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Chatterbox: Pudding's Place
A Ski Lodge
You flop down onto your bed, exhausted from another long day of school. Is it really necessary for your teacher to assign you to write three essays this week? You have other stuff going on. Life. And you can’t afford to fail this class. Your academic success is hanging on a precipice, and one nudge will send it falling into an abyss so deep that it will never be found if it is lost.
The computer is open in front of you, the white, electronic pages of your word processor beckoning to you. You sit down at your desk.
And then you stand up again and go to the kitchen for a glass of water. You can’t work with a dry mouth. Then, once the water is drained, you grab an apple. It’s slightly withered, but you slice it and slowly eat. You glance over toward the counter where a digital clock squats, its red numbers blinking threateningly. 9:48. If your parents knew you were up this late on a school night, eating old apples, with three essays to write, they would go completely out of their minds.
But your parents aren’t here to boss you around at the moment, so who cares what they’d say? It’s not as if the essays were due tomorrow. At least, not all of them are. Just one.
The apple is gone, and you can no longer think of any stalling techniques. You are fighting a losing battle against yourself. It’s past ten at night, you have school tomorrow, and your teacher is expecting a nice, long essay from everyone’s favorite student.
You walk slowly back to your room and sit down at your desk. You type a few words, yawn, type a few more, open up a web browser, surf Wikipedia for a couple of minutes, yawn again. So far you have only twelve words.
You open up the CB. It’s late, you know, and no one will have posted a thing since you checked last, but maybe you can read an old ski lodge or two.
You click on Pudding’s Place, intending to look for Lake Lelilo or something, when a new thread catches your eye. A Ski Lodge, it says, in those red letters you know so well. You click on the link, and start to read.
“You flop down onto your bed, exhausted from another long day of school. Is it really necessary for your teacher to assign you to write three essays this week?”
What?
You keep reading, watching your own movements of that night laid before you in second person, right up to this very moment.
Good.
I’ve got your attention now.
My dear CBer,
You are having trouble at school. You have unwritten essays, and you don’t know what to write.
That’s okay.
We are offering you the chance of a lifetime, the chance to fix everything. Come to Camp Juniper, where you have the chance to be freed from the bonds of school. You will no longer have to study late into the night in order to pass a test. You will no longer have to struggle for hours on end in order to write a good essay. In short, we are giving you a Get Out of Jail Free card. And, if you choose not to accept this card, you will be given a free college scholarship.
There will be competitions throughout the days of camp. Each camper will have the chance to earn juniper branches. Anyone who is able to weave their branches into a wreath by the end of the camp session will earn this freedom.
Sounds nice?
We thought so.
All you have to do is fill out this form. And be prepared to die.
Name:
CBer, AE, CAPTCHA, or CAPTCHAE? (Note: CAPTCHAs, and CAPTCHAEs are not allowed):
Age:
Gender:
Companion(s) (up to 2 companions per person) (please fill out a sheet for them as well) (AEs only):
Appearance:
Personality in five words. (Any more or less and you will no longer have the privilege to eat popcorn):
Skills:
Quirks:
Brains or Brawn?:
Envy or Empathy?:
Reverie or Realism?:
Luggage, in order from most to least important:
Choose a number:
Choose a color:
Other:
We are excited to see you. And yes, we WILL see you.
Your obedient servants,
L. Reine & B. Ambrose
P.S. The popcorn is free, as well.
P.P.S. Please be prepared to participate fully, whatever this may mean.
P.P.P.S. Obviously, this is a ski lodge.
You read over the letter again. Is it worth it? You could die. . . but people always come back to life after a ski lodge. You could be a murderer. . . but who cares about that? It’s just a story. And how hard could it be to weave a few branches into a wreath?
Yes, you decide.
It’s definitely worth it.
And so, you fill out the form.
