FILE 18. The Hive of Anxiety

(radio static)

*Mayfield & Belov presents: Camp Here & There*

*Episode 18: The Hive of Anxiety*

*Content warning: Descriptions of bugs dying*

(opening theme)

(the intercom clicks on)

SYDNEY

When I was a child, my friends and I — well, Jedidiah and I — we used to play House. He would always be the father, and I would always be the mother. Our children would be various and sundry objects — a stray cat, a handsome autumn leaf. And one time, our child was a fruit fly.

Now, Jedidiah became obsessed with this fly, far beyond the point of playing the game. He named it “Fruity,” [*He chuckles*] put it in a Tupperware container, and kept it in the cabin under his bed. Every morning he admired it, buzzing around in there. And he took it with him all around camp — to archery, to lunch; even on his kayak. He loved that bug.

He thought that was enough.

One day, Fruity died. Jedidiah cried and cried and cried and cried. And I rubbed his back, I comforted him, but something nagged at me in the back of my brain. I worked it up to ask him.

“Jedidiah, did you… ever give your fly any fruit?”

And he said no. It hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d gotten up every morning and admired that starving animal, throwing itself against the walls of its container. Hadn’t even thought to put a little piece of cantaloupe in there. And his beloved fly died hungry, empty, trapped, and alone.

Jedidiah cried and cried, but I wasn’t comforting him anymore. I was wondering how that was possible. How he could love something so much… and forget to feed it.

Well. He was only a child.

…Anyway, haha, uh. Hi, campers! Sorry about that, I’ve been, uh, thinking. A lot. Lately. It’s kind of, uh… haha, well. Children! Funny… memories. Mm.

Uh, good morning! Good morning. It’s 8:62AM, and the sky is such a dull, bleak shade of gray that I think it’s the closest it’ll ever get to being blue. You know, kids, the sky has a sweet, daisy-blue hue in just about all my dreams now. Isn’t that funny? The one color you never see up there in real life. But it’s nice! It is. At first I thought it was offputting, but now I think it kind of works. Kind of wish you could all see what it would look like. But that’s impossible and absurd. Of course.

Alright, campers. Today, today. Since yesterday’s unmitigated catastrophe deprived you all of a kayaking contest, guess what? We’re doing it again! [He claps] Try to put yesterday’s nasty bumblebee business out of your mind, huh? Instead, focus on the moment. A peaceful trip across our gentle lake, its foggy surface glimmering with morning sun, the tree leaves casting dappled light onto your bright yellow banana-boats. And no Elephant Man in sight! It’ll be fun, I’m sure. But as always, remember to be careful where you stick your oar. Summer is prime hunting season for the Chicanerous Shad, a species of fish which feeds off of the 16 numbers on the front of your mom’s credit card, the date, and the three numbers on the back — truly a vicious and terribly persuasive predator.

Aaaaaaand today’s breakfast consists of grasshopper legs, flower pollen, (specifically from roses and pansies) and blueberry-mush-mash! Vegans, if they’re not aware, should steer clear of the blueberry-mush-mash, since the last meeting of the Top American Food and Drug Administration did motion to reclassify blueberries as a type of flightless bird.

Speaking of flightless birds, uh, Rowan and Juniper… your penguin thing is today, by the way. Stay on top of that. Aaaand that’s all I have for you all this morning! Have a life-changing meal, you slippery seals!

II

[INTERMISSION MUSIC]

(the intercom clicks off)

(intermission music)

(the intercom clicks on)

SYDNEY

When I was a child, Jedidiah and I used to play House. He was the father, and I was the mother.

Another child we had was a pile of acorns. He named it Cartagena — he was big into geography at the time. We put the acorns in a paper bag and drew silly faces on either side with Sharpie. At the end of the day, I permitted Jedidiah to take her home, where he emptied her acorns out of the bag and into a porcelain bowl he’d been given by his great-grandmother. He kept her in his bedroom, and I visited her every day.

Several days after Cartagena was given her new, um, chassis… a transformation occurred. I referred to it as her puberty, though Jesidiah didn’t find that joke funny until I reminded him of it many years later. What happened was that just about every acorn in the bowl split open, and out from the pile of broken shards squirmed a horde of fat white worms. These maggots had burrowed into the acorns, eaten the flesh inside, and were now infesting Jedidiah’s bedroom.

