A SCARY STORY

Believe it or not, this is a true story. Some of the names have been changed ...

School was out for summer and it was the middle of June. I was in the fifth grade and it was time to go to Royal Ambassador Camp (which was known as Camp Hudgens). A friend of mine named Mike wanted to go as well but there was one small detail. Since he was in the sixth grade, we wouldn't be staying in the same cabin. Fifth grade and younger stayed in cabins. Sixth grade and older camped in tents the entire week. He had problems with allergies so he asked the camp officials if he could stay in a cabin just this once. They agreed. That made us both happy. This trip was special to both of us. Because we weren't the "roughing it all week" type, we knew it would be our last time there.

It was a week full of memories. All the other boys in our cabin were third and fourth graders, making Mike and I feel out of place, but they all had wonderful personalities - and some were just hysterically funny ...

There was the guy name Doug who slept on a top bunk. When he wanted down he just jumped off the side of the bunk and landed right in the middle of his suitcase. By the end of the week Doug's poor suitcase (the sturdy trunk kind with latches) was flattened into a pancake and didn't close.

Then there was Matt. When it was his turn to clean the bathroom he used so much "Pretty Potty," an industrial strength cleaning powder, that white smoke billowed from the toilet and the concrete cabin floor! We had to run a garden hose from the outside faucet into the cabin bathroom window and let water run for hours - with strict orders that no one could enter, especially with bare feet!

After hanging out with these guys for a couple of days Mike and I were having the time of our lives ... well, with the exception of trying to sleep at night. Our counselor, James, snored so loud that Mike described it as "the last of the dying water buffalo." If you managed to sleep, it was only because you were completely exhausted from the lack of sleep.

An interesting rumor began at "the lodge," a gathering place for indoor devotionals, rainy days, etc. As everyone knew, Camp Hudgens was just down the highway from the state prison. In fact, as you ride the bus to Camp Hudgens you can read signs that say "Do not stop for hitchhikers. They may be escaped convicts." On that subject, one counselor mentioned "Wild Bill." He casually brought it up, but didn't talk about it much. Wild Bill was a convict who had escaped from the prison and was at large. Apparently he was hiding somewhere in the vast woods between Camp Hudgens and the prison.

As the week wore on, we began to hear more about Wild Bill. At breakfast several counselors were talking about him. This was when we (the kids) learned that he murdered people with an ax. Of course Mike and I found ourselves talking about what we would do if we encountered Wild Bill while hiking. Around the third day, one of the kids ventured to ask about Wild Bill during the nature hut class. A reluctant counselor gave us all the gruesome details ...

Wild Bill had murdered at least eight people, possibly more because there were several people reported missing - not including the two guards he killed when he escaped from prison. He always used an ax to kill his victims. The name "Wild Bill" was given to him by highway patrolmen who said his face and eyes were wild when he attacked. No doubt he was insane. He could be identified by his red flannel shirt, grungy blue overalls, and his uncut, wild and mangy hair. Supernatural circumstances also seemed to surround him. For instance, it was said that all of the crickets in the woods would stop chirping before he appeared. With details like those, Wild Bill seemed to be intriguing folklore or some kind of rural legend, although there was no doubt in our minds that convicts could escape from prison and hide out in the miles of woods. Despite a new rumor that "Wild Bill had been spotted in the area" that morning, the counselor in charge of the nature hut assured us that we had nothing to worry about. A ranger station was between our camp and the prison, highway patrolmen were always on duty, they checked on the camp frequently, and - with a state prison so close - there were other safeguards in place. Camp Hudgens never had a problem with escaped convicts wandering through. Ever.

It was the fourth day. I had a great day at the swimming pool, a really cool nature walk, and a moving evening devotional. Nothing beats reading God's word surrounded by the splendor of His creation. Everyone had settled down for the night. It was "lights out" and all the cabin lights throughout the campsite were off - except the one at the flag pole. It provided just enough light to see. Mike and I lay awake talking quietly. All the others in our cabin were about to drift off to sleep.

Mike was in the middle of whispering his plans for the rest of the summer when his voice trailed off. He was the first to notice something odd. The crickets outside had stopped chirping. All of them. It was eerie. The woods had gone completely silent. Only a soft breeze blew through the cabin windows.

