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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)
(August 4, 2021 - 3:51 pm)
Day Eleven — Morning
The murderer was not in control. They had never been. The accomplice had always been the one in the back, not the accomplice at all, but the puppet master, playing the music and watching the world fall. But the accomplice was asleep now, and music played without them. Something ancient had awoken, and it wanted to play a game.
How many people would fall?
At 5:30 pm on the eleventh day of Camp Juniper, the entire camp was listening to the music, but none of them could hear a thing.
London Bridge is falling down
Falling down, falling down
London Bridge is falling down
My fair lady
Bad things were happening at Camp Juniper. Liberté Reine knew that. Her carefully constructed world was twisting and bending and breaking apart, and she was not quite so ignorant as to be able to ignore it. She could see the children dying, Basil breaking, and the painstakingly perfect lies that she told about herself falling apart.
When you are a Reine, if you are disgraced, you must keep building palaces upon the ruined foundations. If your family is forgotten and breaking because of that disgrace, you must create the best summer camp since Camp Half-Blood and fill it with children who won’t know that the stories you tell them are false, because then, perhaps, the Reine family might be able to regain its fame and fortune. If you are terrible at chess, you surround yourself with people who are just as bad or even worse, and you blame them when the game goes wrong. If you make a fool of yourself at dinner, you blame it on the hot chocolate. If the only person who ever asked you out was the leader of the flag football team in first grade, you tell everyone that football players like you. Because that is how the Reine family stays afloat.
Liberté was a Reine. Reines are perfect. And when the world falls apart around a Reine, they pick it up piece by piece.
But, as always, chocolate must come first.
Build it up with iron bars
Iron bars, iron bars
Build it up with iron bars
My fair lady
The murderer was lost.
Not physically. They knew exactly where they were physically. (Doing the most delightful part of their cleaning duties: cleaning up the vomit in the bathroom from Piper Palenia and Braoin’s separate spewing fests. Even a murderer has to adhere to the rules of cleaning duty.) It was inside of their head that the murderer wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. They had killed ten people. Right? Right. They were going to drown another one soon. Right? Right. They were killing these people because if they were the only person left, they would win Liberté and Basil’s competition with the juniper branches and get a scholarship to a good college. Right?
No, that wasn’t right, not right at all, and there was something in the murderer’s ears, something growing and stretching into their mind, and that was right as in correct, but it also felt very wrong, and they needed to go now, because the lies were falling, falling, falling, and they needed to be fixed, corrected, built up with new lies, lies as strong as iron bars, crimes to hide crimes to hide ancient powers that were growing and stretching and becoming more and more powerful.
Right?
Right.
Iron bars will bend and break
Bend and break, bend and break
Iron bars will bend and break
My fair lady
For the past ten days, Zachary had been nothing more than a mess and an annoyance. He knew that perfectly well. All he had done was whine and complain, trying to get in contact with his little brother. Well, now he was ready to admit it: his brother didn’t need Zach nearly as much as Zach needed him. Admitting the truth after all these days of lying to himself made Zachary feel as though he was breaking in two, but he also felt free. And in that freedom, he realized something that had been nagging at him for some time. Now, though, it finally made sense, and, if he found the notebook and the letter, he could prove it.
The notebook and the letter.
Words.
It all came down to words, didn’t it? Written, sung, recorded. They were all so powerful. And the letter, at least, would be easy to find. Liberté had, in an uncharacteristic burst of kindness, given the murderer’s letter to Sammy, as a reminder of Freak, her dead friend. Sammy had hidden the letter where she hid everything: not in her hollowed out Bible, but a secret compartment in her backpack, a compartment that she had told Zachary about. Zachary and no one else.
Slowly, silently, Zachary snuck into Sammy’s cabin. She would, along with the rest of the camp, be occupied with her cleaning duties, giving Zach the perfect opportunity to take what he needed. He opened the backpack and fished out the paper and a Hershey’s bar — chocolate and detecting go hand-in-hand. But, wait. There was more. A notebook. No, two notebooks. Both of which had once belonged to Luna-Starr. The very thing that Zach needed and didn’t know where to find.
But Zach only had a moment to wonder why Sammy had Luna’s notebooks. Because, a moment later, an iron bar hit his head, knocking him unconscious. A few moments after that, he was being dragged into the pond, he was floating, he was sinking, he was drowning… and he was dead. He would no longer be able to uncover the murderer.
And the murderer had forgotten to put away the notebooks.
