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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)
(June 9, 2021 - 6:51 pm)
Day Ten — Morning
By 8 A.M., the eleven remaining campers who did not know about the death of the presumed murderer Luna-Starr, knew that she had died. Liberté had called a mandatory meeting at 8:30, but everyone was ready, seeing as they could not sleep after hearing the news of Luna-Starr’s death. After all, she had murdered Aspen. But she couldn’t have killed herself. Whoever killed her was still on the loose. Who would want to sleep when they were not protected? They felt so safe last night, knowing the murderer had been caught. What now?
By 8:30, everyone had gathered in the pavilion, Liberté and Snow standing before them. No one, but the two counselors and Palenia Piper, knew where Basil was. He was not in the sort of shape to be standing in front of a crowd. Yes, you heard that right, Basil, the level-headed, comforting counselor was not doing so well. Geniuses are always the first to crack. Or maybe there was something more behind the mask...
“Good morning campers. As I can tell, you all have heard the news about the death of Luna-Starr. We want to warn you to keep your eyes open, because whoever killed Luna, well, they’re still here. Don’t trust anyone, unless you can— no, wait— unless you know that the person is truly innocent.” Liberté says, pausing for dramatic effect.
People in the crowd look between each other. CBers look at their AEs, the AEs look back. CBers look between themselves. AEs look between themselves. Thoughts run through their brains. It’s almost as if instead of uniting to stop the murderer, they find themselves drifting farther apart.
Poor innocent souls.
“Moving away from the terrible, we now move on to our previously scheduled broadcasting.” She laughs at her joke, but silence quickly falls. “Tough crowd. Anyways, as mentioned on the bulletin board we expect you all to read, we have been preserving our funeral materials, and holding a mass service for those who have left us. Today is the first— and hopefully the last. Later this afternoon, we will hold a small funeral and reception in the multi-purpose room, before leading an ash-scattering procession. There have been six poor souls who have been lost since the third day, and we will mourn them gracefully. Followed by the funeral will be my personal favorite activity during your time at camp. Letter writing. But until then, the day is yours. Stay safe.”
With that, both Liberté and Snow exit the premises, and they are replaced with a smiling Palenia Piper, pulling a large trolley of assorted breakfast foods. The campers gravitated towards the smell, picking their orders and finding a seat at the tables. Little did they know, there was something that happened during the night, something that changed the camp, in some ways for the better, in others, for the worse. As they consumed the warm meals Palenia Piper had made for them, the thing grew and formed.
And it all happened right behind them, quieter than a cold, dead body.
***
“Oh. My. Goodness. Would you look at that? Where’d this even come from?” Pine exclaimed, staring up at the large building in front of him and the others, full of windows, but appeared empty, besides being packed with shelves.
“If we knew, we’d probably tell you.” Basil replies, appearing from behind, his tone void of emotion.
The building was made of old brick, which was a dark brown; the shade of coffee with a tad of milk. The color, Nerd thought, was appropriate for a library. She didn’t mention this aloud though. In fact, she hadn’t spoken since her AE died two days ago. It was tragic.
It also spanned at least fifty feet tall. The roof was flat, and the rest of the building was shaped in a rectangular prism. The windows were decorated with black rod iron and mini garden boxes, which were accompanied with flowers of all colors. The door was a creamy white, and the yard around it was covered in cute, perfectly trimmed bushes, flowers, and trees of all sorts. It was an oasis of calm.
When they opened the door and walked inside, there were hundreds of shelves that reached ten to twelve feet tall. On the east and west sides of the building were staircases leading up to a loft which spanned halfway across the ceiling, accompanied by a wrap-around walking path about five feet wide, which followed the perimeter of the building. The loft had a black rod iron spiral staircase which led to an attic, which housed furniture that looked like it came out of the Victorian era. The whole building and its exterior were beautiful. It completed Camp Juniper.
The only problem was the idea of what the building should be.
Thankfully, there were multiple ideas.
A shrine for Luna, a place with internet access, a personal bedroom, and finally, the most repeated, and generally accepted idea, was a library.
“It already has shelves, and the attic furniture looked perfect for the library setting. And look at the character of this building! I wish this was how all libraries were.” Adrian had said.
“I brought hundreds of books, too! We could stock the shelves with them. It would be perfect. It would almost seem like, dare I say, home.” Icarus raved.
“And maybe we could dedicate it to Luna-Starr? After all, she is a martyr.” Zachary pointed out, oblivious to the fact that Luna had killed a camper.
Adrian’s eyes widened in horror. Luna-Starr had murdered their sister. There was no place in h-e-double hockey sticks that they would allow that sort of… remembrance be permitted. The library— a library— had always been their safe place, and it wasn’t going to be ruined by a dedication. Over their dead body might it be.
Icarus could see the flame in Adrian’s eyes. He too had been afraid of Luna, since she attempted to kidnap him on day three. He did not want a Luna-Starr memorial. Not one bit.
“I don’t think that’s a great idea, Zach.” Sammy said, breaking the silence but creating more tension. “You know the kind of damage that girl inflicted on some of us when she was here. It’s just plain wrong to honour her with such a wonderful library. It’s like punishing a child and then giving them chocolate. See the problem? Anyone? No? Well, there’s no way I’ll let something like that happen.”
