I was exhausted. But my mind darted to one terrifying scenario after another. How far would a bullet penetrate through a clapboard cabin wall? Would I have a better chance of surviving if my bed were perpendicular to the outside wall? Or should I drag it longwise into the middle of the room?
My thinking wasn’t coherent, but I didn’t know it.
Three nights of patrolling the grounds with a baseball bat had exhausted me and filled my head with terrifying scenarios. Determined to stay awake and do my duty to the kids, just the night before, I’d taken eight No-Doz pills. I threw back the tiny pills in one handful with a gulp of water. But instead of being wired and ready to patrol the acres of campgrounds, I collapsed into the hickory rocker next to the massive fireplace.
I just couldn’t do it anymore.
Now, as per the schedule we’d arranged, tonight I was holed up in my half of the camp directors’ cabin to get a couple hours of sleep before midnight. That’s when I’d have to patrol the grounds. But my mind wouldn’t shut down.
At age nineteen, I was trying to keep a camp full of fifty-two elementary kids and their eight camp counselors calm and safe. How had it come to this?
I’d spent three summers working at this all-girls camp, starting as a Counselor-in-Training on the waterfront and working my way up to direct the waterfront with Red Cross swimming lessons, boating and simple sailing instruction, and twice-daily free swim times. The camp still served mostly inner-city kids, but this year was different. Last year’s directors hadn’t returned– I didn’t know why– and we had a new, young director in their place. Their resignation was disappointing, as I’d gotten to know them well. Just a few weeks before camp started, I was recruited as Assistant Camp Director to maintain continuity. A college student, I was glad to have an increased paycheck and excited to make the camp experience memorable for everyone.
Instead, this season was turning out to be too memorable. More like traumatizing! For the past several nights, we’d had nighttime intruders on campus who were hell-bent on terrifying us all. And they were succeeding.
The older kids knew that prowlers had been on the grounds three nights in a row. These were street-savvy kids, even though they were all under age 14, and the gossip had spread like green algae on the lake in a scorching August. By breakfast, they all had heard Latisha’s story: she and a CIT had been chased by a ghost on her late-night trip to Moonbeam, the name of the shower house. The CIT, Brownie, wasn’t sure what she’d seen. But she didn’t want to hang around to find out. The girls had never run faster. Luckily, they’d already done their bathroom business.
Pinkie, the twenty-five-year-old first-grade teacher hired as camp director, had already retired to her end of our cabin that night. But our tiny waterfront director, Waves, and I were still up late talking in the lodge about her upcoming Water Olympic games.
We bolted outside when we heard the girl’s scream.
Nothing looked amiss under the moonlight that spilled from behind dark clouds onto the open field beyond the big oak tree. Three weeks ago, we’d posed underneath its spreading branches for the annual staff picture, the counselor excitedly dreaming of learning to sail the little Sunfish, singing campfire songs, and making memories for a lifetime.
Instead, we were scanning the grounds beyond the lodge, all the way to the property line of heavy brush and trees along the road. Was someone hunkered down in the thicket watching us? Were they trying to scare us? Was it just a joke? Whatever it was, we all were rattled.
In the morning, Pinkie delegated the task of calling the Y to me, “the experienced one.” When I finally got through to our boss, I was promptly dismissed. It was probably just a joke we’d taken too seriously.
The second night made things worse. During our patrol, one of the counselors caught a glimpse of movement across the sports field. The intruders must’ve seen our small group coming closer hefting baseball bats. The strangers took off in waves of white, and I rushed back to the lodge to call 911.
By the time the sheriff’s deputies arrived, we just looked like some scared kids. And that was exactly what we were.
“Looks like everything’s okay,” the deputy observed with a bemused smile. “We may not be here right away, but you can always call if you need us.”
Were we overreacting? His nonchalance made me feel like we were the butt of a joke everyone else got but us. Chastised and embarrassed, we all slogged back to our cabins and spent a restless night.
The next morning, the campers were occupied with their class rotations, swimming lessons, land sports, and crafts. But I slumped across the camp store desk, trying to focus during one more counselor tirade.
“Why won’t anyone listen to us?” Pip, the sports counselor, yelled. “All the counselors are scared to death.”
I looked at her through blurry eyes. “You heard the sheriff last night. There are only two deputies for the whole county. They can’t always get here fast.”
“Well, someone could be dead by the time they arrive. And I tell you what: it’s not gonna be me. Those creeps could have guns under those sheets. I’m done!” the girl spat, and then she whirled to leave.
“Wait, Pip. Can’t you hang on a little longer?” I pleaded. “Pinkie said she’d try to do something today.
She stopped by the pop machine. “Oh, yeah? Where was she last night when we all were walking the grounds?” Pip demanded. “She’s supposed to be the camp director! She was asleep until the cops got here, wasn’t she?”
