Welcome to the week of Liberté and Basil! We hope you enjoy this time, and here's the first part of the week. :)

Day Eight— Afternoon

The afternoon, after a quite chilly morning, had turned itself around. According to thermometers around the camp, it was approximately 102 degrees Fahrenheit, but each of the campers' sweatshirts averaged about 60 degrees Fahrenheit, significantly cooler than the air outside. However, myself, the other counselors, and Palenia Piper, were feeling the heat. I personally changed my shirt three times in the span of two hours because of how hot it was. Liberté complained for those two hours, about how her mascara was probably melting,  that her hair was way too long, and also that her dress was too dark for the summer heat. Of course I reminded her that mascara does not melt, that people invented hair tie thingies for a reason, and that she had about a thousand different colored dresses in her wardrobe, which she could change into at any time. And, like always, she pushed that aside and started complaining again. Snow was gone, but I would assume she found refuge somewhere that was cooler than the summer heat. 

As complaints rose about the heat, Liberté decided that it was time for the daily activity. Geocaching. We had hidden a cache somewhere within the camp grounds, and inside, lay a single juniper branch, accompanied by a note proclaiming they won, which would tell the counselor who attended to them that they had the juniper branch fairly. Liberté explained the rules, but she did not notice that we were missing one of our campers (excluding Aspen). I did not notice we were missing this camper, either, until it was too late, that is. 

Geocaching is quite simple. You get a GPS tracker and your first coordinates. The coordinates go into the tracker and you follow it’s directions to get the next clue or coordinates. Liberté decided that she wanted to have some parts of geocaching, but the full thing was way too screen-oriented for her. So, she decided that some of the clues would be actual “hey, why don’t you think about this” clues, and others would be a simple slip of coordinates. The final clue would be a shovel and a clue, because of course the cache had to be buried. X marks the spot. 

Once everyone was provided a GPS tracker and the first coordinates, everyone was released, and we watched as they ran off, following the beeping of the small yellow device in their hand. The only person who stayed behind was Zachary, who was attempting to hack into the tracker and call his brother. He was not successful, and also had to get a new device. Liberté was not pleased, but she, in the spirit of scavenging, decided to leave him alone. 

People went from the stage, to the outskirts of the forest, to cabins, and even to the roped-off pond. They went to the edges of this dimension, Freak almost too far. Snow, who had come out of hiding, had rescued Freak from crossing through the small area which could release him back to The World After The Submit Button. If he had, things would have happened which couldn’t have been reversible. Oh, and also, he would have been trapped in there for eternity, in a state of unconsciousness, but that’s a minor detail.

Sammy had paused her search and walked over to us, her GPS in one hand, and a slip of paper in the other. 

“I think your trees are spying on us. And reporting back to Russia. I thought you should know, because then you can be careful around them.”

Silence falls, and I dig my shoe into the soft grass, confused. I don’t even know where Russia is. It’s not like I could help in any way.

“We have no contact with Russia, Sammy, I’m sorry. If we don’t have contact with them, the trees can’t. And the trees do not and cannot listen to us. Also, who would talk to Russia when you can talk to France! Did you know that my family is quite famous there? Just look up the Reines and search under chess or something. Where was I? Ah, yes, Russian spies who are also trees. So, no. We do not have contact with Russia with trees.” Liberté responded. 

“Oh, right. And the birds here aren’t Irish spies, and Freak isn’t married to a Canadian Amazon Box Surfer Dude. I get it.” She pauses for a second, presumably for the over exaggerated wink, but then she continues. “I, um, also need the next clue?”

“Yes, yes you do.” I reply, pulling a small slip of paper out of my jean pocket and handing it to her. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. And Basil? Russia is in Asia, it’s the top half of the entire continent. Just thought you’d need to know.”

She walks away, off to find the next clue, and I sit, dumbfounded. There must be some sort of witchcraft going on in Sammy’s head. 

“Or you’re just easy to read.” Snow blurts. 

I have to get out of here.

Liberté turns on the microphone. “Sterling in the lead by one clue, Kitty Cat not far behind her. Pine is just barely behind Kitty, and Zachary is dead last. Come on campers! You can do this!”

***

The sound of microphone feedback echoes into the small abandoned shack. Sunlight feeds through the cracks in the boarded up windows. Luna-Starr groans as she sits up, rubbing her arm. The pain throbs violently in her shoulder, but she has no clue why. Her ears ring. Her head is fuzzy. Luna has no clue why she is in this shack, her last memory is a vague one about being at a summer camp. 