Sammy had also despised Luna. Well, maybe despised is a bit much. More like she strongly disliked her. Sammy had seen her thoughts, a rare look into the ski lodge genius’s head. And Sammy did not like the idea of dedicating such a beautiful place to a cruel person. It was unethical. Dr. McRock had been teaching her about her moral compass. She was ready to fight for her beliefs. Dr. McRock thought that it was a good thing for Sammy to focus her energy on something like that. So, she was ready for battle. The battle of the library dedication.
Unfortunately, Sammy, Icarus, and Adrian were outnumbered. Sterling and Nerd had joined their side, but that was still seven versus six. Even Snow thought it was a good idea.
“It would be good for the camp.” Is what she said, avoiding the looks from the other two counselors. Snow, after all, had been the one to find Luna dead in a pool of blood. Why would she want to be dedicating a library to her, the thought that surely would give her night terrors for the next month? It was truly a mystery, but that’s just who Snow was. A mystery.
“Well then, I guess it is decided. We have a library dedicated to—” Liberté winced before saying her name. “Luna-Starr. Let’s spend the morning setting up. How does that sound?”
The campers cheered in response, which Liberté took as a yes. Icarus left to find his special endless black backpack, filled with books. Adrian, Nerd, and Sterling carried furniture to the ground floor, before spending a bit decorating the loft, making it the perfect environment to escape to. On the main floor, besides the furniture for reading, Basil and Liberté brought in long tables complete with lamps and an endless supply of paper, quills, and inkwells lined the edges of the tables. There were a few desktop computers, but all they were capable of loading was the offline dictionary and a simple word processor. Zachary was even able to create a makeshift plaque to hang on the door outside of the library. Luna-Starr, the ski lodge genius, gone too soon, it read, accompanied by the dates of her lifespan. It was painted with a fake gold and set atop a deep-colored wood. Adrian grimaced at the unveiling, but they’d have to keep their feelings inside— maybe even get over the anger. There was nothing left for them to do. But there were books. And maybe the books could help in a way not even Nerd could.
“I’m back!” Icarus shouts, carrying the bag effortlessly. If there were truly hundreds of books in there, in a normal backpack, he probably would have broken his back. But no, he carried the sacred texts with ease. Thank goodness for that.
Adrian, Sterling, and Freak joined Icarus in unloading the books, so they could sort them by the author’s last name. Out fell Magicae Palace and its sequel, The Ski Lodge Story, Lake Lelillo, The Disoriented Express, The Collection of TON’s ski lodges, Ryokan Suzuran, Hotel Le'Faye, Diagon Alley Ski Lodge, and more ski lodges. Others were classics, like Pride and Prejudice, and Huckleberry Finn. There were even some of the well-liked books, like the Hunger Games saga and Harry Potter’s whole collection. There were more than hundreds of books, it was actually closer to thousands. And eventually, they would all line the shelves of the library.
Liberté passed by the group, observing their progress. They had letters A through G done, working through H as she looked. She picked up one of the copies of the Ryokan Suzuran and flipped through the pages delicately. A thin, glossy layer appeared to coat her eyes, but after a single blink, it was gone.
“I didn’t know you all liked history books,” she whispered. “I read these when I was a kid, in school. We used to have to do all sorts of essays on them. To think I’m actually running something quite similar… I didn’t think I would have turned out this way.”
They could barely hear what she was saying, the first part being the loudest and it descended into being quieter until the last word could not be heard at all.
“This is history? I thought it was just stories written by crazy CBers such as Luna-Starr, who decided that murder was a part of their life and they could not live without it because then their life would be pointless. I personally like to stay far away from murder. And perhaps that is why I am still alive.” Freak said.
“Oh, dear child, this is much more than history. It is a lifestyle. It is what formed this alternate dimension. It is what created this camp. I’m glad you like them. History is truly fascinating. But so is murder.”
Liberté smiled softly at the four before walking towards Basil, who was struggling with a rather large sofa that was not orange, but rather a deep midnight blue and fit the interior of the library quite well. But that’s beside the point.
***
It took another two hours for the camp to finalize the library; placing the books on the shelves, organizing the furniture, and completing the study area. There was an extra half an hour, though, where there was another debate on whether they should put Luna-Starr's ski lodges in a special, honourary glass case that would show off her works of genius to the whole camp as soon as they looked in the library.
Of course, like last time, there were more people for the idea than against it, so Luna-Starr got a fancy case for her fancy ski lodges. It seemed as if no one cared that Luna had technically been a murderer. Well, besides a few. It was like it had all been forgotten and forgiven, just because she had died, reduced to nothing but ashes in a small silver urn. Luna had more of an influence on the camp than anyone would have known. It was strange.
But Camp Juniper was also strange. It had magic. Murder. Randomly appearing buildings. She wasn’t that out of place. Possibly, she fit in with the strange. And possibly, that was the reason she died.
There would be more deaths in the coming days of Camp Juniper, no matter how much someone wanted to avoid murder, or stay alive.
Sometimes you can’t just change fate.
(June 10, 2021 - 6:04 pm)
(June 10, 2021 - 10:36 pm)
Day Ten — Afternoon
The multi-purpose room has been repurposed into a funeral room. Columns that look as if they came straight off a Virginia-style house sit in a circle. Each column has a small placard with a name, written in Liberté’s signature gold calligraphy. These names are of the six campers who died from Inari on Day Four, to Luna-Starr, whose ashes are still rather fresh. All that’s left are the urns themselves.