Then we heard footsteps.

Someone was creeping through the trees south of the cabin. Dried leaves and twigs crunched slowly and crisply in the air. Whoever it was, they were on a long walk headed into the camp from the deep woods. I was on the top bunk so I rolled over and looked through the row of windows on the south wall. For the longest time I couldn't see anything. Kelly, a tiny boy from Carnegie Oklahoma, and his friend had heard the noises too. Their top bunks were against the south wall. They raised their heads and looked out the row of windows beside them. The footsteps stopped. Minutes passed. The boys rolled back onto their pillows. Apparently they didn't see anything either.

The footsteps started again, quietly and slower this time. It was bothering me ... but it was driving Mike crazy. He rolled out of his bunk and stood up. The footsteps stopped. He looked long and hard out into the woods.

"Someone is hiding out there," he whispered.

I climbed down from my bunk and stood beside him. I couldn't see anything.

He pointed. "Behind that tree."

I still didn't see anything. "Maybe the camp director is checking to see if we're all in bed." It was a joke. I suppose it wasn't really funny at the time.

"Why is he hiding in the woods?"

Good point.

Actually, it was kind of creepy. Someone was in the woods, less than 30 feet away, and we were obviously being watched. Our side of the cabin had a long, dark shadow across our bunks so Mike and I held very still and waited.

A black shape moved out from behind the tree. It quickly headed west and out of sight. To me it didn't look human, but it stomped with very human footsteps.

"Okay," I whispered, "I saw that."

By the time Mike and I had scrambled back into our bunks the footsteps had stopped. We lay still and listened. The footsteps returned, sounding slow and careful again. The wall beside our bunks had no windows but we could clearly hear someone right on the other side moving by.

"That is not the camp director," Mike whispered.

The footsteps crept past us and headed toward the front of the cabin.

Another kid, Steven, was on the top bunk against the front wall of the cabin. This side of the cabin had windows that ran all the way across the front. The top bunks and mattresses were at a height that placed anyone sleeping on them right in middle of the row of windows. Anyone outside could see these guys, pillows, blankets and all.

Steven had heard the footsteps too. He raised his head and peered outside. He whispered loudly to our counselor who was on the bottom bunk two beds away. "Hey ... James. Someone is walking around outside our cabin." Steven wasn't being a tattletale. His voice sounded nervous.

James grunted something.

"I think it's a man."

Our counselor put his glasses on and leaned out from his bunk. "Where?"

"Over there ... by the trees ... "

When Steven turned toward the window again, he gasped. The man he was talking about was inches from his face, staring back at him. Steven froze.

From where I was laying, Steven and this stranger were nose to nose. Only a wire screen and open glass louvers separated them. It was Wild Bill. He looked exactly as he had been described. Bushy hair, wild eyes and all. He must have heard Steven talking and charged to the window because he suddenly appeared and stared right into Steven's eyes. A soft growl came from the man's throat, like an aggresive dog about to bark. Steven held absolutely still ... but it was too late.

Wild Bill let out a angry shout and crashed against the window.

Steven flew straight off his bunk and landed hard in middle of the cabin's concrete floor. He sprang to his feet, somehow without injury. Everyone along the front wall scrambled out of their bunks screaming ... all except one kid named Greg. He stayed in the black shadows of his bed. No doubt trying to stay hidden. On the bottom bunk next to the cabin door, Greg was huddled in a half sitting position just underneath the window with his back pressed hard against the wall.

Wild Bill turned and stomped along the row of windows. The light from the distant flag pole cast his shadow throughout the cabin, revealing a double-headed ax in his right hand. He was headed for the front door.

All the kids backed away, shouting at Greg and pointing.

"Greg! The door! Get away from the door! ... "

Greg was terrified but he refused move.

Mike and I, along with all the screaming kids from the south wall, were already jumping out of our bunks. A man with an ax was headed for our only door. There was no other way out of the cabin.

In a split second of bravery, Greg executed a brilliant and lightening fast manuver. He reached out from his bunk and latched the door, locking it. The instant he let go, the door shook violently on its frame with Bill growling on the other side. Greg quickly pressed back up against the wall and closed his eyes. Our relief and the pride in our friend was short lived.