I shrugged. “She promised to call the Y this morning.”
“Didn’t you already do that?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Yeah, I called after the first time. They didn’t think it was a big deal. They thought it was a prank.”
Hands on her hips, she said. “A prank! Hmph! Who knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had that baseball bat.”
“You’re pretty scary with a bat!”
The girl smirked and flipped her long braid. “Well, I was on the softball team.”
I half-smiled. “Can you wait ‘til Pinkie makes the call, Pip? Can you talk to the others? Calm them down?” I asked, my mind racing. “For now, if we have to, we’ll plan to keep all the kids in the lodge at night. We’ll call it… a… a slumber party.”
“Like that’ll fool the older ones,” Pip snorted. She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “I’ll see if I can find more bats.” She adjusted her visor and headed to the equipment shed.
She was right. We weren’t fooling anyone.
The day dragged by even with the silliness and competition of Waves’ Water Olympics down at the lake. But the counselors were on edge, bickering about which cabin earned the most points. That evening, when the two little girls fumbled the flag-folding ceremony, older campers snickered and one of the CIT’s made a cutting remark. Our carefree summer mood had evaporated.
Finally, back in my side of the directors’ cabin, I shoved aside the persistent thoughts of bullets and fell asleep on my bunk. I was exhausted. Around 11:00, before it was my turn to patrol the grounds, Pip and her CIT Sweetie Pie began banging on my cabin door and yelling.
I grabbed a hoodie, slid into my sneakers, and hobbled to the door, tripping over my untied shoelaces.
“The kids are in the lodge,” Pip exclaimed breathlessly, a baseball bat on her shoulder.
Sweetie Pie broke in, her voice high, “Someone banged the shutters on Potawatami. One of the girls said she saw a ghost through the screen.”
Pip admonished me, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear them; they were screaming.”
I shook my head to focus. I’d been sleeping like I’d been hit by a bat. “Did you see anyone?”
Pip said, “I just saw something white fluttering as they ran toward the fence row. Then we took the girls to the lodge. Waves is still there.”
“Great, “I muttered to myself.
Just as I ducked into my sweatshirt, two more CITs rushed up out of breath.
“Did you see them?” one asked, her face flushed.
“Who?”
“The people in the sheets. They were by the lodge, at the back door, when we came to get a pop.”
Radar, the older one, hefted an aluminum baseball bat. “I threatened to swing, and they ran.”
“I’ll go call the sheriff,” I told them. “Pip, can you all go check the other cabins? See if everyone’s okay? Take them to the lodge if you need to. And I’ll get Pinkie.”
She nodded, and the three CIT’s followed her. Angry, I rapped on Pinkie’s bedroom door. Why did this fall on me? It was her responsibility.
After a groggy “What?” the young woman came staggering out in her fuzzy cat-print bathrobe.
“I’m going to call the sheriff. It happened again,” I hissed. She nodded her head and pulled her bedroom door closed.
I watched her trudge outside to the picnic table under the dusk-to-dawn light and sit. She yawned and wrapped herself closely with her bathrobe. I was back in no time and disgusted. When the CITs returned, Pinkie stood up and hugged Sweetie Pie, who was close to tears. She glanced away from Pip who stood glaring with her hands on her hips. We waited for the sheriff in silence.
A deputy drove up the gravel drive twenty minutes later. We met him as he got out of his car. “Who’s in charge?” he asked.
Everyone looked at Pinkie. She reluctantly got up. “I’m the director, but I don’t really know what happened.”
Then the others chattered all at once, trying to tell the man about the intruders, the shutters on the cabin, and the campers being afraid. But once again, he waved his hand and dismissed it as a prank. “Probably just some local kids.”
“But who’s going to stop it?” I pushed back. “This is twice now. The campers are terrified. And some of us are pretty shaken up, too.”
“Probably just some kids having fun. I doubt they’ll be back tonight,” he said, turning back to his car. “I’ll turn on the lights, in case they’re still around,” he offered.
Fun! This was nothing like fun, for any of us. The sheriff’s lights spun around creating grotesque red and blue ghosts dancing on the tree trunks.
The CIT’s whispered, making plans for their parents to come to pick them up. The older counselors didn’t even try to talk quietly. They debated which cars would best hold all their belongings.
I couldn’t blame them. But how could I get people at the Y to believe that we were terrified? They were two hours away, and it seemed like they didn’t care. Meanwhile, I was in the middle of a mess with no one else interested in taking charge.
Pinkie just looked at me. Shaking my head in bewilderment, I said, “Go on back to the lodge with the kids now. I’ll get my sleeping bag and come over, too.”
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Pinkie said, patting Sweetie Pie’s back. Then she tightened her robe belt and turned to the little path to our cabin. I wasn’t in the mood to argue about whose job it was to sleep in the lodge.