Basil walks in, carrying a trolley behind him. On the trolley, six silver-coloured urns are held delicately. They’re embellished with a strip of gold-dyed tape around the neck and carved with the camper’s name. A simple urn, yes, but they, in their simplicity, are quite beautiful enough.
Liberté and Snow join Basil, one on each side. They look between each other, and just for a moment, they share a look of sadness and regret. There was only one person in the entire camp that knew, going into Camp Juniper, that there would be deaths. One person out of a total of twenty-five. The counselors feel guilty, though, for giving a platform for such madness to happen. But, once the moment is over, their vulnerability fades and is replaced by stone cold, emotionless faces. They cannot afford emotions.
However, Snow’s eyes are the opposite of empty. They’re full of fire. She’s angry. There were two people dead now who were on her enemy list. Their urns sat on the trolley, glinting in the light of the room. Snow’s eyes drifted towards the trolley, settling onto the two, Felix’s and AutumnArtist’s. They don’t deserve respect. They don’t deserve a funeral. Snow is the only one who thinks this. The child can hold a grudge.
Felix was quieter; he stayed out of the way more. He wasn’t someone to worry about. But he had died on a white carpet. There are still stains in the carpet. On the corner, instead of the plush white, white like snow, there was a faded pink. The resemblance of death still remained. So, Snow was angry.
AutumnArtist had the best bow and arrow shot in the camp. Sure, on Day Two, Sammy did beat her in the Archery challenge, but it was timed. She had never worked well when she was under pressure. The morning before her death, there had been an infestation of mosquitoes. Snow had insisted that she must kill them all with her bow. Autumn tried to explain that mosquitos were too small to target with such a large arrow. Snow did not understand. She thought it was an excuse. So, she went on her enemy list. AutumnArtist died less than three hours later. She was never removed from the list in Snow’s head.
Snow eyed the two urns. She was debating which one was worth more to her, to the camp. And then the decision was made. She glanced between Liberté and Basil, who were discussing whether they should use parchment, or plain, normal, printer paper for letter writing, seeing as Luna had either used all their stationary last night, or ruined it with violet ink from her weapon of choice, a pen. They were distracted. It was the perfect time.
Onto the ground, with a large clatter and echo, spilling ashes everywhere, was AutumnArtist’s urn. The ashes sprinkled between the knots in the carpet. It was unsalvageable, and Snow knew that. Liberté and Basil focused their attention on Snow and the urn. Liberté gasped in horror, and Basil stayed silent, but his mouth was moving, trying to form words. It couldn’t, though. Liberté couldn’t even say anything.
“That was for the mosquitos! Next time when I ask you to do something, you do it! You listen to me! Or else something like this happens. Have fun in the vacuum cleaner. I bet it’ll be a fun experience for your dead, melted body!” She sneers at the pile of grey sinking into the carpet.
“Snow! How dare you talk to a former camper like that. That is inappropriate. That is unnecessary. That is disgusting. We do not tolerate that behavior here from anyone, not even a counselor. Clean this mess up the best you can, and then go straight to your room. I’m going to send Palenia Piper to watch you. You’ll miss the funeral. And letter writing. I want you to write an apology letter to AutumnArtist’s ashes, too.” Liberté snaps, her eyes full of fury.
“To the ashes? Are you demented? Why would I do that?”
“Because it is proper. And I said so. So, you will do it. I expect it to be done by 3 P.M. Otherwise… I don’t know. Just get it done.”
“Fine. Where’s the vacuum cleaner?”
“I’m afraid you won’t be using that. Instead, why don’t you try using this?” Basil says, approaching the eight-year-old child with a broom and a dustpan, which look old and dusty, as if they existed for millions of years.
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“Ugh, fine.”
Snow snatches the broom set out of his hands and begins to hopelessly sweep at the ashes that have sunk into the plush carpet. She knew it wouldn’t come out. Liberté knew that it wouldn’t come out.
She would be cleaning for the entirety of the funeral. And everyone would be looking at her strangely, wondering why Autumn’s urn was missing from its place.
***
“Welcome campers to Camp Juniper’s new library; the Study section. We have placed a sheet of parchment in front of you, and there are quills and inkwells on the edge of each table. We want you to write a letter to anyone you’d like, even if you want to write to yourself, or to a counselor, that’s fine. Your finished letters would be delivered by upside-down rabbit express…” Liberté lowers her voice to a whisper. “…but to be honest, they will just go in a stack in my office. We do encourage you to write something meaningful. You’ll have two hours! I’ll be back then.”
She walks away, leaving the campers behind. They look between each other, before, one-by-one, they dip their quills into the ink, and begin to scrawl on the parchment, writing to family, friends, no one, and everyone.
***
An opinion on letter writing by Liberté Reine.
Letter writing is the ultimate off-the-grid camping experience. Every counselor book that I’ve read has said that writing letters is a great outlet for people who may miss their family or anything else. I just think they make sense at a summer camp. And, though we cannot send them, it is still a great activity. It allows the campers to express their pent up teen angst on paper. Then Basil and I can read them and counsel them. Like we should be doing. Maybe it will stop the murder.
Hold on, someone has a question.
Zachary and his annoying personality. He cannot contact his brother while he is here. But he could write a letter to him. Not that it would go through. It might help him to release his worries. I’m sure his brother is fine. If he relaxed, wrote a letter maybe, everything would feel better. I’ll send the telepathic waves now.
Done. But now he’s staring at me strangely. Oh well.