Jedidiah’s mother made us help her find each and every little worm. She put them all in that plastic bag. And then, despite Jedidiah’s vehement protests, she made him flush it down the toilet. Squirming, wriggling, climbing all over herself in that little bag, Cartagena was swept away and drowned.

Jedidiah cried. He did not even attend school the next day, so grief-stricken was he by the death of these bugs.

I didn’t understand. When he’d first seen the maggots in his room, he’d screamed and recoiled in revulsion. He refused to pick them up with his bare hands. If he didn’t value these creatures when they were alive, why was he so affected by their deaths?

Either way, I stopped killing bugs after that. Whenever I got the impulse, Jedidiah’s tear-stained face popped into my head.

[He clears his throat] Well. Hello again, children. The time is 12:79 and the sky remains dull, although its hue has taken on a more… beige aspect, like sediment swirling on the foggy surface of a lake, or the crisp, delicate husk of a paper hive…

[Another throat clear] Of course, today’s kayaking contest was a buzzing success! Cabin Tarantula Hawk made a real splash, with campers from that distinguished cabin taking three of the top five winning spots. On top of all that fun, only one camper fell in, and better yet her mother only lost a few hundred dollars before canceling her credit card. Ah, but as much as I’d love to revel in this feeling of fun, it’s since been pushed far to the back of my mind by the rest of the day’s events. See, after the contest was concluded, you all were permitted to continue kayaking if you desired… and those of you who took that offer up encountered something.

I think it’s sweet, you know? How quickly you all took to that fat, damp clump of swirling hexagons you found by the edge of the lake. Even though I, too, feel that dread all the counselors speak of… it warms my heart to see you all playing the mother.

Tiny Tommy of Cabin Silkworm was the first to spot it, there on the far edge of the lake. Shedding his lifejacket like snake’s skin, he leaned over the sun-baked grass to investigate that sound, or perhaps more accurately that feeling — the haunting song which he did not hear, but which filled his mouth, thick like honey, until his tongue began to buzz. He blinked once at what he saw. Then he reached out and began to caress the bulging surface of the abandoned beehive.

It’s no wonder a crowd formed, a gaggle of children hopping out of their kayaks to google and goggle at that waxy mansion of refuse you all find so inexplicably beautiful. It’s no wonder the counselors tried to take the hive away from you all the moment they realized you had it. It has its effects on people, this hive. Just as it teases care and affection from the brave hearts of children, so does it arouse a terrible fear in the suspicious minds of adults.

And no, children, the counselors are not making it up. At first, we assumed we were just worried for your safety, beguiled as you were by the hypnotic hive. But then Salem, trying to confiscate the object, realized that her heart beat faster the closer she got. When she actually made a grab for the hive, and her fingers brushed against that thick, swirling rind, the sensation became intolerable. Nauseating, headaching fear took hold of her, rattling her very atoms. She collapsed to the spinning ground, unable to think or move, and remained in that position for several minutes until the buzzing wore away.

Every adult who approaches the thing — and even some who keep their distance — have described the same sensation. Dread. Cold and clammy, settling into the pits of your person, and escalating — if you invite it — into a panic that screams up and down your limbs, begging them to move, to take you anywhere else.

I… I am not afraid of many-legged creatures. I have befriended the itzy spiders, the buzzing bees, the wriggling worms; I love the homey warmth of a colony. But even I… hate this thing, the hive. Even I feel it, when I look upon that… waxy beacon of dismay. I have the utmost sympathy for those counselors who have begun trying cope in strange and drastic ways — such as Juniper, who rushed the beehive brandishing a squirrel bone, attempting to destroy it; or Counselor Joshua, who tearfully begged to use Lucille’s phone to call his mom and ask her to pick him up; or Rowan, who has condemned himself to the darkest recesses of the sanitorium and sits shaking like an untrained purse dog.

Although… that might just be normal Rowan behavior.

I’m not one of those counselors who wishes to take the hive away from you; to toss it into the lake where it can’t disturb us again. I abhor any decision which could lead to conflict between us and you children. And not to mention… well, the loving, caring community you all have formed around that hive… the way even those of you who were stung the worst yesterday regard your charge with such softness in your eyes… it moves me.

(His voice breaks a touch) Well. Some counselors agree with me, and some don’t, so we’re having a camp-wide meeting to resolve this issue. And others. While the meeting is being conducted in the administration building, you’re instructed to stay within the camp’s center, under the care of Chef Matthew, Counselor Warren, and Counselor Gracie. Stay within sight of one of them at all times please, my little tadpoles, and try not to give them a hard time.