The next morning after dozing again all night in a rocking chair with campers asleep on the lodge floor, I was haggard and furious. It was time for Pinkie to take some action. After all, she was the camp director. At least older– if not wiser. And making twice as much money as I was.
I found her in the kitchen, calmly sampling the chicken noodle soup the two gray-haired cooks were making for lunch. No talk about last night. No mention of anything unusual.
“Maybe a little pepper?” Pinkie suggested after slurping from the spoon.
“Kids don’t generally like pepper,” the woman from the neighborhood scoffed. Her elderly coworker cast a sideways glance at me and frowned. Over the past three weeks, I’d surmised neither cook had much use for this year’s director who spent most of the day in her cabin, the only time the two cooks were working.
As I stood watching, my fists tightened. Pinkie’s sampling soup when the campers could be in danger and the staff is ready to quit! What kind of director is she?
“I need to talk to you. NOW!” I barked, motioning to the storeroom where the rotary pay phone hung on the wall. “Do you understand that your staff is about to leave?”
Pinkie stood facing me, her eyes wide open and mouth silently agape.
“Do you know that we’ve had white-robed intruders roaming the grounds for three nights in a row?
She just stared blankly.
“Well, do you?” I demanded.
“What am I supposed to do?” she whined, rubbing her hands together.
“You need to call the director at the Y and tell him what’s happening. You need to demand that they send some security– a man, someone to patrol.”
“But you talked to him yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did, and he didn’t believe me. Now it’s your turn. You’re the camp director.” I pointed at the pay phone.
“Okaaaay,” she said, her eyebrows raised and backing up. “I need to think about what to say. I’ll call later.”
“No, now!” I said, blocking the small doorway.
Pinkie took a step toward the phone, picked up the receiver, and dialed “0.” She read the phone number of the Y penciled on the wall and told the operator her name. “Reverse the charges, please.”
Once she had the director on the line, I tried to follow their conversation. The gist was that the agency would work on finding someone to help. We needed to tough it out for one more night.
I stepped closer. “Tell him the staff is leaving,” I urged her. “Ask how they’re going to get all these kids home.”
Pinkie waved me off as she listened.
Finally, she pouted into the phone, “Well, if everyone is leaving, I’m not staying. It’s not safe.”
What? If she left, what would I do with all the campers?
Pinkie slammed the receiver into its hook. With a toss of her head, she announced, “I’m packing,” and she stomped out the back door.
I slumped over onto the freezer. Now what? My mind whirled with worst-case scenarios. Pip mentioned a gun. What else might be under those sheets? I took a deep breath. One more night! What could I do? The truth was I was as scared as anyone else. I was in way over my nineteen-year-old head.
In that moment I learned that no matter how old you are, sometimes you just need your mom. I picked up the receiver and told the operator to reverse the charges.
Feeling totally foolish and incompetent, I closed the door so the cooks couldn’t listen from the other room. I told Mom what was happening. She promised to send some help. I sighed and felt my shoulders relax, as I hung up and reached to open the door.
Some movement outside caught my eye. Through the tall windows, I saw Pinkie stuffing her VW Bug with bags of clothes and bedding. She shoved a box fan in last and then slid into the driver’s seat. Without a word to any of us, she steered her green Beetle down the driveway.
Without her, the morning continued, just as the schedule dictated, with campers swimming and crafting and moving on to softball on the wide sports field. No one missed Pinkie at lunch, not even the counselors.
As everyone slurped chicken noodle soup and ate grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, my older brother walked into the lodge—my burly, athletic brother– with his girlfriend Jill. We often were at odds with each other, but today, he was my long-lost best friend.
He must’ve seen the exhaustion on my face. “We’ll patrol the grounds tonight, so you guys can sleep,” he told me. “The folks will be up tomorrow.”
I nodded my thanks. With so many kids around, I didn’t ask if he had a gun, but I hoped so. Either way, I felt safer with him there.
As the campers milled around before their after-lunch bunk time, I asked the counselors to come to my cabin for a quick update. “My brother Brian’s here. He’ll patrol tonight. Nobody’ll mess with him.”
Their sideways looks and nods at each other were reassuring.
“And Pinkie’s gone,” I added.
“What!” shouted Pip.
“Figures!” Waves said, shaking her head in disgust.
“No way!” Brownie muttered.
“If we can just get through tonight, tomorrow anyone who needs to leave can,” I said. “The Y is sending up help in the morning. Can you do that?”
Was that even a fair thing to ask? I didn’t know. But what else could I do with fifty-two kids to supervise? At least we’d get a better night’s sleep with Brian here.
They looked at each other, and then several nodded.
“Let’s keep it quiet, though. Definitely tell the other CIT’s, but the campers don’t need to know anything. Just that we have a new security guard.”