Anyways, letters are just how everything works. When I was a young child, I wrote letters to my friends every day. We lived in a castle, of course. I only saw my friends every once and a while, and most of them lived in neighboring kingdoms! We corresponded every week with letters. It was wonderful. Even the football players and I communicated through letters. My daddy didn’t let me leave the castle until I was eighteen years old. So letters were the only way.
The only way.
It appears I have digressed. I’m sorry.
To finish, writing letters is ultimately superior to anything else.
End.
Of.
Story.
***
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)
(June 11, 2021 - 10:27 pm)
Wow, I've really been slacking. I guess you and I are even now, Nerd.
~I am so very honored that there is an epic Camp Juniper library that has been dedicated to me, and that my ski lodges will be chronoclied there forever. Speaking of this library, I'm thinking that it appeared because of the awakening of Camp Juniper, which I really hope to hear more about since it sounds epic. Generating an awesome library is a weird thing to result from that, but I'm not complaining.
~The part in which everyone wakes up at noon and pretends to be headless chickens and Nerd writes a soliloquy about Target notebooks is so beautifully chaotic. 100% on the Tomatometer. Expect a reference within the next 1-5 Ski Lodge Story chapters.
~The Reine family history is very fascinating. This new development with the castle is very interesting. Now I'm imagining football boys falling in love with Liberté due to her fabulous letter-writing skills.
~Snow is a very confusing creature. When she cried over my death, I felt bad for her, but then she decided to become a monster and destroy an urn. It was hilarious, to be sure, but yikes.
~The moment before my interrogation / death (which was fantastically written and will give me chills for years) where I'm eating chocolate and listening to Isakov and stealing purple pens and slowly launcing myself into a different world in my head is so so so very awesome and accurate and I will love it forever.
~The music! The mysterious person / thing causing it! The murderer and their accomplice! The frizy haired girl! So many mysteries; you two are masters of balancing them out and creating suspence for each of them silumtaneously.
~I think Icarus can be taken off the suspect list. I can't think of anyone to add to the list, though.
(June 12, 2021 - 8:50 pm)
(June 11, 2021 - 10:27 pm)
And it appears that the WEEK OF LIBERTÉ AND BASIL! has come to an end. Thank you, Luna, for that wonderful comment, we truly appreciate it. We hope you enjoy this part and the many more to come. We'll go back to our usual every Tuesday schedule on this coming Tuesday. Have a great evening <33.
***
Day Ten — Evening
Freak is dead. Yes, you heard that right. He’s gone. Deceased. Passed on. Murdered. Dead as a doornail. Lifeless. Not breathing. DEAD. However you say it, whether you choose to use a euphemism, or to be blunt with your words, be honest with yourself and call him dead. If it pains you too much to use that word, just think of it this way. Before he died, he told everyone he knew to call him dead. It felt better that way, he said. Kitty Cat had protested. She said that he wouldn’t hear what they’d say, so why did it matter? Freak just smiled. No answer. Just a smile.
Now, you must be wondering how he died, right? He was just writing a letter to the upside-down rabbit express a few hours ago. How was he murdered? How did the murderer have time to murder? Well, that’s the nice thing about flashbacks. Hold your breath, it might get stolen from you.
***
Freak had finished his letter. It had started with Dear Upside-Down Rabbit Express, and ended with Thanks, Freak. It contained all sorts of questions, like why do you exist? or what do you deliver? or even something like why in the world did you choose to be an upside-down rabbit made of a cloud, which is really just water and dust? Then, it divulged into Freak wondering if the rabbit actually read the letters and stuff, and gave the recipient the message, just without the physical letter.
But, no matter what the content, he had completed a letter. He was finished. So, he decided to take a walk around the new library. Observe the books and stuff. That’s what he did, of course. Freak was a human of his word. He observed the books already had a fine layer of dust, even though they had only been there for about four hours. He observed that there were now ten-foot-tall ladders attached to the rims of each bookshelf, so you could reach the high books.
He also observed a strange door that was not there before. He noticed that there was a placard that read “employees only”, but there were no employees at Camp Juniper besides Palenia Piper, and she was not the librarian, no one was. Perhaps employees meant counselors, but the counselors decided that it was okay to have the library be camper-run. So why would they need a special room, especially when they already had their lounge? It struck Freak as odd. He decided to look closer.
The door was made of dark oak, and the handle was old brass. The handle twisted easily, but the door was stuck. Or locked. But Freak refused to think it was locked because there was no key hole, and there was no way out on the other side. The only way in was through the door. He kicked at it, threw his body into it, even tried to break it down with an iron rod into it like a battering ram. None of that worked. Freak thought if he tried one more time it would work. He got a running start, pretended to be a ninja, and used all his force possible to break down the door.
It worked.
Strangely, he bounced off the door and went flying back into the library, but the door had cracked open ever so slightly. He rubbed his head, massaging away the dull ache that sat in the back of his skull after ricocheting off the bookshelf behind him. Freak walked towards the door and gripped the handle, ready to reveal the insides of the “employees only” closet.
He did not expect to see what he saw.
In that room (well, it was more like a closet. A walk-in closet), there was everything that Freak had vowed to stay away from. He wanted to distance himself from murder, remember? Well, it’s a bit hard to do that when you walk straight into a room (closet) full of murder weapons. Now Freak understood why that room was blocked off. He had to tell someone. Basil. Liberté. Maybe not Snow. She was only a child. Access to such things could be dangerous.