The wire screen whipped away from the window frame and a hand attached to a hairy arm squeezed between the glass louvers. It grabbed Greg by the front of his t-shirt. Screaming for help, he wrestled with the hand clawing at his face and neck. More of the hairy arm squeezed through and seized him around his chest, lifting him off his bunk. Our counselor grabbed Greg's kicking feet and pulled hard. A fierce tug-of-war followed. More kids rushed over to pull on Greg's legs. They managed to yank Greg away leaving the hand holding an empty t-shirt.

"Are you alright?" James asked.

Greg couldn't talk. He was gasping for air and shaking. James and the others surrounded him and frantically checked his face, arms, chest, and back.

"Are you hurt?" James repeated.

Greg shook his head. His wide eyes were riveted on the growling hand still trying to find him. The hand flung the t-shirt aside and groped for the door knob and the latch. Both were out of reach. The hand retreated back through the window.

A moment passed.

Thunder cracked across our ear drums and the entire cabin shook ... again ... and again.

Wild Bill was swinging his ax against the door.

"Get behind me!" James yelled.

Mike was the first to line up next to James. It only made sense. We were bigger. I lined up next to Mike and the three of us stood shoulder to shoulder. Jame's face was pale, but he assured the screaming and crying boys behind us that everything would be alright. Fear does weird things. I admit it. At first I was afraid. Then James gave Mike and I an encouraging word that turned everything around. He stated the obvious.

"There's three of us. We knock him down. You two get the ax. I sit on him."

Somehow Mike managed to laugh. Our couselor was a heavy set guy, almost three people wide. If he ever sat on anyone, they'd be toast.

As we waited for the door to explode into tiny pieces, our younger friends were huddled at the back of the cabin watching us with wide eyes. Whatever happened next they would witness all of it. No matter what happens, nothing gets past us. I could see that look in Mike's eyes too. It was three against one ... and the three of us were ready.

A porch light from a cabin across the campsite lit up and the thunder stopped.

The counselor from that cabin stepped outside. He yelled, "Hey! What's going on over there?! Are you guys okay? "

Wild Bill ran toward him.

Our kids rushed to the front windows screaming at the top of their lungs.

"Watch out! Lock your door! Lock your door ... ! "

The counselor saw the man with an ax charging him and retreated back inside his cabin. We heard his door slam and lock. Wild Bill began hammering on the wood. It was hard to watch. Those kids were screaming for help now.

Screams and shouts began echoing from every cabin in the campsite. Everyone was awake and looking out the window. The wild man with the ax in the porch light across the lawn was easy to see.

Suddenly Wild Bill ran off.

Counselors from two other cabins were running over to help. They chased Wild Bill into the woods. The counselor from the cabin across from us dashed out and followed them. James turned to me and Mike.

"Lock the door and watch the kids!" He ran out the front door and joined the hunt.

We promptly locked our front door and waited.

It was painfully quiet. We watched and waited. It seemed like half an hour, maybe longer. Some of the kids began yelling back and forth through the cabin windows, checking to see if their other friends were okay. Finally we heard footsteps in woods behind our cabin.

Everyone became quiet.

Four counselors had chased Wild Bill into the woods.

A lone pair of footsteps were coming back.

Well, I think this is a great place to stop.

Yes, believe it or not, this really happened. And this spooky tale has a bizarre, twisted ending. But what good is a spooky story if no one reads it? I'm guessing that no one visits the news stand because no one seems interested in submitting articles!

If you would like to know how this story ends, at least THREE MEADOWOOD KIDS must submit a news article, a story, or movie review. Send it in by email, clicking one of the "Publish an Article" links, or drop it by the church office in clear, hand written form. Make sure you tell someone it is for Mr. David.

When I receive 3 SUBMISSIONS, I promise to reveal how this event in my life ended. Obviously I lived to tell the tale. Or did I? [spooky music begins playing]

Until then - for those of you who love guessing - I'll tell you this truth. Consider it a free clue ... I only told one little tiny fib to make this story more creepy: None of the crickets in the woods stopped chirping.

Sweet dreams!

Mr. David

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