And then, you press submit.
submitted by Liberté and Basil, Camp Juniper
(October 31, 2020 - 8:09 pm)
(October 31, 2020 - 8:09 pm)
(February 4, 2021 - 11:39 pm)
I am most definitely the type of person to think about dental care when looking at the murderer of a close friend. XD
Great part as always, can't wait to see what comes next!
(February 5, 2021 - 11:01 am)
(February 8, 2021 - 12:24 pm)
Day Four—Morning
A loud, piercing scream wakes me from my sleep. My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright morning light. I glance around, searching for the reason for the scream. Liberté and Snow are gathered around the small, pull-out cot Luna-Starr has been resting on as of late. More shrieks erupt from the space, and I stand up from the chair, approaching the group cautiously.
“My notebook. My stick. My notebook. My stick.” Luna mutters over and over again, rocking back and forth in a ball.
“Yes, but what happened to them?” Snow snaps impatiently.
“They’re gone… all gone... I don’t know where they went… they were with me last night, and then I fell asleep for some reason. And now they’re GONE! GONE, I SAY!”
Liberté sighs rather loudly, and hands Luna a handkerchief. “It’s okay, I’m sure they’ll turn up somewhere.”
“But they were IMPORTANT. And-”
“Why don’t we all head to breakfast, and look for them later, yes?” I interject.
“I guess so…” says Luna.
I watch Liberté’s face brighten. “Great! Let’s go, then.”
She begins to herd everyone out of the lounge and towards the courtyard. The rest of the campers are already there, eating too large stacks of waffles. I watch in horror as one camper, Braoin, smothers two whole bottles of ketchup and mustard all over his flattened waffles. Luna-Starr leaves Liberté and I, and joins a table, being accepted again by her fellow campers.
***
Sammy and the murderer sit huddled around their table, fourteen stacks of waffles blocking themselves from the others. There are two notebooks littering the small table, as well as balled up paper and pens strewn around.
“I think this might help us figure out something.” says the murderer, smiling slyly.
“Luna’s notebook? How’d you get this?” Sammy replies, nervously.
“Oh, it was on the ground outside the multi-purpose room. No big deal.”
“Okay, then. Let’s see what is in here.”
***
The best way to eat waffles is to stack two on top of each other, smother them with fresh berry sauce, and top them with a slight dusting of powdered sugar. This is the way Nightfall is eating their waffles when they come to the realization that something is missing.
Nightfall glances around the courtyard frantically, but can’t find what they need. They’re not missing anything for their waffles, but their debate partner, Inari. This is not good. People die this way.
***
“INARI IS MISSING, INARI IS MISSING!” Nightfall shouts while standing on top of the frail courtyard table.
Liberté and Snow go wild. Not because someone is missing, of course, but because Nightfall might break the table.
“Tables are expensive, Basil.” Snow reminds me for the fifth time.
“Okay, sure, whatever.” I snap, trying to formulate a plan. “We should probably ask people to volunteer for a search party, right? There’s nowhere Inari could be, but here.”
“But the schedule!” Liberté screeches. “We have to stay on schedule! A search party would not keep us on schedule! Your cabin is supposed to be in the craft hut in five minutes! Felix’s funeral is supposed to be right before lunch! A search party would NOT keep us on schedule. Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. But, why don’t you and Snow take your cabins to look while we’re in the hut? Then, I’ll switch places with Snow’s cabin and we can continue to look. The multipurpose room is already set for a funeral. It’s not like that will be too hard to finalize in five minutes.”
“Uh, wow. That’s actually a good point. Why don’t you gather your cabin and take them to the hut? I can take it from here. SNOW! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!”
Liberté ironically stomps away in Snow’s direction, leaving me standing awkwardly in front of all the campers.
“Um, Chartreuse Cabin? Could you, uh, finish eating, dispose of your dishes, and meet me in front of the lodge? Thanks.”
I begin to walk away, listening to the sound of trays clanking and people talking, somewhat like the ambient noise Snow listens to as music.