Freak turned around, frantic to find a counselor. He could be the one to stop the murderer. It would all be over, the nightmares, the constant worrying, Sammy’s insanity. It would be gone. He could spend the rest of the summer care-free. Like it was meant to be. And he almost did. He was so close.
“Hello there. I see you’ve found my closet.” The murderer said, their voice quiet. (It is a closet!)
“You? You! You.”
“Me, me, me. I don’t understand why you’re so surprised, my dear Freak. I thought I had made some crucial mistakes and that everyone could figure it out. I guess not. But you’ve seen my closet. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I cannot keep you alive. It would be too detrimental to me. There is no room for that.”
“I understand. But you could do it differently for once. Don’t listen to that urge inside of you. Let me go. I would stay silent. For immunity. And maybe a hundred bucks. I wouldn’t tell a soul. Not even Sammy. Not even the Canadian Amazon Box.”
“That sounds… interesting. Though I would love to keep you alive (they didn’t, but when you talk to people you say nice things), I just can't do that, nor can I afford your prices.”
“I can lower it. I can do anything. I’d even kill for you. Please.”
His voice had become a croak, pleading for his life. Freak had never been like this, not even in front of his own family. He never had to plead for his life in front of anyone else, though. So it was reasonable.
“I can’t.” The murderer blinks, their eyes softening for just a moment. “It’s not me, even. I can’t tell you who, but if I had to choose it wouldn’t be you.” Their eyes go cold. “You have to die.”
“Then make it quick, please. It’s the only thing I can ask of you.”
“I’ll try.”
Swiftly, they step forward, binding his hands and his feet, before stuffing a cloth into his mouth, duct taping it securely, and then applying one of those swimming nose plugs on his nose. Before long, his face pales and life seems to leave his eyes. He lets them close. Freak doesn’t want to be that person who stares creepily into everyone’s souls, even though there is no life left. He thinks his last thoughts. When I’m dead, I want people to say I’m dead. Saying someone has passed on, well, it just sounds like they drove a car next to you on a freeway and passed you. I want to be called dead. Dead. Please. Five minutes pass by and he falls unconscious. Eight minutes come and go, and his body goes still.
Freak is dead.
The murderer places a folded piece of parchment— their letter— next to his body and flees the scene. The door disappears. Body in the library, body in the library, body in the library, body in the library, there’s a body in the library.
***
“He’s over here! Sammy! Zachary! He’s over here! It’s actually not that bad. I thought it would be way worse.” Braion shouts over Freak’s body. “And there’s a note! Liberté come quick!”
“Not another death…” Liberté mumbles before walking around the corner to find a resting— I mean dead— Freak. “Oh, fancy. It looks like he wrote a death note.” She opens it. “Or the murderer confessed without a name. This helps so much. Children, that was sarcasm. Learn from the greatest.”
“Can we see?” Sterling questions.
“No. This might be evidence. I don’t need your greasy fingerprints all over the parchment. I can read it to you, though. It can be like story time in a library. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Meet me in the loft. Follow me. I don’t know. Just be there.”
“Wait, Liberté? What if he’s not dead— just resting?” Sammy asks, showing only the slightest bit of vulnerability for a moment.
“It’s not possible. Check his pulse. Non-existent.”
“Okay.”
“Loft, please.”
And so they went.
***
Dear residents of Camp Juniper,
I am the murderer. I will not tell you my name, as I fear the consequences that are to come. But I do want to tell you my story. I want you to hear my side. I want you to understand why I killed everyone but Aspen. I want you to understand why I did what I did to Luna-Starr. I want you to know what controls me. What persuades me to kill. Because that’s what's important. That’s what this is for.
I came to Camp Juniper for the same reason as the rest of you (with the exception of the counselors and Palenia Piper). School was getting overwhelming; I wanted a break. I did not come into this camp with ill intentions, I promise you. I was chosen, hypnotized. On Day One, a bottle of powdered cyanide appeared in my pocket and I was overcome with the urge to put some into Hot Coco’s ice cream. She was the first death; the first death of many.
After that, I realized that it was not only me who was doing the killing, but it was someone else, controlling me, persuading me to do what I did. I always believed in a non-violent lifestyle. Murder, it was something new, something different. I couldn’t recognize whether I liked it or not. Most days are quite foggy to me, at least the murders are. I am grateful for that, but I still killed people. I killed (or will have killed, by the time you read this letter) nine people similar to myself. That is unacceptable. I had no motive. There was no reason for that. I’m going to say something, something you probably won’t believe because every criminal ever has said this: It wasn’t me. I saw that grimace, Liberté. I am sitting in this group. I see you as you read my words. Please just hear me out.
There is a person here, in the dimension of Camp Juniper, who controls my actions. It’s the Music. The Music has an unspeakable power. But the person has the smarts to do such things. They play it, they force me to do their bidding. You probably wouldn’t even suspect them. They’re the kind of person who doesn’t look like they actually kill anyone. And, sure, they didn’t, but they made me do it. If it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t even be in this situation. We would be enjoying the summer away. People have power, they just have to choose whether to use it for good, or for evil. This person decided that murder was the way to go. So, here we are.
Luna-Starr did kill Aspen. It was her. That wasn’t me at all. I did kidnap her, though. The Music got her, too. This person, the person that controls everything, they were going to be found out. So, once again, I was used as a pawn in their game, to rid Luna-Starr from this camp. I’m sorry for taking your precious ski lodge lady away from you, but, again, it was not my decision.
