jurard was obviously trying to compensate for the previous actions.
    "Jurard," I had to choose my words wisely, "What in Sam Hill is going on here!"
    "Spoiler." Jurard said with a smile. I rolled my eyes. "You should get to writing your father before the court date is set."
    I grunted. What could I tell my father? I got up, found a pad of paper and pen, and began telling my father about normal camp experiences like camp fires, pranks, s'mores, knowing he would not believe reality.
    By the time I had finished my work of fiction, the sun was disappearing behind the dense forest trees.
    "Hey" Elrus was right behind me, "are you going to tell him about me?" I looked at the page and added my new friend in as a postscript. "You are a pal, Jeremy. We need to go to the well."
    "There is a well around here?" I questioned.
    "Oh yeah, it is by the edge of the forest. Come on." Elrus grabbed my wrist and began pulling me toward the far end of the meadow.
    "Let me stand up at least." I said as I stumbled clumsily behind him.
    "We would be late if I did that." He explained.
    "This is poor planning on your part then," I screamed as I almost face-planted into a rather large rock. "Maybe you should pick me up. Ya know… before I die a horrible death."
    "No time," Elrus panted, "got to make time."
    As a consequence of Elrus and his paranoia the two of us collided with the well and nearly had to call Lassie.
    "You are going to be the death of me." I half panted half yelled at the guy. He shrugged my comment off.
    "Harold hasn't called you names all day." Elrus said as he sat on a rotting log.
    "Humph" I sat next to him, "Why on Earth do I call you a friend?"
    "You’re a glutton for punishment." The others began arriving as he answered. Harold and Roger broke from the pack. Roger sat on the ground beside the log. Elrus and I was occupying Harold stood in front of me and handed me a small box.
    My eyes traveled from the box to Harold's deflated face back to the box. I opened the box cautiously. Inside was the little silver whistle his father had given him when he became captain of the football team. Confused I tried to hand him the box and the memento back to Harold but he had already rejoined his friends.
    "What am I going to do with this?" I asked showing Elrus the whistle, "I don't even like football."
    "I think he is telling you that you are the boss." Elrus's scar caught the light from the failing sunset.
    "I don't want to be the boss." I shoved the box and the whistle into Elrus's lap. "You be the boss, I will not."
    It was quiet round the ancient well. That is until the light failed us…