And then it snaps into place. 

She is here for a reason. There is a person here that deserves to die. Luna is the one who needs to do that. This person has wronged her. This person needs to die. Aspen. 

Aspen needs to die.

Luna stands up and massages her temples. There is a rather large knife hanging on the doorknob. She steps forward. She knows her mission. 

And now it’s time to carry it out.

She grasps the knife and opens the door, walking into the blinding sunlight and towards the lounge. 

Aspen needs to die.

***

Sterling nears the end of the hunt. She has the shovel and the clue, and the only thing left is to dig up the branch. Someone catches the corner of her eye. Luna-Starr. Sterling hadn’t seen her before; she had only been in danger of Kitty Cat. 

And that’s when she realizes that Luna wasn’t part of the hunt at all. She can see the look in her eyes.

For the first time at camp, Sterling is scared. 

***

A girl, the girl with the frizzy hair and the fancy barrettes, approaches Liberté and I. At the same time, Aspen comes out of the lounge, heading towards the end of the hunt. Liberté had allowed her to come out to see the end, as long as nothing bad happened. On her part. 

“Basil, Liberté.” She gasps. “Aspen is in danger. She’s going to be murdered. You need to help her.”

But it’s too late. 

A scream echoes through the camp, then another. 

Aspen is dead.

***

Luna-Starr has plunged a knife into Aspen’s neck, and removed it quickly, drawing an X into the dirt with her blood. Aspen lays on the ground, her body already lifeless. 

Sterling stares down at the body in front of her and at Luna’s cold eyes. Her body shakes and her eyes get blurry. This isn’t something she wanted to see today, especially after being so close to winning. The scream had unconsciously left her mouth earlier, and she already regrets it. Sterling isn’t one to scream. But she just witnessed a murder. Luna-Starr is the murderer.

Adrian cannot breathe. Their sister was just brutally murdered, and they had seen it. Aspen was their twin, the person to talk to at the end of the day about everything that scared them or anything that was memorable. Aspen was their lifeline. 

And now she’s gone.

“WE HAVE FOUND THE MURDERER!” Liberté shouts. 

Then, there is a loud thud. Of course Liberté has collapsed. It’s what she does. 

***

There is only one thought on everyone’s mind when Luna-Starr is hustled into containment. 

Aspen is dead, and Luna, the crazy ski lodge lady, is the reason. 

***

Dead: 8 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, and Aspen. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)

Alive: 13

Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast and Luna-Starr (tied with two juniper branches) 

***

Well, as you can quite obviously tell, A Week of Liberté and Basil did not work out last week, because of procrastination and being busy and stuff. But we're going to try again this week, and we got together to plan the next seven parts together so that hopefully writing will be easier and we can stick to our commitment next time. Luna, thank you so much for reading along this whole time, even though Basil/Nerd have shamefully neglected the work of genius that is your ski lodge. Your PowerPoint and enthusiasm for Camp Juniper means so much to us both.

To anyone else who might be reading this now or in the future: Thank you so, so much! You are the absolute best, and I hope you enjoy this crazy mess as much as Basil/Nerd and I have enjoyed writing it.

And now, I present...

Day Eight — Evening

"Hurry, hurry." Basil rushed Luna into the counselor's private lounge. He shivered as he touched the clammy, cold skin of her arm. This was the arm of a murderer that he was touching. This girl, Luna-Starr, was the person who had killed all of the other campers. Little, innocent Hot Coco. Sweet, shy Felix. Angry, beautiful Masquerade. Basil had to force himself not to jerk away from her. The only thing that kept him within a mile of her was his knowledge that, if he didn't get her somewhere safe, another person would be murdered. Soon. Luna was a murderer, and he had to get her away.

The said murderer was hardly less flustered than the counselor that handled her with such revulsion. Only a moment ago, there had been a knife in her hand, shining and silvery. That knife had been in Luna's hand, and then it had been in Aspen's neck, and then in the dirt. And then she had been found, found by Sterling, of all people. Her thoughts were flying everywhere, trying to gather themselves into some sort of order. Why had she done this? Why had this happened? Why? Why? Why?

Surprisingly, the sight of Liberté's repulsive, retro orange couch calmed Luna's electrified nerves. She had been in that room almost more than any other place in the camp. She had slept and written and heard there. She had stolen pens and eaten brownies there, hidden from Sammy Everlast and planned to kidnap Icarus there. The room represented the best kind of safety that there was, an unexpected safety born from the hands of terrifying French counselors and infested with awful furniture, living peacefully in the midst of bloody chaos, a place where diabolical plans could be hatched, plans that could save the world.