“It helps me focus.” She would claim, but really it just sounded like we were stuck in the middle of the city, trying to work.
My campers begin to flood the entryway of the lodge and I count them before walking towards the craft hut expecting them to follow me.
***
Are you, are you, coming to the tree? They strung up a man, innocently. Strange things do happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met, at midnight, in the hanging tree.
The song rings through Inari’s head, as he sits trapped in the bag of ropes. All he did was go out for a midnight stroll by the pond, wanting to explore the camp during the best time of day. Little did he know the murderer was waiting for him, singing the song, before he was snatched up in a trap, where he still sits, longing for waffles.
Are you, are you, coming to the tree? Where a dead man called out, for the rest to flee. Strange things will happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met, at midnight in the hanging tree.
A frizzy-haired person strangely had given Inari a neck brace, and a chain with a small metal pendant, but he had unfortunately dropped it when the murderer trapped him. He watched as they destroyed the items, mumbling something about their plans being thwarted. Inari called out weakly, but no one could hear him. He was too far into the forest.
Are you, are you, coming to the tree? Where I told you to run, so everyone could flee. Stranger things are happening, no stranger would it be, if we met, at midnight in the hanging tree.
With all the time in the world, Inari sits, pondering how everyone dealt with his absence. No one really noticed him that much, and if they did, it was because of Nightfall’s constant arguing about how doing things the traditional way, is the only way. But when you are left to your brain, and no one else, it doesn’t hurt to dream.
Are you, are you, coming to the tree? I’ll wear a necklace of hope, so you can be free. Strange things do happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met, at midnight, in the hanging tree.
Inari shudders. He doesn’t know if he can make it out alive. The chances are slim. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, only to have it shut off, with a ‘no service’ warning. He sighs and slams his phone through the holes in the rope, watching it fall to its demise. The small device lands with a clink and only he knows that it shattered. Inari slumps against the ropes, watching the tree branch above him droop, like it feels sorry for him. But the tree knows his fate, and so do three others in the camp. And they all wish there was a way to change it.
Are you, are you coming to the tree? Where I told you to run, so everyone could flee. Stranger things are happening, no stranger would it be, if we met, at midnight, in the hanging tree.
***
Dead: 3 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, and Felix, may they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)
Alive: 19
Missing: 1 (Inari)
Suspects: dreamii, Kitty Cat, Sterling, and Icarus
Enemies of Snow: Zachary and dreamii.
Juniper Leader: Sammy (two juniper branches)
(February 9, 2021 - 11:17 am)
Some thoughts:
~The Hunger Games song is quite haunting.
~My reaction to the loss of my precious, beautiful stick is quite appropriate.
~This frizzy-haired person is confusing me a lot.
~I'm afraid of what Sammy is doing with the murderer.
~the counselors are truly fabulous.
~Everything is fabulous. As the resident crazy ski lodge lady, I can say with certainty that this is a very, very good ski lodge.
(February 9, 2021 - 10:56 pm)
NO. HOW COULD THEY DO THIS. I AM OFFICIALLY GOING TO RAGE AT WHOEVER DID THIS. *howls in anger* RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH. THEY WILL NEVER GET OUT OF HERE, UNMATCHED BY MY RAGE. *HISSSSSSSSSSS* *ROAR* IF I DIE MY GHOST WILL HAUNT THE ONE THAT ENDED INARI.
~
(February 10, 2021 - 1:34 am)
(February 9, 2021 - 11:19 am)
(February 9, 2021 - 9:07 pm)
(February 9, 2021 - 10:01 pm)
(February 14, 2021 - 6:45 pm)
(February 14, 2021 - 6:46 pm)
(February 14, 2021 - 6:47 pm)
(February 15, 2021 - 10:55 am)
(February 16, 2021 - 11:15 am)
Oh wow, how haunting. Poor Inari. :(
I made a little baby Fortune Teller out of a post-it!
(February 17, 2021 - 9:15 pm)