Today, a library appeared at Camp Juniper. Everyone was so excited, even myself. We exist because of stories, fictional or not. They allow our imaginations to do what they do, imagine. Without them, we’d be lost, or tied to the world of oral stories. Myself, I cannot focus on a speech or a story voiced, carried by sound waves, for more than a few minutes. My mind wanders. There was also a room that appeared. The person, the person that controls, brought me to this room inside of the library. I will not disclose its location, because I do not want to spoil it. It was full of everything I would ever need to use for… what I do. I was afraid. Not soon after, Freak, your beloved Freak, found this room. The Music took over once more, and I killed Freak.
Why don’t I just turn myself in and turn that person in? That’s the question in your heads, I can only guess. The consequences are too great, my friend. The crack in my life began ten days ago. With each death it grows greater and greater. I can only imagine it will shatter my life when this all ends. They’d kill me. I don’t want to die. So I’ll do this, if it is what it takes to survive, I’ll do it. I’m sorry. Just… please understand why. I can only bet that you’d do the same thing if you were in my spot.
I’m sorry, and I really hope you see my side,
The Murderer
P.S. Frizzy hair, please stay out of my business. They’ll kill you. I’d be the one, but you have to stay out of their way. Stop trying to prevent the inevitable. It just ruins everything.
P.P.S. Counselors, I’m sorry to have ruined your camp. But, I’ll say it again, it’s not my fault. I promise.
***
“I swear it’s not me! I am not the one who is controlling the music! I promise! I don’t even know how to do something like that! Believe me!” Liberté screeches, before doing her signature collapse onto the navy blue couch behind her.
“I’m sorry, Liberté, but I don’t think that was who the murderer was alluding to. It has to be someone with brains. We need to think about this. Figure it out. Not right now, though. We need to get Freak to Palenia Piper and Liberté to Basil. He always seems like he has the cure to her collapsations.” Pine says.
“Yes. Let’s do that. Talk about it later.” dreamii agrees.
They make plans to meet later, after curfew, and then decide who should take which person. Once decided they carry out their deeds.
Sterling wins the letter writing contest. For her creativity, writing to a blade of grass. Original, I like it. Liberté had said.
Ten down. Eleven left.
Camp Juniper is awake, in its prime.
Ten down.
Eleven left.
One’s a murderer.
Ten down.
***
Dead: 10 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, Aspen, Luna-Starr, and Freak. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)
Alive: 11
Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, ??? (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 Sterling (tied with two juniper branches)
(June 12, 2021 - 10:06 pm)
(June 12, 2021 - 10:06 pm)
Day Eleven — Morning
The morning after Freak died, the campers ate pancakes.
They did not know why Freak had died or what he had found. They did not realize the full significance of the murderer's note, or, more likely, their overwrought brains pushed away its obvious, mind-blowing meaning. Because most brains do not want to get blown up. All that the campers chose to realize was that the two people who kept on stealing stuff — Freak and Luna — were now dead and burned up into fine, silvery ashes in cute little urns. Which meant that their possessions were safe.
Nobody realized that Freak, knowing that his doom was near (that he would die within a few days, he had no clue exactly how soon his life would end) had decided to take on an apprentice in the art of thievery and annoyance. And, there was one person in camp who he was sure would (1) not be disgusted with stealing stuff for no real reason (2) would be clever and rude and slippery enough to be a good thief/annoyance and (3) would not die. That person was Snow. And, true, Freak did not know for certain that Snow was not going to die. But he did know that the murderer seemed to be attacking only campers, leaving counselors like Snow, Liberté, and Basil, as well as miracles like Palenia Piper alone. So Snow would be able to live on, poking people, making sarcastic comments, and stealing chocolate, a living memorial of Freak, the Boy with the Mask, the Body in the Library, the CBer Who Could Have Been and AE, the Person Who Steals Stuff.
Snow was, Freak had decided three days ago, perfect for the job. He had made her steal several things, among them: money from Sammy, a toolkit, a teddy bear, five pounds of coffee chocolate, a plastic grocery bag, and the flashlight she had used when she found Luna's body.
So, long story short, the campers were laughing, talking happily, and eating pancakes with strange mixtures of butter, maple syrup, cough syrup, chocolate syrup, and plain white sugar. Oh, and ketchup, because someone had decided to play Ketchup from Over and Out on a loop. (Hint: it was the accomplice, hoping to cause a little extra chaos. Unfortunately, it merely caused several people to discover a new love of high sodium, smashed up tomatoes on top of pancakes.) The campers were doing this because they thought that their beloved possessions, stuff, luggage, souvenirs, and paraphernalia were safe. They thought that because Freak and Luna were dead, and so they thought there were no more thieves. They thought there were no more thieves because they did not know about Freak hiring Snow as an apprentice.
So, all of this cheerfulness was, in essence, a lie.
The CBers did not realize, however, that they were living a lie, and so, to them, the world was made of cupcakes and rainbows. And pancakes, of course. Always, always pancakes.