It seemed to be enough. Waves hugged me on her way out the door, and I bit back tears of gratitude.
Out near the flagpole, Brian’s presence charmed the campers, who mostly thought he looked like a movie star. A group of about fifteen little girls swarmed around him like bees.
“He’s our security guard?” they asked in breathless voices, as I shooed them off to their cabins.
“Yep,” I assured them and then sighed. Girls had been reacting that way for years.
The day progressed according to our normal schedule, with campers shyly waving to Brian and Jill whenever they passed. After the evening flag ceremony and vespers, the campers trotted down to Moonbeam and then settled into their cabins. The counselors followed. Gratefully, we all passed out and slept like logs. Nothing happened.
In the morning, I was up early and antsy.
The day started as usual: breakfast, camp chores, cabin clean-out, inspection, and then classes. I said goodbye to my brother, hugging him for the first time I could remember. When all the campers and counselors settled into their lessons, I sat backward at a picnic table watching the swimmers in the lake below. My mind was fuzzy. How had I let this get to be such a mess? I bit my bottom lip to stop it from quivering.
Late morning, I heard tires crunching on the gravel driveway. Dad’s big blue Caprice pulled up and parked on the grass. My parents walked between the tall pines in front of the lodge and found me. I stood and dissolved into tears as my mom reached out to hug me. “Let it out, babe,” she crooned, as Dad stood by helplessly. “Do you want to go home?” she asked, patting my back.
Dad quickly intervened. “I know you feel bad, but you need to stay. Finish what you’ve agreed to do.”
I looked from one to the other and burst into shaking sobs. Dad backed away and pulled out his pipe. Mom could deal with me. He was out of his element.
At the sound of the camp bell, a group of towel-wrapped campers noisily came up the stone steps from the waterfront and gathered around us.
“Hank,” Mom said, nodding toward the kids.
“Come on!” Dad invited them. “Let’s take a tour of the camp! Fall in line!” and he let out a few puffs of pipe smoke.
As if bewitched, the campers fell in behind him like rail cars and snaked around the camp, stopping at the commemorative boulder to read its plaque. “What’s this?” Dad asked. Several girls talked at once.
Was that my dad herding kids as if he’d been the teacher in the family for the past fifteen years? Everything was confusing. I shook my pounding head. “I don’t know what to do,” I stammered.
Mom motioned me to sit beside her. She listened as I told her more about the intruders and about Pinkie leaving me to carry on. “I don’t want to stay. I’m so exhausted.” I hesitated. “But I know it’s my responsibility…” I sniffled and wiped my nose on my t-shirt sleeve. “I don’t know what to do,” I trailed off.
“It’s your decision, babe. The Y is sending up people to help. You should do whatever you need to do, not what Dad or I say.”
Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t she just tell me what to do?
Just then, coming up the waterfront steps, a group of stragglers in wet bathing suits pointed and shouted, “It’s Skipper and Scamp!”
I looked behind me to see the old camp directors and several teenagers piling out of two cars. A half dozen or so of last-year’s campers raced to hug the couple. Apparently, they were the Y’s solution to our problem, but I was confused. Where was the security guard we’d asked for?
Pulling themselves away and urging the kids to hurry to their next class, the couple made their way to our table. Skipper said, “Heard you were having some problems. We’re here to take over.”
Take over? Okaaaay. Was there something I’d missed? I’d never said I was resigning.
Scamp softened the news. “We’ve brought plenty of help, so if you and your counselors need to leave, we can handle the rest of the week.” She smiled and stepped away. I recognized a few of the young women, some former camp staff, who stood chatting a few paces away.
I looked at Mom and shrugged. “I guess that answers the question. I’m not needed, so I’m not staying.”
By the time the lunch bell rang, I’d talked to the counselors. No one else wanted to stay. Between my folks’ and the counselors’ vehicles, we all could manage rides home. So as the kids splashed in the lake during their afternoon free swim, we loaded the cars. The new staff took over, joining in the lakeside merriment.
A couple of weeks later, we received our paychecks in the mail, full pay, but empty of thanks. No one who wasn’t there seemed to understand what we’d been through… or cared. The camp season ended as if it was just another year. No mention was made of people in white sheets terrorizing the staff and the campers in the dark of night.
Our lives went on.
It was forty-some years later that my Aha Moment! came.
But it was only because of a friend’s childhood experience with people dressed in white sheets and burning crosses in the middle of her Indiana neighborhood.
“At least half your campers were black kids bused in from the inner city to the lake region?” she asked. “And the campers and staff were terrorized for several nights by people dressed in white sheets?’“
“That’s right,” I nodded.
“Doesn’t that add up to something ugly?” my friend asked.
Finally, it clicked.
How could I have been so dense, or naive?