London Bridge is falling down
Falling down, falling down
London Bridge is falling down
My fair lady
Basil was was getting chocolate from the kitchen. Why was he getting chocolate from the kitchen? Liberté wanted chocolate. He could find chocolate in the kitchen. Why did Liberté want chocolate? He didn’t know, Liberté never made any sense.
Or was it the other way around?
Did Liberté make perfect sense after all? Was it Basil who didn’t understand? Because now he was back from the kitchen, and there was Liberté, calming eating chocolate and arranging paperwork, doing normal, camp director-y things. Basil didn’t know that Liberté knew how to do paperwork.
“Why are you doing paperwork, Liberté?”
“Well, Basil, in case you hadn’t noticed, there are ten dead people at our summer camp, and we have no real explanation. I don’t particularly want to go to jail for the rest of my life, so I need to figure out some legal loopholes or find the real murderer, because otherwise, we will be accused of murder.”
“Why?”
“Because, Basil, in case you hadn’t noticed, we are adults.” Since when had Liberté actually understood that she was an adult? “And we are running a summer camp full of mostly children. Therefore, we will be viewed as responsible.” Since when did Liberté even know the definition of the word responsible?
“Oh, alright. Um… thank you for the explanation.” Basil’s head hurt.
“You know, Basil, I’m worried about you. Did you know that there was a girl who told me some story about seeing you with blood? In a forest? Or something?” Basil felt dizzy.
“Basil? Are you okay?” Basil was falling.
“Basil?”
Basil was breaking.
And Libertè was growing stronger.
Things were falling apart and coming together.
London Bridge is falling down
Falling down, falling down
London Bridge is falling down
M-y - f-a-i-r - l-a-d-y
***
Dead: 10 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, Aspen, Luna-Starr, Freak, and Zachary. 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: Let's be truthful here: Snow pretty much hates the whole world.
Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast and Sterling (tied with two juniper branches)
(August 13, 2021 - 5:39 pm)
I adore everything about this part and how sinister it feels. Who knew a song like "London Bridge is Falling Down" could be so creepy and cool.
I love your take on the murderer and how they're a puppet to some mysterious person and a deadly higher power.
Poor Liberté. All of her insanity and scariness was because she was raised to be at the top in every situation.
Basil, the music, the accomplice... there's so much I don't know what to make of and am desperate to know more about. I really should reread everything sometime soon.
(August 16, 2021 - 10:06 am)
(August 14, 2021 - 10:11 am)
Alive: 11
Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, ??? (please let us know if you ever have any!)
Enemies of Snow: Let's be truthful here: Snow pretty much hates the whole world.
Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast and Sterling (tied with two juniper branches)
***
and here's the bulletin board for today!
(August 17, 2021 - 4:17 pm)
I adore the suspence built up for something small and underwhelming followed by a massive punch to the gut! I wonder what kind of trouble dreamii and Braoin could get into...
(August 18, 2021 - 9:30 pm)
(August 17, 2021 - 4:17 pm)
Welcome to the Second Ever WEEK OF LIBERTÉ AND BASIL! We are going to try to post a part every day from today (Sunday) to next Sunday! And so we shall begin where we left off... Day Twelve's Afternoon!!
***
Day Twelve — Afternoon
Camp Juniper was supposed to be the best, most relaxing summer camp in the Pudding’s Place dimension. There were three cabins with the best colours in the world, a chef who made delicious comfort food to order who also doubled as the spectacular Camp Nurse, plenty of nature and activities, no internet access, and three counselors who suited each other perfectly. But there was something else, something even more amazing.
There was a craft hut. (And later a library. That’s unimportant right now, though.)
It was actually more of a craft house. When you walked in, everything expanded. Two of the four walls were floor to ceiling shelves full of any item used for crafting, ever. Alphabetized. Glue? We got that. Pipe cleaners? Of course! Pens that change colours as you write? Heck yeah!! One of the four walls was made of all glass windows that looked out onto the large pond. One window opened to function sort of like a secret back door. The remaining wall was entirely drying shelves with a small break for a door. The ceiling was flat and made of wooden panels. Each panel was decorated with art from each cabin, making the hit truly feel like Camp Juniper.
The only items of furniture on the interior (besides the wall shelves) were twenty five black tin stools and a long, farmhouse-style table covered with white butcher paper which was attached to the table with thick neon blue masking tape. The paper was stained with days of paint and ink and glitter, but other than that, it was clean, except for an exceptionally built bird house.