Except that Luna had not saved the world, she had ruined it, because she was the murderer. In a funny way, though, this room would once more save everything, because it would keep her away from the others. If she was locked in there with the counselors and the couch, she would never be able to harm anyone else. Everyone would be safe. Sighing with contentment, the girl who had killed Aspen sank slowly onto the bright orange fabric of the couch. This was where she belonged. Perhaps she would stay there forever, and never leave again. There was paper here, and chocolate, and safety. Did she really need anything else?

***

Icarus was not so serene.

He had trusted Luna. He had known who she was, what she was. He had known about her love of humorizing murder and death, the way she had dedicated her short life to writing about the deaths of her friends. But still, nonetheless, he had trusted her. He had even, deep inside, believed that Luna might have been the person who could get them out of the mess they were in. They couldn't trust the counselors. None of them. Not sharp-nailed, cruel Snow. Not self-centered, ruthless Liberté. And not even Basil, the soft-hearted genius, because a genius is always the first person to lose their mind. The other AEs... well, they were AEs. Beautiful yes, but also beings born from chaos. They were so alive that they could never truly focus on death. And the CBers were, perhaps, the worst of them all. They were children and teenager, both far too innocent and far too all-knowing to really understand what was happening. Their dark innocence, along with something else, some other power, prevented them from changing the way that this world was turning.

But Luna had dedicated her life to ski lodges. The same fate that made the others suspicious of her was what made Icarus believe that she had just enough darkness within her to outweigh the naivety. He had believed...

And he had been wrong.

***

"I knew it!" Sammy Everlast danced over the verdant, green grass. Her sweatshirts were tied all around her body. Around her shoulders like a cape, around her waist like a many-sleeved skirt, around her head like a veil. They swirled around in the wind that she had summoned by her dancing and spinning. She looked like some sort of sweatshirted princess, laughing happily, with her loose, pastel hair flying loose and tangling itself in the sweatshirts. If you ignored the next words, she would seem like a prime specimen of the pure joy that can only be found in childhood.

Unfortunately, she shouted so loudly that no one could ignore her next words.

"I knew that awful Luna-Star was the one who cold-bloodedly murdered my AE! I told you all what I knew, but did you listen? No! No, you most certainly did not, not even one of you! But I bet you learned your lesson, right? Never argue with an Everlast. Never again, because I know all the things that you can find in the world, and if someone kills a person I love, there is no way they're getting away with it."

Elsewhere, the dead Masquerade heard his CBers saying that she loved him, and filed it away in his vast cabinet of things to pull out the next time she yelled at him.

***

Still elsewhere,  Liberté was banging her head against a wall, and being remonstrated by her niece, of all people.

"You know, Liberté, you're not going to get back to Paris by dying of a wall induced concussion."

Liberté whirled around, her eyes blazing. "Call me Auntie, you insolent child. Or, better yet, Tante Liberté. Because, my dear little snowflake, we will be going back to France, and you will like it, and you will be beautiful, clever, chess-loving, beloved by football players, and French like all the Reines before you. Including me, your aunt, whom you really should be more respectful of! Because Aspen was not the murderer, and I thought she was, and I, Liberté, the genius and mastermind, made a mistake!"

"Actually," Basil whispered, "I think I was supposed to be the genius, and you are the self-centered scary lady." Which was not a good idea, because Liberté's fiery eyes turned on him next. Her voice was high and thin.

"I am a genius, and you will like it or I will sic Luna-Star on you with a knife. Or cyanide or a cliff or something else deadly. Would you like that, my dear?" Liberté smiled, and it was white-hot and fierce. Faced with such fury, Basil had no choice but to step down. "Thank you, darling Basil. You are such a nice little camping partner. Now, go burn Aspen into a little pile of ashes and put her in an urn, darling, won't you? We'll have a sweet little funeral tomorrow, with lovely refreshments. Snow, dear child, fetch your tired auntie some apple juice and a football player from New Orleans to massage my feet. And get me my couch!" 

And, because I am a genius, here is the last bit that I forgot to add:

Dead: 8 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, and Aspen. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)

Alive: 13

Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, and Icarus (please let us know if you ever have any!)