For lunch, vegans get lettuce and beans, and our beloved Matthew has cooked up a delicious apocalyptic mixture of honey and carpenter ants that he calls “The Drowning,” which you’re meant to drizzle onto your complimentary camp sticks. Hah. Sounds… sticky…

Haha.

Alright. You’ll hear from me this afternoon.

(the intercom clicks off)

(intermission music)

(the intercom clicks on)

SYDNEY

Eventually, we lost interest in playing house. Other activities took up the mantle, activities more befitting of our transition into adolescence. Sometimes I thought I was sad that we didn’t play it anymore, but I realized that what I was really sad about was the unceremonious abandonment of a rich tradition. I decided we should give the game a proper sendoff.

When I suggested to Jedidiah that we play house one last time to honor its place in our lives — a funeral of sorts — he struggled to articulate why he didn’t like the idea.

“I just don’t understand why we have to say that it’ll be the last time we ever play it,” he finally managed to verbalize. “What if we want to in the future?”

I tried to explain to him that neither of us enjoyed the game anymore, and now that we’re nearly teenagers, we likely wouldn’t again. It was over, it was already gone, and we’d only be briefly resurrecting it to say goodbye.

“It’s not gone,” he pouted. “We just haven’t played in a while. We can do it any time we want.”

So, we found a rock in the ravine behind Jedidiah’s house and did everything we were supposed to. We put googly eyes on him and named him Cain. We taught him how to read from our favorite books — my wildcat soap operas and Jedidiah’s pulp sci-fi novels. We took him to the lakeside and had a picnic with him, feeding him pebbles, since we figured that might be the sort of thing rocks eat.

But as I thought, the heart wasn’t there anymore. Jedidiah was so easily distracted, so halfhearted in his performance. I looked at the stone and felt nothing but a tiny sadness in the leftmost corner of my heart.

We tried to love our rock for a day. But when the day was done, I tossed him into the lake.

Jedidiah was taken aback by this, and I think a little off-put. Traditionally, when we were done with a certain child, one of us would take the object home — which was really for Jedidiah’s sake. He could never stand the certainty of knowing something was over and gone. But I like endings; I like closure. That was the point of this whole exercise.

And he tried, to his credit, to accept that. I’m sure the futility of our attempts to revitalize this tradition had not been lost on him, and he probably understood that he was only objecting on principle. I watched him swallow the complaints that had started to bubble up in his throat, and he brushed the situation off with an ever-so-slightly bitter joke. He said, “Ha. Abandoning your child in a lake . . . . so that’s what motherhood means for you?”

…I shouldn’t have let it get to me… Jedidiah definitely didn’t understand the truth in what he was saying. But there was truth. Jedidiah had always developed such sincere attachments to the objects he played father to and I never quite understood that. The objects meant nothing to me. I would entertain myself with them for however long I pleased, and then let them go when I felt they had nothing left to offer me. I didn’t think much about this contrast at the time, but upon hearing Jedidiah make this joke, it occurred to me that the behaviors we’d been exhibiting might be reflective of our ideas of parenthood.

Jedidiah knew what love and care looked like.

I felt sad. I felt scared. I felt broken in the brain. Since then, I’ve spent a lot of time teaching myself what love is like. Watching, and thinking, and thinking some more, and building a system of good habits from the ground up.

I do not consider myself a nice person. I’m sure many of my coworkers would agree. Even Jedidiah, probably. But I am not my mother. And any child who comes under my care will learn what it is like to be loved. I have that to be proud of, if nothing else.

Ahhhhh… hello, children; welcome back. What a day we’ve had, hmmm? I imagine we’re all feeling quite dizzy and disoriented, whether from the sweet-smelling smoke clogging the air or the lingering effects of emotional hypnosis, so why don’t you all take a moment to relax while I remind you of all that’s happened this afternoon.

The meeting was lively when it began. Some of us spoke for longer than others on all matters relating to the dilemma at hand. Soren, temporarily given leave from Cabin Arrest, spoke to the beauty in the way you kids were inexorably drawn to something so terrible and powerful; he suggested we leave you to your Mother of Wax. Joshua spoke to the beauty of not spending every waking moment in brain-rending fear, and suggested we work to cultivate a less hostile environment for camp staff. Yvonne suggested that we all take heaping quantities of anti-auguric medication and just chill out. Rowan countered that no amount of psychospiritual ibuprofen had ever made him feel okay. And several times, Marisol, Salem, and… Jedidiah… tried to bring up the topic of the Elephant Man, but were stringently embargoed by Lucille.