There were also two people and one very important inanimate object in the craft hut after hours. Sitting close together and hunched over the bird house were Sammy and Braoin. On the table beside Sammy was her therapist Dr. McRock. The three were discussing what colour to paint their birdhouse roof, though Dr. McRock had no say, because, well, you can figure it out.
Sammy wanted the roof to be a deep red colour to signify the loss of everyone, the blood of people who had gone before them, but Braoin thought that a lighter colour like pastel green would be better. Eventually they came to the conclusion that there were two sides of the roof and two colours, so they should just compromise and paint each panel the respective colour, which pleased all parties. It even looked like Dr. McRock was smiling.
“All right, now that we have it all decided, I’m going to attempt to steal snacks from Palenia Piper’s pantry. Will you watch Dr. McRock for me? I’ll be literally right back, and I don’t want to disturb him. Also, he seems to like you a lot, so it would be perfect.” Sammy said.
Braoin stared blankly at her for a moment before nodding. “Sure. And while you’re gone, I’ll prime the roof, so it’ll be ready to paint when you’re back. Make sure to grab some of those goldfish crackers for me, please!”
“You got it. Be back in a minute.” Sammy smiled and exited the hut through the back window/door.
Turns out that stealing snacks from a security genius is a lot harder and takes a lot longer than Sammy expected.
***
Five minutes later (which had seemed like twenty), Braoin had covered the house part of the birdhouse in protective plastic, and the roof in white primer paint. He glanced out the door, to see if Sammy was on her way back, but she wasn’t in sight. He sighed and walked back to the drying birdhouse. The stool creaked as he sat on it, causing him to flinch in fear.
“Everything is going to be okay, right, Dr. McRock?” He asked, rocking back and forth.
One of Dr. McRock’s googly eyes fell from the center of his eye, to the bottom, as if he was trying to look down.
“Got it.”
Braoin decided to get up and walk around, opening the front and back door for a breeze that he couldn’t feel. As the back window/door creaked open, he heard the leaves crackle, sticks snap, and tall grass rustle as someone stomped through the forest behind the pond. Someone was there, but Braoin couldn’t see who. His heart pounded in his chest out of growing fear. Perhaps Sammy was back and just decided to pull some sort of prank? It seemed like something she would do, so he decided to believe that.
“Sammy? That you?”
No answer. The rustling grew closer. A person with a black hoodie similar to Braoin’s and frizzy hair emerged from the darkness.
“Who are you? Please don’t kill me. Sammy is going to be back really soon. In fact, I bet she’s back already. Sammy? SAMMY?”
“Braoin, calm down.” Frizzy Hair began, her voice a soothing tone. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m actually here to warn you. You need to leave this craft hut now. Something bad is about to happen, and you absolutely need to get out of here.”
“Oh, no, I can’t leave. I have to watch Dr. McRock and Sammy’ll be back soon.” He also didn’t believe her, but that didn’t need to be said out loud.
“…I thought she was back? Oh, never mind. Look, you need to leave now. You’re not safe here. Come on.” She replied to him with a large sense of urgency.
“I’m not leaving, sorry. Dr. McRock needs me. I’m going to paint the birdhouse now. Please leave me alone. Goodbye.” He walked back into the hut and shut the door, mumbling something about crazy this, or insane that.
“Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you…” Frizzy Hair said, obviously distraught.
“It’s okay. You’ve been trying. You’ll get the next one.” Basil replied, emerging from the forest and placing a calming hand on her shoulder.
“But I don’t have that much time left. And I’ve already failed so terribly…”
“It’s okay. At least you’re trying. This takes a lot of courage. Not a lot of people would be able to even attempt what you’ve tried to do.”
“Well, thanks. I’m going to go back now. See you at the lodge.”
She walked away after exchanging a small wave with Basil. Basil did not immediately follow, though, instead he stayed behind in the forest, watching. Watching, watching, watching.
***
It had been fifteen minutes since Sammy had left Braoin and Dr. McRock for snacks, and she had still not come back from Palenia Piper’s pantry. It had been ten minutes since Frizzy Hair had tried to save Braoin from his inevitable fate and Braoin refused. Since then, he had decided that Sammy wouldn’t mind if he painted his side of the roof, so he chose the colour closest to pastel green that Camp Juniper had, which was sort of a mint green. Braoin lugged the paint can from the shelf where it was to the table, setting it down with a thud. He had pried the lid off with a screwdriver, splattering paint over the front of his sweatshirt and the roof of the birdhouse. For a moment, he paused to be angry at that, but then decided it was pointless to do such a thing, so he went on painting the side of the roof. One coat, two coats, three coats, and it was finished. The paint was a bright mint green, and was going to be a great contrast to Sammy’s dark red. He replaced the can, cleaned his paintbrush, and fiddled around for a while, trying to find something to do. And that’s where the time hit the fifteen minute mark of Sammy’s leave.
