Thread: Camp Murder   (Casket &  Marie)

Henry Kellner walked down the dusty dirt road in the sweltering heat of the northern Florida sun. He'd stripped off his flannel shirt and tied it around his waist to help combat the oppressive humidity, now only wearing a wife beater over his muscled chest where a set of metal dog tags jingled. On his back was the large gunny sack that contained everything a modern survivalist might need to survive in the great outdoors. On his belt he wore a sheathed survival knife, it was a K-bar and one he's owned since his multiple tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. Hank had received his honorable discharge from the Marines over 5 years ago and had spent his time since then wandering the back roads of America. He'd taken odd jobs when he needed money but for the most part he'd been content with living off the grid. But when he saw the help wanted ad in the Ocala newspaper he thought it was a dream come true. The add was placed by the North Central Positronics Corporation who had recently purchased a dilapidated summer camp and wanted experienced handymen and avid outdoorsman to manage the refurbishment of the grounds and cabins before the summer rush of campers began to arrive in a matter of weeks. When he'd answered the ad, the company official had informed him that they'd scouted local high schools for potential teenage camp councilors and found six applicants, 3 young men, and 3 young ladies whom would be helping out with restoring the camp. Hank didn't like the idea of babysitting a bunch of kids but the company had told him he'd have help as they were also looking to hire another adult woman to fill the position of female councilor. He'd agreed and set off on the 30 mile hike from Ocala out into the wilderness of the marshlands of Northern Florida. With the temperature reaching 110 degrees by mid day Hank was still a good 5 miles from where Camp Porte Miroir was located. He pulled his pack off of his back and let it drop onto the dusty road, pulling out his canteen and sipping the water inside. Once his thirst was quenched he reached back down into his pack and pulled two bottles of prescription pills out. One was Xanax and the other had it's label scratched off, he took a pill from each and popped them into his mouth and took another swig of water to swallow the pills down. As he dropped the canteen down and saw a vehicle approaching in a cloud of dust. He placed the bottles and canteen back into his pack and secured it, then stood and outstretched his arm with his thumb raised up in the air. Normally he wouldn't hitchhike but with the extreme heat and humidity had made him quite a bit more receptive to taking a ride in an air conditioned vehicle. Inside the van was an unlikely group of teenage boys, during the school year these three wouldn't have been caught dead together as their individual clique's were all quite exclusive to one another. But the opportunity of a high paying, relatively easy summer job didn't discriminate against class or social standing. Jason Tyler was 17 years old and what most would describe as a 'metalhead'. The van is his and it is as vintage as the music that is currently blaring from the speakers. With long hair down to the center of his back. He's wearing his classic Metallica kill'em all t-shirt which is faded gray and covered in holes from age and abuse. He's wearing a tight pair of blue jeans which are tucked into his worn combat boots. He'd taken this job because he recently quit his job at the local gas station so that he could go and play the first gig with his band unfortunate he got so excited with his performance he smashed his only guitar and with no job to pay for another he out of luck. The idea of hanging out for a few weeks at some back woods camp ground, and smoking pot with kids seemed like a great way to fund a new guitar. YEAH Motherfuckers! Camp Murder here we FUCKING come! Jason yelled and pumped his fist in the air. Can you please turn that racket down....And it's not 'Camp Murder' , It's Camp Porte Miroir which is french and it means Mirror Door, Mirror Door not Murder. It was named by the french settlers who heard the native peoples talking about the glass-like reflective surface of the lake and their belief that it was a portal to the underworld. Micheal Jagger said from his seat in the back of the van, doing his best to talk over the abrasive music. Mike was an 18 year old geek, good grades, good college prospects but not much in the realm of socializing with others. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and plaid short sleeve buttoned up complete with pocket protector. Thick horn rimmed glasses and suspenders completed his look. The only reason he'd applied for this position was for his college resume because the guidance council said that although his academic career was spot on, his other extra circular activities were lacking in any sort of physical attributes. Manuel labor refurbishing the local camp would suffice nicely for his needs. As he did not have a car, nor did he ever plan on owning one he begrudgingly accepted Jason's offer of a ride out to the remote area. The third member of the boys' side of things was Freddy Dylan . He was the obvious jock of the group and by the expression on his face he was the least happy to be riding in the skuzzy van. He was wearing a faded muscle shirt and athletic shorts with expensive cross-trainer sneakers. He was wearing white framed sunglasses and his hair was spiked up with product. He normally would have never rode with the likes of Jason but with his BMW broke down and his father claiming that he needed to learn the value of a dollar before leaving for college Jason reluctantly took the position as a camp counselor. Hey check it out...It's a hitcher, man....We should give him a ride, it's gotta be at least a hundred degrees out. Jason said as they saw Hank standing on the side of the road. Fuck that, I'm not smelling some stinking fucking hobo the rest of the way...just pass him by! Freddy spoke up. I'd have to agree with Fredrick on this, as I'm sitting in the back seat and would have to share my personal space with some one stupid enough to cook out in this sun. Michael added in. Geez you two are a couple of fucking Nazi's man.... Jason retorted and instead of slowing down he mashed the accelerator and started to speed up. Freddy suddenly got a big smile on his face and quickly unrolled the window as they approached Hank. Get a fucking job looser!!! Freddy screamed out the window and spit a giant mouthful of saliva as they drove by. Geez man, what'd you do that for...what if that was like 'Pig man' or someshit, he could fucking creep into the camp and like fucking kill us all! Jason said, shaking his head disapprovingly. Fuck Pigman! I'd fucking punt his pig balls up through his fucking mouth if he ever tried fucking with me! Freddy answered rolling up the window. The 'Pig man' you two are referring to is nothing more than an urban legend, spread by generations of parents to keep kids from playing too deeply in the woods and having an unfortunate run in with a wild boar, which is the real threat. Although there is some strangely notable historical relevance to it as the very Native Americans which originally inhabited the area would often use wild pigs skinned faces as war masks. Mike added in. Urban legends or not I don't want some monster with the head of a bore and the body of man killing my ass before I can get my rockstar on....I got big fucking plans man! Jason said and turned the radio back up.