In a far corner of the messy hall (as Snow affectionately named it about four minutes ago), Ari and Braoin were eating eggs. Because the only pancakes that were left once Braoin had dragged his CBer out of bed were citrus peel/lavender/grape (why in the world this was a flavor, no one knew, but it tasted awful) and chocolate chip. (Braoin was allergic. Very.) So, eggs it was. Because nothing is better than a large plate of partially burnt scrambled eggs made by a delusional counselor who claimed to be descended from French nobility. (Palenia Piper had taste-tested her citrus peel/lavender/grape pancakes, and was throwing up and sobbing in the bathroom until past lunch time. So Liberté made Ari and Braoin eggs.)
Ari was complaining about the purely delightful fact that her AE could not eat chocolate chip pancakes, leaving them stuck with burnt eggs. Braoin was pointing out that he had no control whatsoever over his body and he could prove it by slapping Ari in the face, oh no, he most certainly did not mean to do something as terrible as that, but he just did, how sad, he must not have control over his body. Then Ari started turning a furious shade of red, until Braoin frantically suggested that the two of them play Eavesdropping, which he disliked because it meant listening to other people but which Ari adored because she excelled at it. The CBer was still angry that her AE would dare to hit her, but she eagerly agreed to play. When else would she have the chance?
Ari listened closely, tuning her ears into other people's conversations.
"...I simply adore these pancakes, don't you?..." "...Really? I prefer to eat..." "...asterisks are far superior..." "...my bedspread is a delightful shade of puce..." "...if you would LISTEN TO ME for one Floof-blessed moment..." "...marshmallow supreme flavored taco chips..." "...when I went to Antarctica, I forgot to pack my favorite swimsuit, it was such a tragedy..." "...Jenga forever!..." "...I bet Wendy Darling could take down Alice in Wonderland in a fight nine times out of ten..." "...Dahlia is a genus of tuberous plants that are members of the Asteraceae family..."
Slowly, Ari gathered these strands of unrelated, uncorrelated, random, odd, fascinating, and tedious thoughts, and, with the help of a trusty notebook, she wove them together into a tale.
Puce was a very lucky child. They were allowed to go to Antarctica for their birthday, and what other child often gets such a privledge? Especially when they are only eight years old, as Puce was? Not very many is the correct answer. Despite that fact, Puce and their trusty companion, Asterisk the singing dog, were not excited to go to Antarctica. Why, you might ask? Well, Puce had never in their life, not even for one Floof-blessed moment, liked the cold. It was bad enough that they lived in Montana, where it plunged far below freezing in the winter. But now, Puce was cursed with a birthday present from their aunt: three two-way tickets to Antarctica on a tour that would last all summer. One ticket for Puce, one for Asterisk, and one for dear old Auntie Marge. Puce simply adored Aunt Marge, who loved to play Jenga with children and make taco chips for dinner. But they had hoped that their aunt knew them well enough to know that a trip to Antarctica was no kind of blessing. Especially since Asterisk only preferred to eat tuberous plants, and those didn't grow in Antarctica, so Puce would have to can some and pack a large trunk full of canned tuberous plants. And, although Puce could take down Aunt Marge in Jenga whenever they played, this was an argument that the poor child knew they could never win.
"Um. Ari?"
Ari ignored Braoin and concentrated. She had finished the main part of her story, incorporating words from each of the ten conversations that she had eavesdropped on. All she needed now was a satisfying conclusion, and that was harder to get than she had hoped. There wasn't time to write an entire trip to Antarctica. So, as was her habit, Ari was to doodling on her arm, not quite conscious of what she was doing. In fact, she had been doodling, and not writing, for the past five minutes, which was probably why Braoin was shoving his face in front of hers and grabbing her pen and shoving her arm in her face.
"Ari! What. Are. You. Drawing?"
"I don't know. Nothing."
"Well, then. Explain to me why this "nothing" is a perfect portrait of Basil Ambrose, complete with what seems to be bloodstains?"
***
Dead: 10 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, Aspen, Luna-Starr, and Freak. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)
Alive: 11
Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, ??? (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 Sterling (tied with two juniper branches)
(June 18, 2021 - 5:52 pm)
(June 18, 2021 - 6:05 pm)
Yikes! I hope Ari isn't predicting the future. I want Basil to stay alive.
Such a suspicious thing makes me think Ari isn't the murderer. I wonder if the music had anything to do with it...?
(June 24, 2021 - 8:58 am)
(July 14, 2021 - 5:55 am)
Hi all! We know that the parts have been slowing down lately, and that mainly is because of the busy summer schedules the both of us have. Between theatre camp and part-time jobs, babysitting and family (and oh, don't forget about NaNo!), it's been hard to find free time to sit down and write something. Because of this, we'd like to let you know that this ski lodge is going to be postponed until the first of August (or whenever the tuesday is). Apologies, and enjoy your July!
-Liberté and Basil
(July 15, 2021 - 10:17 pm)
Happy August, friends and companions, and welcome back to Camp Juniper! Yes, that's right! Everyone's favorite ski lodge is back in business, providing you with a weekly dose of death and morbid humor. Back from summer camp (yes, she escaped from a ski lodge summer camp just to go to a different one), please welcome MORNING/LIBERTÉ/ME! And back from a trip to California, please welcome NERDFACE/BASIL! We have missed you greatly.
And now, to the part that you actually care about...
Day Eleven — Afternoon
Ari and Braoin had been sitting at the breakfast table since 9:07. It was now 11:07, and they were still trying to figure out whether or not they should report the sketch of Basil Ambrose, complete with blood. Ari, the artist of the day, was protesting against it. "It's a terrible idea. You should know enough about life, Braoin, to understand that when someone draws a picture of another person soaked in blood, there is no reason to tell the world about it. It's just a doodle that I scribbled onto my freaking arm while I was trying to figure out how to end a story about a person who hates Antarctica. It's not a big deal."