Braoin was bored, and talking to Dr. McRock was not helping, as he seemed not to want to talk to Braoin. After counting the different colours of pipe cleaners (and debating what colour green-brown-orange-black should be), Braoin decided that he was probably going crazy from the silence and the lack of things to do. He kept reminding himself that Sammy was not back, so he couldn’t do anything to the birdhouse. But since he was so bored, he really really wanted to paint Sammy’s side of the roof. She could always repaint it, if she doesn’t like how I did it, he thought. No, no, you should wait for Sammy… right? No. Paint the roof. You won’t be bored anymore. His brain was set on taking over Sammy’s side, so he lugged the darkest red he could find onto the table, pried the lid open and began to paint the roof in fine, red strokes, slow enough that the paint began to drip down the slant of the roof, creating an effect that resembled blood. Braoin shivered but kept painting. The painting was soothing. And suddenly, he wasn’t bored anymore.
***
The murderer stood just outside of the front entrance, watching. They watched the careful strokes of paint be applied to the birdhouse. They watched as the person in the craft hut lightly hummed to themself. They watched the second hand on the broken clock in the craft hut spin in circles counter-clockwise. They watched…
No matter how much the murderer enjoyed watching, they were there to do something, something with a purpose. They glanced around the hut, looking for the signs that they were in the right place. The person was wearing a black hoodie, the hood up and cinched. That didn’t help, though, because everyone in camp had been assigned a black hoodie due to the excessively low temperatures. They saw the birdhouse, but everyone made a birdhouse in woodshop, so it was even less significant than the black hoodies. But then they saw him. Dr. McRock. The key to their success. From that moment, the murderer thought they were in exactly the right place.
They were wrong.
The murderer strode quietly into the craft hut, careful not to disturb the person inside. On the table next to them was a rather dull blade, a flathead screwdriver, and, for some reason, a can of glitter. They chose the screwdriver and walked up slowly behind the person, still trying to be quiet enough to stay undetected. But nothing about the kill was slow at all. It had to be fast, of course, otherwise the subject could fight back. Suddenly, the screwdriver was lodged into the person’s back, causing them to inhale sharply and drop the paintbrush in their hand onto the craft table, splattering deep red paint all over the birdhouse in front of them.
But they were not dead. Yet.
The person turns around slowly to face the murderer, their eyes wide in shock. The murderer gasps at the sight of the person before them— the person who was definitely not Sammy.
The murderer had stabbed Braoin.
***
Braoin looked into the eyes of the murderer as if he was trying to beg his life back. He knew he was dead. It was not only his inevitable death that caused him the shock, but also the fact that the murderer was definitely not who he thought it was.
“Braoin, I am so, so sorry.” The murderer whined. “I thought you were Sammy, it was supposed to be Sammy.”
“It’s… fine. It was going… to happen… anyways. Might as well… just be… now. I didn’t think… it would be you. I really… didn’t. I… trusted you.” He croaked.
“Shhh. Don’t strain too much. Here, sit down in this chair…” They fished a bright orange cushioned chair out of the corner and slowly set Braoin down into the chair. “I’m so sorry. Like, so sorry. I wasn’t supposed to kill you— oh my goodness, the accomplice is going to be so mad…”
“It’s… okay. I’m going to… miss you.” He says as he pulls the screwdriver out with a flinch, leaking blood onto the chair.
“I’m going to miss you, too.”
And with that, Braoin was dead.
The murderer left slowly, tears in their eyes, retreating into the woods.
Only three more minutes later, Sammy arrived back at the craft hut, only to find a pale, dead Braoin, and a birdhouse splattered with red paint. But she thought it was blood.
So, for the second time that day, Sammy Everlast screamed.
***
Dead: 11 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, Aspen, Luna-Starr, Freak, Zachary and Braoin. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)
Alive: 10
Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, ??? (please let us know if you ever have any!)
Enemies of Snow: Let's be truthful here: Snow pretty much hates the whole world.
Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast and Sterling (tied with three juniper branches)
(August 29, 2021 - 10:47 pm)
(August 29, 2021 - 10:48 pm)
(September 3, 2021 - 1:19 pm)
(October 5, 2021 - 12:48 pm)
(October 13, 2021 - 2:14 pm)
Hello again, I'm sorry for the extreme delay in posting this part, but here it is! ...finally
***
Day Twelve — Evening
Yet again, the entirety of Camp Juniper was alerted to an incident by none other than Samantha Everlast and her foghorn of a scream. As soon as the shrill sound waves hit the ears of everyone at camp, they dropped what they were doing and found each other in the commons. They were soon joined by a concerned Liberté, a nervous Basil, an angry Snow, and a caring Palenia Piper. It was an odd bunch, and somehow, they were all confused at what they were supposed to do. It wasn’t until Liberté noticed Sammy pacing in the distance that they knew what the point of the scream was.
Someone was dead.
The group, who had been dubbed “the non-dead humans of the Realm” by Liberté, inched closer to the craft hut. As they did, whispers grew until the thirteen of them began to sound like the crowd at a varsity high school football game. Logically, Liberté and Basil were worried about stopping the murderer’s violent rampage, but the campers were gossiping to one another about who had died. Somehow, they didn’t even miss Braoin during the count-off. They all thought he was still alive.
Obviously, he was not.
When they reached the craft hut, Liberté stopped the group before they could see the scene. She had Basil and Snow stay with them, while she and Palenia Piper went in to address Sammy and the dead body. It wasn’t long until Liberté emerged from the hut with Sammy and Palenia Piper on her heels. Emotion sparkled in her eyes until she and Basil exchanged a brief nod, where her eyes glossed over and any sign that Liberté had the capability of sad emotions had vanished. She stepped forward and cleared her throat daintily, smoothing the wrinkles on her dress. If you looked past the shield that was hiding her true emotions, you would notice her face a shade paler than normal, and that her normally crisp, perfect fishtail braid had fallen out of its shape, rendering her below perfect. She seemed too frazzled to care, and it’s not like the others noticed, anyways.
“Hello residents of Camp Juniper,” she began as Basil stepped up to join her. “As you probably know, we have lost another member at what was supposed to be a relaxing, care-free summer vacation. This member, if you haven’t figured it out yet, is Braoin, the innocent AE allergic to chocolate.”
Everyone glanced at Ari, who was seemingly unfazed by the news, her eyes already puffy from crying that could not have been recent at all. It was like she already knew…
“We know you all had a somewhat decent, if not great connection with him, so you can honor that at our next funeral in three days. However, on a more serious note, Basil and I do have an announcement for you all. We are both sick and tired of this whole murder kick, and we want it to stop. It has been taken too far, and too many lives have been lost. We are offering a one time deal to the murderer. Whoever you are, if you come forward, you will receive a reduced penalty than what you’d receive if you were caught. This deal ends tonight, before 10 PM. After that, there will be no mercy. As for anyone who has helpful information, we would gladly like to set up a meeting with you. Reward is TBD. Does everyone understand?”
The campers all nodded in unison, which seemed to be enough for Liberté. She opened her mouth to dismiss them, but before the words could tumble out, she was interrupted by Snow.
“I would just like to point out that this is all Sammy’s fault.” She burst out, the words bunching together to become one massive über confusing word. Somehow, the campers understood, and one by one, they let out a gasp that surely echoed throughout the forest. Snow was unfazed, though, and continued. “If she wouldn’t have left Braoin alone, he never would have died! After all, everyone who has died so far has been alone, right? Well, besides Aspen, but that’s different. We all saw her walk into the lodge and whatever she was doing took at least 20 minutes, leaving Braoin in the perfect window for murder. We may be able to rule out Sammy as the true murderer, but she is the one who killed Braoin. All because he was left alone. If I were you, Liberté, I would punish Sammy for his death. He died because of her foolish actions. BECAUSE OF HER!”
Now, that tantrum-like speech received nothing but silence in return. Everyone stared at innocent little Snow wide-eyed, confused at where this horrible attitude was coming from. Liberté stared at her niece with flames in her eyes, while Basil was close to the opposite emotion as his lip began to quiver. No one could truly protest her speech because, well, it was sort of true. Braoin had been left to die. Sammy didn’t have to go anywhere.
But just when everyone thought they had figured out what was going on, a new, unrecognizable voice decided to put themselves into the mix.
“Braoin wasn’t the one who was supposed to die…”
No one could figure out who said it or why, but what all the campers were sure of was that Braoin was dead, Snow blamed Sammy, the murderer killed the wrong person, and Ari knew something they didn’t. Liberté could’ve given them more time to comprehend the very confusing situation, but she had decided that she’d had enough of the growing whispers and the harsh accusations. But no matter how hard she tried to put an end to everything, words would not come out, which left the job to Basil, who was still recovering from his mental breakdown the day before. Thankfully, he noticed Liberté’s problem and stepped into his counselor's shoes before things could get too out of hand. He stepped forward, casting a shadow over the campers and mustered the courage to speak.
