.:Phil's Story:.

ooc: Last year, at my Lutheran camp, I met a boy named Phillip. He is a really cool guy and upon learning of my author-dom, he requested that I write a story about him. I asked him what kind of story to write. He wanted zombies. That was the start of the story called "Phil's Story". Later, I decided I needed more characters for my story, so I began to write in a few other characters. One of which is Josh, Phil's camp counselor and also another really cool guy. Then came Sean, one of the camp directors and also husband to Tula, the other camp director. Finally, it was Mark's turn. Mark is the big-time pastor/director of all of the LOM-IK camps and ultimately in charge. He's also a great guy (and I didn't just say this because I totally want a job at camp this summer, but if he reads this and decides to award me that, I would be very, very, very pleased XD).

That week at camp was probably the most fun I've ever had at camp, but I will not clog up this fiction blog with my reality. Instead, I will simply share with you the story I wrote and read for the talent show, that was originally inspired by Phillip.

Warning: Cartoon-violence and cartoon-terror; This was meant to be a funny, not-really-serious scary story. And no, my camp is NOT like this.... As far as I know.

~~~~~~~~

Phil's Story

The camp seemed nice enough. It was a large, plain field surrounded by deciduous trees on all sides. The cabins where the campers, or "victims", as Phil liked to call them, would stay were positioned right on the treeline.

"How convenient," Phil thought to himself as he hiked his backpack further up on his shoulder. He knew the cabins had been placed just so because of the cruel nature of the camp directors. This new generation of kids were probably unsuspecting fools, just pawns in the hideous game of chess about to take place.

The other kids may have been fools, but not Phil. No, he had been coming to camp for long enough to have heard the terrifying legends about this place. Phil had noticed that every year that his parents sentenced him here, the other kids were always new. Didn't it seem strange to anyone else that no kid ever came twice? Except for Phil, of course. And when one of the campers would mysteriously disappear... well, the adults always made up some phony excuse for it. But Phil knew the truth.

He narrowed his eyes and walked slowly up the creaky porch steps to the Alpha cabin. A few of the boys had already chosen their bunkbeds for the week. Phil dumped his bag, pillow, and bedding on the bed in the very back corner, closest to the woods, with a window overlooking the treeline. He took his binoculars out of his bag and climbed up to the top bunk. Brushing his red hair out of his eyes, he peered through the binoculars, focusing the lenses as he stared. He wasn't scared this year. Four years of fear, of pent-up frustration and suspicion. Four years of lying in his bunk at night, waiting and wondering if he were going to be the next camper that went missing in action.

"No more," he whispered to himself. His fists tightened. He had come prepared this year. He was going to find out exactly what was living in those woods, where the campers were going, and why they weren't coming back....

~~~

Phil knew his investigation would take long, it would probably take the entire week, but he couldn't just run off by himself. The counselors at camp had eyes like a hawk. They would surely catch him sneaking off. He had to plan his escape, make sure it was absolutely fool-proof.

"At night, then," he decided as he and his cabin-mates were called up for dinner. He hadn't bothered getting to know the others- they would probably just vanish sometime this week anyway.

Phil chewed his food slowly, methodically, as the other boys in his cabin chatted amongst themselves. Poor saps. They had no way of knowing about the horror that would strike this week. He was certain things wouldn't have changed this year.

He sang the camp songs and watched the skits being performed that evening at the campfire, putting on the facade of the "happy camper". As the sun set behind the trees, trees that were shadowed and carried a foreboding feeling with the breeze that blew through their billowing leaves, the camp calmed down for the night. The campers sang their goodnight song and their counselors brought them to their respective cabins for the evening.

Phil parted the blinds of the window ever-so-slightly and scanned the darkened area behind the cabin. He gulped once and his fingers wrapped around one of the only weapons his parents had let him bring to summer camp- a water gun.

Just as he was about to turn back to his bed, he saw a flash of reflective, yellow eyes. As soon as they had appeared, they were gone.

Phil felt himself stiffen out of fear, but he quickly choked back the nervousness. No, he would not be scared! He had been scared enough for too long now. He needed to find out what was going on at this camp.

"And tonight, I will find out," he whispered to himself as he laid down in his bed and waited for the others to fall asleep.

It didn't take long before all of the boys, including the counselor, were fast asleep. Phil slipped silently from his bunk, grabbing his backpack. He snuck across the cabin to the front door. Phil paused. He took a deep breath in to steady his nerves, and turned the knob slowly.

The door flew open before him. "What are you doing up?" asked one of the two camp directors. Sean towered over Phil, and unreadable look in his eyes.

"What's going on?" Josh, the camp counselor, asked as he sat up in bed.

As if the fact that Phil sneaking out was no longer important, Sean moved past him quickly and over to a sleepy Josh. The other campers were still fast asleep, so Sean kept his voice low as he spoke. Curious as to why Sean seemed so hurried, Phil leaned against the wall to listen to the hushed conversation.

"Tula can't find Mark anywhere," Sean whispered.

"What do you mean? He was supposed to be back from outpost by dinnertime."

"I know!" Sean was having trouble keeping his voice low.

"And he's still not back?" Josh asked. "We have to do something...."

Phil hid around the corner as Josh got out of bed. He and Sean walked out the door, closing it behind them. Phil peeked through the blinds of the front window to see them running off, through the dark, toward the pavilion.