"What do you mean, blood-soaked humans aren't a big deal? We are in the middle of a real-life version of an Agatha Christie book, and there are no Belgian detectives rushing to save the day. The last time we thought we had captured the murderer, the suspect literally got murdered the NEXT DAY. And so I think that unless you want one of us to be the next person to die, it would be a good idea to report this. There is no such thing as a coincidence, my friend."
"My life is made of coincidences, Braoin. Do you know me at all, or do you think the fact that I drew a camp counselor covered in blood was destiny? I'm probably undergoing some sort of insanity fest triggered by the many murders that occurred in close contact to me, together with the fact that Basil was sitting at the table across from us at the time of my drawing. He was just an easy model, so the deep-rooted internal trauma latched onto his face and turned it into a visual depiction of the mess inside of my brain."
"I still think, Ari, that you should look into it. Besides, the drawing looks nothing like the Basil who is sitting across from us. Look. His face is contorted in rage and passion, rather than cheerful and kind. His shirt is filthy rather than a beautifully maintained green pullover sweater. Your picture is obviously Basil, but it hardly seems like the same Basil who you were looking at during breakfast. I doubt your brain would change that much about him if it was merely using him as a model on which to project your bloody trauma."
"Well then, what was my brain doing? Tell me that, if you're so smart?"
"Um... I don't know. Maybe Basil has an evil twin brother that only you know about and you are keeping a secret from me. Maybe you really hate him and portrayed him as you subconsciously see him. Maybe you think that Liberté and Snow are constantly walking all over him and you see this pent-up rage that no one else can understand coming from such a sweet guy who is also a genius and doesn't really seem to have many emotions of his own. Maybe it's a subconscious memory that was so traumatic that you buried it in the depths of your mind and it only surfaced as you allowed yourself to let down your mental guard during a relaxing activity such as drawing and spending time with me, your favorite person in the world. Maybe you just like pretending to cause people immense pain because..."
"Wait. Wait, Braoin, that's it!"
"What? You are a theoretical sadist?"
"No, the memory thing. Listen, I remember..."
***
I couldn't sleep last night. I don't know why, maybe it's all the mental strain and the thought of someone sneaking up to my bed and murdering me. I was having a lovely mental conversation with a pot of rhododendrons that live outside of my house, when I suddenly started contemplating the meaning of life, the point of human existence, and what happens after you die. That wasn't a great sleep strategy, so I thought that since there was no way I would be able to fall asleep, and plus I'll probably die at any moment anyway, I might as well have a midnight walk.
Probably not the best decision in the world, but whatever. I was tired. My brain wasn't working.
So, I left my cabin. It was cold outside and I had forgotten my sweatshirt. Like, really cold. If I looked in the mirror, I would probably have seen that my lips were blue, and I had only been outside for a few minutes. So I went back into the cabin and grabbed it. The sweatshirt, I mean. Then I went back outside, and it was still cold, but not unbearable, so I went walking.
I walked to the kitchen and looked for Palenia Piper's candy stash, but it was empty except for a few Twix wrappers, so I decided to go investigate the library. I mean, it's definitely suspicious, right? We all just started jumping up and down with joy because yay, we love books here, ladeeda, stuff like that. But an enormous building literally just appeared out of freaking nowhere, and then, literally the SAME DAY that we saw it, a guy died there. Or his body was found there.
Finding a body in the library is totally cliché, by the way. Either the murderer is running out of ideas, or they have a healthy sense of irony. Freak's no naive little blonde ingénue, anyway.
But that's beside the point. I stayed in the library for the while and checked some stuff out. I found a few cool things that might be useful. Nothing much, though, so I left and went into the woods. It was getting closer to morning by then, and I could see okay, although it wasn't great. I was walking around.
Then I saw Basil with a knife. He was by... something, I don't know what, and the knife was bloody and the thing was bloody, and Basil was stabbing the thing, and he was bloody too, and then I ran away.
No one is missing, right?
Right.
So, I ran away, because Basil wasn't killing a person or anything, but he looked kind of pretty not okay, and I didn't totally trust him to not kill me. I went back to my cabin and fell asleep immediately and had nightmares. Like, a lot of nightmares. So many nightmares that everything that happened last night seemed like a nightmare itself, and I forgot it in the midst of worse nightmares, like an infant tearing off all my toenails and using them to build a bookshelf. But it wasn't a nightmare.
I think... no I'm sure. It was real.
***
Braoin shuddered. Ari smiled.
"So Braoin. Let's not tell Basil Ambrose that I saw him last night. How does that sound?"
Braoin agreed, and went to the bathroom to throw up.
***
Dead: 10 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, Aspen, Luna-Starr, and Freak. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)
Alive: 11
Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, ??? (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 Sterling (tied with two juniper branches)
(August 3, 2021 - 3:19 pm)
Nooooo! Basil! I hope he didn't hurt anyone, because I love Basil, and if he turns out to be a cold-blooded killer than I might cry. But nobody was missing and a body hasn't been discovered... so what was he stabbing? Maybe someone / something was invading the campground...
Also thank you for the image of an infant using my toenails to make a bookshelf that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
(August 10, 2021 - 12:26 pm)