Enemies of Snow: Zachary, dreamii, and pretty much everyone, to be honest

Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast and Luna-Starr (tied with two juniper branches) 

Oh my goodness, the CAPTCHA is tonkn. And TON stands for The Omnipotent Narrator! Camp Juniper has been blessed with the mark of the creator of ski lodges! We must celebrate. *confetti*

Day Nine — Morning

Sleeplessness seemed to be common at Camp Juniper. Perhaps it was because all of the sugar and caffeine that everyone was consuming, or perhaps it was because of the adrenaline and grief caused by all those deaths. Whatever the reason, however, there always seemed to be someone who was having trouble sleeping. And, oddly enough, it was usually on the odd numbered days. Today, though, the number of sleepless campers was more than it had ever been before. You might think that the knowledge that the killer had been apprehended would make it easier to sleep, but, in fact, the opposite was true. In fact, five of the thirteen remaining campers were sleepless. Over one third of the camp.

***

Freak had a soft bed. The camp beds were nearly as hard as a rock, but Sammy had, for some odd reason, packed a bag full of sheep's wool, which Freak had stolen and made into a new mattress. It wasn't memory foam, but for the past... eight nights, it had worked. Eight nights! Over a week! Freak had never had issues with sleeping, not even after he ate a pound of coffee chocolate. Tonight, though, even the soft mattress could not lull him to sleep. Why?

Freak did not see Aspen die.

He did not see Luna kill her, and he did not see the knife. He had, in fact, been working to find a good opportunity to get away from the scavenger hunt and steal some poster paper for the infamous murderer herself. Luna said that she thought she knew something about the murderer, and that she wanted to have a rally or a protest against the murders. And then, at the end, she would reveal what she knew.

Was that the sort of thing that a murderer would do?

No, or, at least, it wasn't the sort of thing that a murderer who was planning to kill again would do. Maybe she was going to turn herself in at the end, out of guilt, but if that was true, why would she have killed Aspen only about an hour after she had asked Freak for the poster board and told him about her plan? And maybe it was all a ploy... but it was far too complex for that.

Something about this whole thing was fishy. Something else was going on, something far larger than Luna's murder of Aspen. Freak could practically smell the tuna. And that was not a nice sensation, because the stench of canned fish was not something appetizing. It made his ears itch. And his nose. Like he was turning into a cat.

Cats made Freak sneeze.

But, aside from the unpleasant sensation that made Freak feel as if he was turning into something he was allergic to, there was something odd going on, something that he desperately needed to figure out.

"What is wrong with this picture?" he asked himself aloud. Rather louder than he should have. If he had asked himself that question only to himself, not allowed, it could have changed everything, and saved the life of an innocent person who was going to die that day. But he had spoken aloud, and the accomplice was lurking outside of his window at that very moment, because the accomplice's mind was sharp, and the accomplice began to play a song.

Don't Ask Me No Questions, by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Somehow, only Freak could hear the pounding loudness of the music, and he took it in and pulled it into himself, and when he recovered from the loudness, he no longer thought there was anything odd going on at all.

***

Kitty Cat had seen the murder.

They had been only a few steps behind Sterling, ready to attack her, steal the shovel, and win the scavenger hunt. Sterling didn't deserve to win, Kitty was sure of that. But then, Luna had been there too, and Kitty didn't want to fight two people for the shovel. They weren't that strong. So they stepped back, ready to allow Luna-Starr or Sterling to win. It would be easier that way, disappointing though it was.

Then Luna had stabbed Aspen. Right in front of two people's eyes. Kitty was certain that Luna had seen Sterling. There was no way that she hadn't. And she had probably seen Kitty, also. Their eyes had met and locked for at least ten seconds. Luna's eyes were odd. There was something off about them. They were clouded and blank and tortured. Kitty Cat had never seen Luna with tortured eyes before. It was disconcerting. Everything about that situation was odd, and disconcerting.

Something was off.

But then there was a song in their ears, Don't Ask Me No Questions, by Lynyrd Skynyrd, and nothing was wrong after all.

***

The girl with the frizzy hair was guilty. She had messed up again, been too late again, and now Aspen was paying for it, Aspen and everyone who loved her. Eight people were dead. Eight people! She was the only one in that entire camp with the knowledge that could save anyone, and every single time, she had failed. It was as if her actions didn't matter, that everything was already planned and scripted.

She had failed at her task. What had she done? Why had she decided that this — any of this — was a good idea? There was laughter in this world, yes, because you cannot have a ski lodge without laughter. But there was death, because that was so much more important. And death cannot always be canceled out by laughter.

Near the beginning, she had thought that it was merely a game. Playing around with gum and defrizzing her hair were the only strategies. But now she had experienced the real thing.

She had tried to save people.

And she had failed.