Before we could really get anywhere, proceedings… dissolved. See, over the course of our conversation, the sticky-sopping thrum which emanated from the hive had grown steadily more distracting, until that thick, humming paste had seeped in through our nostrils, coagulated inside our skulls, and gummed up the gears in our brains. Words and behaviors became… erratic, gripped as we were by a fear which urged our hearts to quicken and our minds to quell. Finally, we were in shambles, clutching our heads, stuttering, and whimpering our increasingly inane suggestions.

The tipping point came when the door swung open, revealing our loyal chef Matthew — a sweating, grunting mess desperately seeking shelter from the discordant symphony of child whispers and ambient buzzing. The hive’s song flooded into the room, and for many of us, that was the breaking point. Lucille stood, crinkled her wiry fingers under the long meeting table, and flipped it over with shocking strength before running for her office.  Others took the opportunity to flee as well, out of windows and backdoors; or crumbled into sobbing heaps in the wreckage of the room.

Amidst the mass panic, I saw Rowan stand and trudge past Matthew’s collapsed and shuddering form and head outside. My curiosity won over my fear, and I tried to follow him out; but I was stopped by a sweating and shaking Jedidiah, who dragged me down every time I tried to get up.

Rowan… do you think you can tell us what you experienced out there?

ROWAN

Uhh… yeah, sure. Thanks.

Honestly, I don’t get what the big deal was. Like, yeah, okay, the hive was scary, but… the whole world is scary. I just don’t get why people were so messed up about this, when every single one of us spends every single day underneath… that sky…

[SIGH] But it looked like I was the only one who could deal with this problem, so I went out there to see what was going on. Warren and Gracie were… gone, I dunno where. The kids had pushed one of their… y’know, the towers over into the stone circle at the center of camp, next to the bonfire, and they were all gathered around it. And the hive was on top. It had… swollen, it was — it was colossal, and it seemed like its outer layer, its — skin — was, was like, stretched so thin you could almost see through it, and I swear, something huge and dark was moving around in there, making the whole tower wobble. Kids were walking in concentric circles around the setup, singing in time with it… with whatever that noise, or, or *feeling* was. Even the… the sky… appeared to be in on it, with these thick, gray clouds spiraling out from where the top of the hive met the horizon…

I had no idea what to do, but I had to do something. As I walked forward, the kids tried to push me back, beating on me and kicking at me, and the hive was screaming in my ears, trying to scare me off. I forced myself forward, found myself right in front of that palpitating yellow mass, and… I did the only thing I could think to do. I pushed it. Right into the bonfire.

(He clears his throat) …uhh… Sydney, can you…

SYDNEY

No problem. Thanks, Rowan.

(Rowan gets up and leaves)

As the hive was consumed by the flames, the whole world seemed to shake with a horrible buzzing screech that made my teeth rattle in my jaw. Back in the meeting room, the miasma of fear was replaced with a miasma of smoke, which subjected all five of my senses to a series of particularly vivid hallucinations: a vortex of swirling hexagons; a symphony of vibrations; sweet, tangy whiffs of honey and blood; the feeling of being tossed around in a suffocating, wriggling mass… I felt myself born and reborn, again and again — writhing free from my papery womb and into the harsh light of the world; constructing huge and intricate marvels, piloting thousands of furry bodies all at once; and finally, feeling myself deflate as I push the burden of life out from my body. I’m not exactly sure what it all means, but I know none of it will leave me soon.

When those of us who had not run off to the farthest corners of the forest emerged from the meeting room, we found you children milling about amidst the smoke and confusion, with many of you having no memory of the last several hours. What remained of the hive was a slick pile of hot wax and sweet-smelling viscera around the churning, smoking bonfire.

I want you kids to know that none of you are in trouble. Today has been… weird for everyone, an eldritch ethical dilemma that pretty much nobody understood well enough to navigate. The bottom line is, nobody thinks it’s your fault. If any of you are feeling rattled, my office is open until lights out, and I’m happy to discuss things with you. My secret candy drawer is unconditionally open tonight.

Also, if you’ll join me in Sydney’s Science Corner for a second, I did some research after my ~visions~ and learned something interesting: what the camp went through today was *actually* a natural process in the life cycle of honeybees native to this part of Ohio.