“All right everybody, I think we’ve said everything that was needed, so you’re all dismissed. And that means you leave here. We’ll see you at dinner.”
Without question, the campers left the area, going back to where they came from. Palenia Piper left to get medical supplies for Braoin, which left the three campers alone with the dead body. Liberté snapped out of her weird state of being, fixed her hair, and smoothed out her dress once again. Basil’s eyes clouded with anger. However, Snow seemed unfazed by the mess she had just caused.
But Liberté doesn’t just forget things. She looked upon Snow, matching Basil’s anger and placed a heavy hand on Snow’s shoulder. Snow looked into Liberté’s eyes as a smirk dashed across her lips and something odd glimmered in her eyes. She didn’t care about what she had said, but unfortunately, she hadn’t yet learned that every action has an equal and opposite reaction, especially when your aunt is Liberté Reine.
“Snow, I don’t know what has gotten into you over the past couple of days, but I surely don’t appreciate it. I don’t know if you remember, but I wasn’t going to let you be a counselor at first. After all, you’re eight-years-old, which is significantly younger than the youngest camper here. But you proved to me that you were mature enough to handle the responsibilities. However, this is what I was worried about. You’d take your position for granted and disrespect the campers. That is not acceptable, and I’m not going to tolerate it. You are temporarily suspended from counselor duties until I see improvement in your behavior. And for not, I want you to go to your room and clean until it is spotless. Uh-uh, no buts. Now. Please and thank you,” Liberté lectured, her voice growing stronger with each word.
Snow stomped off, but it was all for show. If she would’ve turned and faced Liberté and Basil, they would’ve seen the biggest smirk on the small child’s face. This wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it didn’t matter. Maybe Snow was more powerful than we thought…
***
Ari sat in the Chartreuse Cabin alone, tears spilling from her eyes. Balls of snot-filled tissues sat on her bed and more prospective snot ball holders lay crumpled in her hands. Today was not going well for her at all, and the pressure of not only her AE dying, but other top secret information that cannot be disclosed due to story purposes weighed on her chest. Her eyes were swollen and her hair had become extremely frizzy over the past hour. She blew her nose again, releasing a large amount of snot with a gorgeous elephant sound. The tears kept coming.
To Ari, the death of her AE was harder to handle than expected. She was extremely upset about the loss, but something else burdened her mind and took over her thoughts. Something dark, something she wished never happened, something that she could never tell anyone during the remainder of her time here.
The sorrow of death had brought Ari to a strange state. One where thoughts cycled through her mind, and she felt extreme remorse and regret. It kept her bedridden for hours, where she sat in her own snot, sweat, and tears and wished for a time machine. Her eyes were swollen close to shut, but she closed them anyway to help with the pain. You might have asked if she was clinically depressed, but it was only the pain of the loss of a loved one that rendered Ari powerless and stuck to her bed.
She felt the power of sleep try to pull her under, but she didn’t let it take her at first. She squeezed her eyes open and stared at the fading light, as the same horrible thoughts cycled through her head. There was one in particular that wouldn’t go away. She figured sleep would help, so she gave into the brain-numbing darkness. The last thought she had was about the death of Braoin. The death of her precious AE Braoin and how his death was
All.
Her.
Fault.
***
Dead: 11 (Hot Coco, Ydris "Masquerade" Dìomhaireachd, Felix, Inari, Summer, AutumnArtist, Nightfall, Aspen, Luna-Starr, Freak, Zachary and Braoin. May they rest in peace in the glory of Camp Juniper)
Alive: 10
Suspects: Kitty Cat, Sterling, ??? (please let us know if you ever have any!)
Enemies of Snow: Let's be truthful here: Snow pretty much hates the whole world.
Juniper Leader: Sammy Everlast and Sterling (tied with three juniper branches)
(October 20, 2021 - 11:11 am)
Ha ha- I'm reading this like a year later, but!
So??? Ari??? Is she the murderer?? Or Frizzy Hair??? You mentioned her hair got frizzy??? AGH IM SCREAMING
This is positivly amazing. I honestly wish there was a physical copy of this I could buy!
Good work <333
(June 5, 2022 - 11:33 am)
(October 20, 2021 - 11:11 am)