***

The murderer was alone. It was lovely being alone. They had been surrounded by people until the murder, and even after they had retreated into quiet, the echoes of people's voices never stopped swirling around in their eyes.

"Luna."

"Aspen."

"Murderer."

"Murdered."

"Death."

"Blood."

There was too much noise. Even in the quiet, there was far, far too much noise. The music never went away now, loud music and quiet music, annoying and beautiful, but even beauty is grating when you can never block it out, and the songs were always, always, always there.

The murderer was not in control. They had no idea what they were doing. They were nothing more than a puppet, held in the arms of something much, much larger.

***

Luna lay, wide awake, on the retro orange couch. It was soft, softer even than the mattress she had stolen from Freak in a quest for wool. She couldn't remember why she had wanted wool. Something about her stick. And kerosene. And the murderer. And the eyebrows of the murderer, which would soon light on fire. At the end of a rally.

But Luna was the murderer. She had killed Aspen. She could remember it. The emptiness in her mind, the music echoing through her mind, clearing everything else away, and then Sterling's screams and Aspen's body. She could remember carving an X into the dry dirt by the body, and Liberté collapsing, and Luna herself being hauled away by Basil, and the perfect peace that she had found in the counselor's lounge.

Luna was the murderer, and, for some reason, she had wanted to burn off her eyebrows at the end of a rally. How odd. Luna had never considered herself a typical human being, but she had never felt so askew as to want to burn off her own eyebrows. She liked her eyebrows. They kept stuff out of her eyes. And, besides, burning off your eyebrows is never just burning off your eyebrows. It usually ends in your entire body going up in flames and burning like a hot dog dropped into a campfire. And Luna certainly did not die. She had too many things she wanted to do, like becoming the CB's Agatha Christie, and reading mysteries, and watching that new murder mystery that was going to be out in theaters soon.

Come to think of it, many of the things Luna-Starr wanted to live for had to do with death. But all of it was fictional, and she was never the one who died, and the air was cold even with her sweatshirt on, and the couch was ugly, and there was still music in her ears, and she couldn't think of that last awful fact that she had known once upon a time.

Go away, go away, be quiet.

She scrunched her eyes tightly shut, willing the music to go away. She was strong, she would be strong, it was a life and death situation, and she would be strong. The music was fading, fading, fading. Her mind was clearing up, far clearer than it had ever been before.

Luna's eyes opened wide, and she gasped. 

"I am not the murderer."

***

Music flooded through Camp Juniper, a soft lullaby, soothing and sweet.

It's le Grans Lustucru who's crying

He's hungry and will eat

Raw and alive without bread or butter

All the little kids who aren't asleep

And, together, they all fell asleep.

*** 

Dead: 8 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, and Aspen. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)

Alive: 13

Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, and Icarus (please let us know if you ever have any!)

Enemies of Snow: Zachary, dreamii, and pretty much everyone, to be honest

Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast and Luna-Starr (tied with two juniper branches) 

Day Nine— Evening

The sleeping spell that the accomplice laid on the camp was strong. Very strong. Extremely strong. Too strong, in fact, because the camp slept until after lunch, and probably only woke up because dreamiing woke up first with a growling stomach and a sunburn. And yes, dreamii fully appreciated the irony that the only (living) person whose name had anything to do with sleep was the first to wake up. But her sunburn was so painful that she didn't even care.

How, you might ask, did someone get a sunburn if they had been in bed since last night at ten o'clock?

Well, dreamii really liked the night air. She believed that it could invigorate her during those trying times. If it was allowed, she would have simply laid out a blanket on the grass and slept there for the whole night, with the moon shining down in all of its silvery glory. But, because her counselor was the infinitely beloved Snow, there was no way that would be allowed. So, instead, she crawled into her bed at ten when the lights went out, and opened her window completely. She even pushed the mosquito screen out onto the grass outside, intending to hold a midnight seance and communicate with Felix under the magical moonlight.

Instead, she fell asleep. It was only a light catnap, really. She was just waiting for midnight, when the full moon would be at the top of the sky and it would be easiest to communicate with the spirit world. At least, that's what the book about seances which she had stolen from Liberté said. Apparently, the Reine family were not just football player magnets and chess players, but also leaders in the world of talking to dead people. Instead, though, her cat nap lasted until two in the morning, at which point, the sleeping spell of creepy, French lullabies was cast over all of Camp Juniper and she fell into nightmares about large birds who wanted to eat her eyes, turn her toenails into nests, and use her blood in a potion to make The Guild of Murderers and Other Evil People the ruling government of the world. A little while after that, she sank into an even deeper, dreamless sleep, which lasted until noon. Which meant that, from five in the morning until twelve in the afternoon, scorching her once pale, sun-deprived skin into a landscape of redness.