Apparently, the discarded hives serve as a sort of incubator for the egg of the next queen bee, which can only hatch if it receives adequate attention from children. However, any attention from adults is like poison to an embryonic queen, so the egg has evolved to emit pheromones which attract adolescent creatures and repel mature ones. How intriguing! Sucks that Rowan destroyed a queen bee’s egg. He’s already controversial enough with the local bee community.

Alright, kids, this afternoon’s planned Battle of the Bands has been canceled in favor of familiar in-cabin activities, such as roleplaying intricate family dramas with objects from nature. Dinner tonight is an innovative goulash made from the melted remains of the hive — with any remaining psychoemotional residue having been expertly boiled away, of course.

Lastly, I would like to advise that everyone keep away from the bonfire for the time being. If the buzzing at the front of my skull is any indication, I think… the smoke is particularly alive tonight.

That’s all, then. Goodnight, campers. Sleep well.

(the intercom clicks off)

(intermission music)

(recorder clicks on)

(Several tapes can be heard being changed in and out of a tape recorder and listened to one after another)

LUCILLE

(Angrilly) …Jedidiah?

JEDIDIAH

Hello.

LUCILLE

How long’ve you been standin’ in my doorway?

(BEAT)

LUCILLE

[SIGH] Well, come now, don’t let the hot air in. Hurry up and close the door.

(The door slams)

LUCILLE

(She startles) Ah! Heavens above, Jedidiah! Can’t ya be any gentler?

JEDIDIAH

Sorry, [EXASPERATED SIGH] that was an accident.

(He attempts to open and close the door again, gentler this time)

LUCILLE

Nevermind it.

(Jedidiah pulls up a chair and sits down)

JEDIDIAH

I… I- I need- I need to talk to you.

LUCILLE

Mm?

JEDIDIAH

It’s about Sydney.

LUCILLE

Ain’t it always?

JEDIDIAH

I… I- I care. About my friend.

LUCILLE

Ah, “friend,” is it? Is that what you two’re callin’ each other these days? Eh? Not “darlin’” anymore? Or whatever happened to “sweetheart?”

JEDIDIAH

This- none of this has anything to do with why I came to see you.

LUCILLE

Oh, simmer down. I’m only teasing.

JEDIDIAH

Lucille.

LUCILLE

Right. What’s the boy gotten himself into, then?

JEDIDIAH

I know you don’t listen to his announcements, but: are you familiar with The Elephant Man?

LUCILLE

Joseph Merrick?

JEDIDIAH

Uh…

LUCILLE

The British carnie?

JEDIDIAH

I do not believe we are talking about the same person.

LUCILLE

[She chuckles coyly] Then I’m afraid I do not know to whom you refer.

JEDIDIAH

Right. Well. He’s got a plastic mask that looks like a pink cartoon elephant, and he sneaks around, and everyone who sees him gets a supernatural surge of weird emotion. And- and he’s been getting bold lately, stealing stuff, stalking people, really freaking them out, and I’m particularly worried about Sydney. I think it would be prudent if we took measures to ensure his safety.

LUCILLE

Slow down there, Jedidiah. Don’t you think this is a matter of camp-wide security? Why do we need to be worryin’ about Sydney in particular?

JEDIDIAH

I-I, w-well, I just- [EXASPERATED SIGH] Sydney’s scared and this seems like a serious matter.

LUCILLE

Hmm…

[SILENCE]

LUCILLE

Hmmm…

JEDIDIAH

[SIGH] What?

LUCILLE

Let’s go down the list, shall we? The mercury storm, the macaroni war, Soupocalypse, Soren’s multiple magical misdemeanors, the blob of goo which clogged up Sydney’s little skull, the leviathan in the toilet — you sat through each of these disasters, and not once did you come knockin’ on my door talkin’ about ‘serious threat.s. So what makes this different? Why is an escaped carnie a bigger deal to you than all the other nonsense things that you shrug off every day?

JEDIDIAH

Okay,  first of all [EXASPERATED GASP] I — I *do* things. The other day, I stopped the whole camp from falling into complete temporal stasis. Last week, I stopped the kids from revolting! I- I- I drafted a peace treaty!

LUCILLE

And what do those things have in common? Oh, right: your own skin. If you hadn’t asked those men to fix time, your precious ‘projects’ would’ve been lost forever. You wrote up the treaty so you wouldn’t have to play shrink to your coworkers. And now you’re makin’ a stink about the Elephant Man because…

LUCILLE

Because…?