"I knew it!" He shouted in a whisper to himself. "So Mark's been the first victim this year...." He squeezed his backpack strap absentmindedly. Now that the big buy, the head honcho, the director of the entire thing had disappeared, the staff had finally paid attention to the vanishings!

Phil looked out the window one last time, to make sure Josh and Sean were gone, and then he carefully opened the cabin door. He put his hood up, over his face, and quietly snuck down the porch steps. He hid around the corner and opened his backpack, taking out a flashlight and his water gun filled to the brim with holy water from his church.

He breathed in deeply and then kicked off of the wall. Phil's footfalls were practically silent as he moved around the outside of the cabin, to the treeline in the back. He flipped the switch on the flashlight and scanned the trees.

Not seeing anything move immediately, he proceeded into the undergrowth. The rustling leaves, the snapping twigs, regular sounds of the forest seemed strangely eerie in the pitch-black darkness of night. Phil felt his knees begin to quiver, but whether it was out of fear, excitement, or a mixture of both- he didn't know. Although it was probably fear.

He could hear some of the cam staff down the yard whispering nervously and anxiously to themselves. Phil narrowed his eyes. If only they had paid more attention to the old legends about the creatures lurking in the dark. The older kids, the ones that remembered the legends, knew that the woods were filled with undead corpses that rose to life under the light of the moon to satiate their cannibalistic hunger for blood, guts, and brains.

They were... zombies!

Phil swallowed back the sudden fear that hardened in his throat, raced through his veins, and felt like scorching fire in his body. He moved deeper into the forest now, fighting thick branches, annoying bugs, and thorn bushes that pulled at his pant legs.

Finally, he made it to a small, natural clearing amongst the trees. Phil decided to stop for a break. He sat on a fallen log and looked up toward the treetops. The stars seemed dim tonight, as if they wanted him to be lost in the dark. He clutched his flashlight and stood back up to continue walking. As he was about to step forward, a chilly wind blew, swirling fallen leaves and debris all around Phil. He blocked most of it from getting in his face. Just then, a terrible moan filled the clearing. The horrified voice echoed off of the trees and bushes and rocks. Phil's water gun was out in front of him in a flash. He shined the flashlight on his surroundings and noticed his hands were shaking. He gulped.

The moan howled through the clearing again, riding on the breeze as it swirled around Phil. He shivered, but his feet stayed planted firmly on the ground. He had come all the way out here. He wasn't turning back now. He felt his heart racing.

There was a rustling in the bushes nearby. Phil's knees almost gave out.

He watched closely as something pale stuck through the leaves. Phil narrowed his eyes. Only when the first pale stick was joined by four others did Phil realize they were fingers, and that... was a hand.

He gasped. "Who is that?" He shouted in a voice he hoped sounded brave but probably wasn't.

"Pppppphhhhhiiiiillllll..." came the moaned response. The hand in the bush reached toward him.

Phil nearly screamed as all thoughts of bravery were lost. He turned on his heel and flew from that clearing, racing as fast as he could. He was running so fast that he didn't notice a tree root protruding from the ground. He ended up tripping and somersaulting forward a few times before his momentum was lost.

"Ppppphhhhhiiiillll!!!" The crazy cry came again.

Phil quickly picked himself off of the ground, but paused. He didn't remember coming this way. His heart dropped into his stomach as he realized he was completely turned around. He was lost.

"Ppphhhiiilll!" As if on cue, the flashlight in Phil's hand went out. He gasped and pulled his backpack around to search for new batteries. He knew there was no way he'd be able to get out of the forest blind. The moan came again, and it sounded closer. Phil dug through his backpack, frantically trying to find the batteries. The leaves crunched and the twigs snapped in front of him.

"Zombie!!!!" Phil cried, and unleashed a barrage of squirts from his water gun. The creature groaned and stumbled backward just as Phil's free hand grabbed onto the batteries. The creature stumbled toward him again.

Phil squeezed the trigger of his water gun, but nothing came out. His face reflecting the horror he was racked with inside, he realized he was completely out of ammo. His mom had only let him bring one of his water guns!

"Ppphhiiillll..." the zombie groaned, reaching toward Phil with dirty, bloody hands.

Phil panicked. He closed his eyes, flipped on the flashlight and shouted, "Don't eat me!"

Nothing happened. Phil opened one eye and then the other.

"Eat you?"

Phil blinked at the person standing in front of him. "Mark?" He asked incredulously.

"Can you get that light out of my eyes?" Mark griped as he held one hand over a cut on his forehead. "Why did you run away from me?" He complained.

"I thought you were a zombie..." Phil admitted weakly, under his breath. He quickly cleared his throat and changed the subject. "What happened to you?"

"Well, I was on my way back from outpost when I tripped and hit my head. Guess I knocked myself out." He rubbed his head again. "What are you doing out here? And why'd you squirt me in the face with water?"

Phil grimaced. "I was... uh... looking for you. You've been gone for a long time." He chose to ignore the second part of the question. "Um, everyone's looking for you. We should probably get back to camp...." Phil motioned for Mark to be in front. "Lead the way."

Mark winced and rubbed his back as he began leading them back to camp. Phil took one last look around. Maybe there really were no zombies. He sighed and followed Mark.


A pair of reflective and souless, yellow eyes watched them go.