Which hurt. A lot.

In fact, it hurt so much that she woke up before anyone else, possibly saving Camp Juniper from an eternal, Sleeping Beauty-esque sleep. She spent a few minutes contemplating the merits of falling back asleep, then a few more trying to fall asleep and realizing that she was in too much pain, and a few more meditating on the fact that someone named dreamiing was the first to wake up. Then, she decided to go make some breakfast.

Unfortunately, dreamii was a terrible cook and scorched the eggs, which woke up Piper Palenia, who had a spiritual connection with food, and ran screaming out of her bedroom, shivering with the unbearable pain of ruined eggs. Her scream was loud enough to wake the entire camp in less than a moment. Basil ran around screaming because he thought that Luna-Starr had escaped. Snow ran around screaming because dreamii had gotten ketchup on the white plush carpeting that lived on the kitchen floor for some odd reason. Liberté ran around screaming because it was twelve thirty and they were way off schedule. And everyone else ran around screaming because that seemed like the proper thing to do in such a situation. Sammy and Freak decided to pretend that they were chickens with their heads cut off, and soon gained a cult following consisting of people who were obsessed over chickens with their heads cut off who were actually humans.

All in all, it was a very ski lodge-y experience, and by the time everyone's throats were bleeding from all the screaming, everyone was extremely refreshed. They were in a ski lodge, and the murderer had been caught! Had this ever happened before? Could they possibly be about to experience all of the wacky, beautiful chaos that was such a beautiful part of ski lodges, without the threat of being murdered? It seemed impossible, and yet... there they were, pretending to be chickens with their heads cut off, with the murderer locked up in isolation with a retro orange couch.

Basil comforted Liberté, telling her that they could rearrange the schedule, that everyone was tired, that they had caught the murderer for goodness sakes, didn't that mean they deserved a break? And, to his surprise, Liberté agreed, then proceeded to jump into the pond fully clothed and doggy paddle around it for a few laps, pulling random campers in behind her, who first shrieked from surprise, fear, and the cold. Then, though, they realized that it was an extremely hot afternoon, and the water felt wonderful. So they laughed, and NerdFace composed a soliloquy on the wonders of a Target notebook aisle, and Ari decided that Braoin was not a terrible person after all, and Braoin decided that Ari was terrible person and tackled her, which started a round of water football without a football or rules or sides of the field and was really just the tackling part.

Liberté looked up and saw a cloud that looked like an upside down rabbit, then decided that it was a messenger from the Rabbit Express, the best postal service in any of the known universes. Zachary heard her wax poetic to Kitty Cat about it, believed her, and started yelling at at the cloud-rabbit that his little brother was probably having a severe allergy attack from eating large amounts of something that he had never been allergic to before but was not fatal, and he needed to talk to him immediately and without delay. Or, he did that until Sammy jumped on top of him and threw him in the pond, where he fell like a rock, which made Sammy think that she had murdered her own AE, and dove to the bottom, only to find Zachary not drowning at all and trying the dig a hole through the soft mud in order to attempt to escape from camp.

Of course, he was also inhaling a bunch of water, so Sammy pulled him to the surface and performed CPR, from which he was rescued by Piper Palenia, who actually knew how to do CPR. He escaped unscathed, because it was that sort of day, and then everyone got chocolate cake, except Braoin who was still allergic to chocolate and got to eat plain yogurt instead, because there was nothing else. But he got rainbow sprinkles, so it was alright.

It was a perfect afternoon.

The accomplice grinned. Everything was going according to plan.

***

Dead: 8 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, and Aspen. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)

Alive: 13

Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, and Icarus (please let us know if you ever have any!)

Enemies of Snow: Zachary, dreamii, and pretty much everyone, to be honest

Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast (with two juniper branches)  

Day Nine— Evening

Only partially to Liberté's chagrin, the guests of Camp Juniper continued to laugh, run, and swim for nearly the entire rest of the afternoon. It did, of course, interfere with her precious schedule, but she was at least able to rope a few people into going fishing, which had been the day's planned activity, which was close enough. And besides, Luna had been imprisoned. That was reason enough to celebrate.