JEDIDIAH: Because of Sydney.

LUCILLE

Because Sydney asked you to talk to me?

JEDIDIAH

No, Lucille, because Sydney is in danger, and I care about him.

LUCILLE

(PATRONIZINGLY) You care about him.

JEDIDIAH

Yes.

LUCILLE

Really?

JEDIDIAH

Yes, Lucille!

LUCILLE

Then why… now?

JEDIDIAH

…What?

LUCILLE

Listen, to my actual knowledge, The Elephant Man has been around since day one. Spreadin’ fear, stealin’ shampoo, and givin’ Sydney the willies. And to my recollection, this whole time, you have been a relative skeptic! Why now, after all this time, is this suddenly a matter of legitimate concern?

JEDIDIAH

Wait, okay, hold on. You knew? You actually knew about this the whole time?

LUCILLE

Mm.

JEDIDIAH

And *you’re* telling me that *I* don’t care? What have you done? Huh? You don’t care about him.

LUCILLE

Eh, I like the boy well enough.

JEDIDIAH

Are you going to do something?

LUCILLE

Is this guy any real threat?

JEDIDIAH

Yes, to Sydney.

LUCILLE

What made you change your mind about this all of a sudden?

JEDIDIAH

I- I didn’t want to believe Sydney might actually be in danger, alright? I didn’t want to.

LUCILLE: Jedidiah, all I can say is, if you don’t care enough to tell me the truth, this must not matter much to you.

JEDIDIAH

[ON THE VERGE OF TEARS] It’s not about how much I care!

(Jedidiah stands up.)

JEDIDIAH

Why does everyone think it’s about how much I care? Fuck! Listen, there’s a guy sneaking around who really wants to hurt or at least mess with Sydney. You know that. It doesn’t matter why I’m saying it; either way, you know that it’s true. So can we do something about it? *Please*?

LUCILLE:

…Well. That was quite the outburst. Honestly, Jedidiah, I think what you need is a good night’s sleep.

JEDIDIAH

Oh, my God. Lucille—

LUCILLE

Maybe can we talk about this tomorrow then, hm?

JEDIDIAH

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, LUCILLE—

LUCILLE

I’ve got mountains of paperwork to do, if you don’t mind.

JEDIDIAH

MOM.

(Silence.)

LUCILLE

…Yes?

JEDIDIAH

He tried to steal my journals.

I caught him yesterday, while everyone was distracted by the bees. The — Elephant Man — was rummaging around my office, looking for something, and there’s — I mean, there’s really only one thing that could be. And that’s what changed my mind. Okay?

LUCILLE

Ahhh, I see.

JEDIDIAH

You understand that if The Elephant Man gets his hands on my journals, Sydney is in *actual* danger. Neither of us want that to happen, so please help me prevent it. Actually help me.

LUCILLE

You sure know how to thaw a frozen heart. Of course I’ll help you, honey.

JEDIDIAH

…the rabbit.

LUCILLE

What’s that?

(Jedidiah gets up.)

JEDIDIAH

That rabbit you made me pull apart the other day. You know how I am about that stuff. You should’ve done it, you could have done it, you should have, but you weren’t going to, so I had to.

Every second I spent dismembering that animal made me want to throw up. Cry my stupid eyes out. But I didn’t. Instead, I looked at Sydney. I thought about what would happen to him if people started paying attention to this place. I thought about everything I’ve already torn apart and tossed away to keep him… safe. I thought, “What’s one more head at the bottom of a lake, if it means one more day that he gets to live?”

…and you can’t even do that. As violent as you are, you couldn’t kill a rabbit that was already dead.

Don’t ever try to tell me I don’t care about him. I know I’m bad, but Lucille — you’re the worst.

(The door slams.)

(recorder turns off)

(end music)

*Today’s episode was written and produced by Blue Mayfield and Nicholas Belov. The part of Sydney Sargent was played by Blue Mayfield. The part of Jedidiah Martin was played by Nicholas Belov. The part of Rowan Chow was played by Corey Wilder. The part of Lucille Bertuccelli was played by Susan Dohan. Camp Here & There is the sole intellectual property of its production company, Mayfield and Belov. All music composed by Will Wood, and produced by Jonathon Maisto. Sound editing by Emily Safko and Blue Mayfield. Special thanks to our patrons: journi and wishymoos.*

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*Thank you for listening to Camp Here & There, and remember: Do! Not! Anger! It!*