Luna herself, of course, did not throw a party because of her imprisonment. True, she was in a prime position to steal some chocolate and balloons from the supply cabinet in the lounge and throw an unbirthday party for herself, but, ever since she woke up to the sound of screaming, she had been unable to focus on anything besides the fact that she was not the murderer after all. Or, at least, she had killed Aspen, but that was the only person. In fact, there was even proof, and for most of the time that the rest of the campers were playing in the water, she had been scribbling furiously on some stolen Camp Juniper stationary. She would give anything to have her notebook back again, with its comforting wealth of both her own deductions as well as old writing and doodles. But she would have to make do with what she had. She picked up pen after pen, carefully weighing them in her hands. There were so many options: cheap plastic ballpoints, neon gel pens, felt markers. But there could only be one that was perfect, and she would need to find it. The atmosphere would need to be exactly right, because what she was going to write would be life-changing, and perhaps even life-saving. Finally, she decided on a heavy, deep violet fountain pen, blasted her favorite playlist of Gregory Alan Isakov from her phone, and settled into her favorite writing position. At first, she bit into a bar of chocolate after every few sentences, but before long, Luna was so wrapped up in her work that she forgot about everything but the scratching of her pen on the paper, word after word after word, so that when, hours later, Basil and Snow walked into the room, she didn't even notice. Not when Snow poked her in the head, or when Basil turned off the music. Only when Snow ripped the pile of paper from Luna's hands, causing a long gash of violet ink to rip through the forest of words, did she look up, with fire blazing in her eyes.

No one interrupts a writer in her element.

"How dare —"

"Luna." Basil's voice was cold and serious. "I do not think, in this situation, you have the right to protest against anything. You have murdered, in cold blood, eight people. Your friends, and my guests. I think that I have been more than fair to you, and I would not like for you to say anything more, because I can be just as fierce as my fellow counselors if need be. Now, please. Follow me. Snow is going to ask you a few questions."

Luna started at the look in Basil's eyes, bright and cold. "Y-yes. Sir." Perhaps now she would be able to explain herself, explain what she knew. Her notes were not complete, but perhaps it would be enough. She followed Snow into another room, one that she had never seen before, made completely of cement and furnished with nothing but a single metal chair and several video cameras.

"Liberté and I will be watching the entire interrogation closely, and will arrive promptly at the slightest evidence of more foul play on your part. I did not wish to endanger such a young girl as Snow by locking her in the same room as someone such as yourself, but she insisted, and I was outvoted. So just remember that if you harm a hair on this child's head, you will have me to answer to." Luna wondered if Basil would still believe this if he knew what she knew. She didn't want to be locked in the same room as Snow. She didn't want to be in the same universe as Snow, or anyone else in that camp. She wished that she could just get away from the hard, twisted world that Camp Juniper existed in. But Basil turned on his heel and the lock clicked and Snow sat down on the cement floor and Luna sat on the iron chair and resigned herself to her fate.

The questions were simple at first. Are you the murderer? No. Why did you kill all of these people? I didn't. Why won't you stop lying to me. I'm not. Do you want me to throw a water balloon at your face. No, I really don't. But they became more difficult, more endangering. Is it true that you are an author of several ski lodges yourself? Well, yes, but... Is it true that you are interested in death and murderers? I suppose I am, but really, it's just that... Do you deny that you killed Aspen? I do not, but I was...

"Shut up!" Snow's screech was high and bounced unpleasantly around the cement room. "I don't know how you think you can get out of this, but I'm going to the bathroom, and you'd better be done with your silly excuses by the time I'm back."

***

In the counselor's lounge, Basil winced. "Why would Snow do that? Leave Luna alone?"

"We did. We left her alone in a much less secure environment just last night and through most of today," Liberté pointed out. Basil ignored her. When something is a seven year old's decision rather than an adult's, it is automatically far less attractive. "You know, Basil, this reminds me of Among Us."

"I was actually comparing it to something more classic. You know, like a novel, rather than a video game?"

"But look. We're at cams. There are no cams in And Then There Were None."

***

The accomplice to the murders snuck through the halls and rooms of Camp Juniper, winding their way into Basil's technology chamber of doom. There were so many different gadgets and devices that it took them nearly five minutes to find what they wanted. Far too long. The accomplice couldn't help but think that the murderer might start too early. The murderer had always been too headstrong, they never listened closely enough. The murderer thought that they were in charge.

The accomplice laughed. What did the murderer know? They were little more than the brute strength, the one who did the dirty work.

Aha. There it was. The accomplice examined the transmitter that sent the video feed from the interrogation room to the television in the lounge. It was too complicated, they didn't know where to start to disable it. So, they did the easy thing.

The accomplice took a small hammer out of their pocket and smashed the transmitter, then did the same thing to the general power feed. Now the murderer could do their little job.

***

"You know, Basil, when I play Among Us, people are always killed when the lights go out."

***

The accomplice smiled. This was going to be fun.

***

The murderer raced into the interrogation room. The other one had taken too long, they were one out of time. This would need to be quick.

"Hello, Luna," they whispered.

"I know who you are," Luna replied, her voice calm and even. "I know who you are and what you plan to do to me. I know that you are not alone, and I know what they are doing to you. Please, my friend, you can fight it. You are stronger than them."

The murderer laughed. "What do you know? I am strong, and that's why I am doing this. I will be the strongest one."

"Please, no." Luna opened her mouth in a plea, or a bargain, or perhaps she was going to merely say the murderer's name. But she was too slow, and the knife — the same knife that had killed Aspen — slit her in two.

The murderer walked away, a cheerful tune on their lips.

***

"What happened, Basil? Basil, I don't want to die. Basil, why are the lights out?"

***

"Basil, do you think Snow is alright?"

***

"Basil?"

***

Snow walked into the interrogation room, seemingly unconcerned by the lack of light. Stranger things had happened at Camp Juniper than a blackout, and besides, she had a flashlight handy. A smart person always carries a few essentials around with them, in case something terrible happens like a blackout or a lack of sugar. Nothing could prepare her, however, for the sight of Luna-Starr lying on the cement floor. Lit in the harsh white light of the flashlight, Luna looked like a ghoul, her skin far too pale and covered in blood that was far too red. Her hair was like a void of blackness in the midst of all the red and white, a portal to some other, kinder world, a portal that Luna would never have the chance to enter. And the star on her cheek shone, as bright as a thousands suns, with both its own light and a reflection of the flashlight's light, changing it into a hundred thousand different hues.

Snow screamed.

***

"Basil, do you hear that?"

"I hear it."

"Who do you think it is?"

"It sounded like Snow."

"I told you we should never have left her with that monstrosity of a murderer!"

"We should go see if we can save her."

Basil was already gone.

***

Snow was on her knees, weeping, when Basil arrived. He had never seen the girl seem so innocent as that moment, curled on the cement floor, droplets of Luna's blood spattered over her white dress. The little girl looked up at Basil, expecting to see comfort, but instead, there was something different, something raw and uncontainable. It was not until Liberté arrived that Snow received the comfort and tenderness that she needed. Something inside of Basil had broken when he saw the body of the person whom he had been convinced was the murderer, and that something, once broken, did not allow for him to provide comfort to anyone but himself.

***

Floating in the blood was a packet of paper. Only the top sheet was legible now, and by the time it was found, even that paper would be soaked in rusty red, soggy and impossible to decipher. Luna's last written words.

Confessions, Deductions, and Possibilities: Written in a Murderer's Hand

I, Luna-Starr, do hereby confess to the murder of Aspen, Alter Ego of NerdFace and sister of Adrian. On the eighth day of my stay at Camp Juniper, I, with my own two hands, did kill her, but under the influence of a powerful magic unlike any that I have ever known before. This magic, which, as far as I can tell, is a type of hypnotism or mind control activated by music, has been for the past days, been influencing one person to murder the campers (CBers and AEs, residents of the Cricket Chatterbox). It has also been used to frame other innocent people with murder and arson, and is probably capable of much greater evil. It is my belief that it has also been used on a larger scale on occasion to force the entire camp as a whole to do the bidding of one person.

This person, contrary to what might be believed, is not the one who has killed Hot Coco, Masquerade, Felix, Inari, Summer, Autumn Artist, and Nightfall. I do not know the identity of the person who controls the music, nor even whether they are on this island, but I do know the identity of the murderer, and I hope that, with time, I will be able to convince them to tell me what they know. This person is...

***

A drop of Luna's blood dripped through the concrete of the interrogation room, and sank through the thin layer of soil beneath it, then was absorbed into Something Else, something alive, something that tasted the blood and stretched, feeling its power for the first time in centuries. Slowly, creakily, something tall and dark and shadowy was born, breaking through the trees of the forest and making itself known, singing a silent song to the moon and stars above, finally able to breath the air above the earth.

Camp Juniper was awakening.

***

Dead: 9 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, Aspen, and Luna-Starr. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)

Alive: 12

Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, and Icarus (please let us know if you ever have any!)

Enemies of Snow: Zachary, dreamii, and pretty much everyone, to be honest

Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast (with two juniper branches)