Horrors at Summer Camp

Candace Meredith

“It’s not a good summer camp without the scary predator lurking in the woods is it?” Janelle said as she used her fingers to crawl spider-like down her sister Daphne’s spine. 

“Wait,” she laughed, “like Jason or Freddy…”

“More like lurking in the woods rather than our dreams…”

“Okay, so Jason…”

“Yeah. Like Jason.”

Then a sudden loud scream interrupted their banter. 

“Josh!” Daphne wailed. 

“What?” He laughed uncontrollably while the girls looked for their flashlights, thankful Josh had his where they could see his face.

Summer camp wasn’t the Yogi Bear resort for teens but a real trip away from home, nestled in the woods, staying in cabins and other nights in tents, and getting a real feel for the great outdoors. Camp City was called Camp Madness by the teens who go there because the whole experience was intense. Rocky owned the camp for the past decade; he built the place for teens who didn’t live much outside of their New York style condos. They weren’t all rich but many were; their parents sent them to camp when they were at their last resort; Rocky welcomed the troubled kids and made sure they learned a little about a hard knock life and a bit about survival. The camp was without electric, cell phone service and flushing toilets; Rocky had a thing for the authentic. 

Their day began when the sun was still down and the only running water was the nearby creek. They literally had to collect water and boil it to purify its contents. The girls, Daphne and Janelle, struggled at first but then Janelle got a real thrill at night telling horror stories. 

It was the first night Daphne stayed in her sister’s cabin when Janelle entertained the idea of the predator with the chainsaw. 

There were at first taps upon the window when Daphne began to stay there. Janelle rolled over in her bunk and snarled, “go away creep.” She knew Josh was always up toying with them. As the taps grew louder still she got out of her bunk to confront him; she opened the cabin door expecting that Josh would leap from the bushes at any minute but instead her piercing scream rang through the camp and Daphne awoke with chills down her spine. 

She went out first to console her sister who she fathomed had a nightmare; Janelle used to sleep walk as a child. Daphne’s bare bottoms of her feet touched the grass and moss to find that her sister was not there. The camp lights went on - mere lanterns that sat out the doorway for late night bathroom breaks. 

The campers filed out their front doors to find out what Janelle screamed about when Josh approached Daphne. 

“What happened?” He said groggily. 

“My sister’s scream.” She was familiar with that scream. 

Rocky arrived late. He peered into each cabin to find Janelle hopefully somewhere among them. 

The camp was a place of strict confinement for troubled youth. But Josh concurred that someone went too far this time around. 

When morning broke they formed a search party that spanned the distance of the camp ground. There were bear tracks that were seen pacing the camp.

“Must have drug her away.” A camper said when Daphne began to panic. 

“Shut up.” She scolded Ricky who shrugged. 

Some of the youth were callous as troubled as they were.

Ricky was one among them who dared to be so bleak and his impatience made Daphne want to scream back at him. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep searching,” Josh tried to console her. 

Rocky initiated a buddy system for going outside the cabins. A night duty was up through the night in the cabin’s office and a missing person report was filed. 

A search team was organized outside of the camp after the confines of the camp were thoroughly searched and Janelle was reported as not being there. 

Daphne slept in her bunk entirely restless when her folks did not bring her home. They were hippies who were getting stoned and after the meth lab experience Daphne didn’t want to be there; she was being turned over to the custody of Social Services once the camp ended. 

The troubled youth mostly came from a troubled home. Rocky gave them a means to escape the life they were given. Boys like Josh and Ricky wanted the city but the camp gave them an alternative focus from the streets. 

Nothing out of the usual had ever occurred at the camp. 

“Can you tell us exactly what happened?” The officer asked Daphne.

“I heard her scream.” 

The idea of her sleep walking did not alarm the officers who were reported for duty and the open case made them restless as a coyote, bear or wolf could be near. 

That night without Janelle made Daphne feel restless when the tapping upon the window returned and she sat up in bed; for a cabin that sleeps six it appeared no one else heard the tapping at the window.

“Stupid bird.” Daphne assumed there was a woodpecker behind the pecking on the glass. The tapping continued and was too piercing to ignore and Daphne stepped out of her bed and tried to awaken one of the girls, “do you hear that?” 

Tessa shoved her shoulder, “no jerk.” She wasn’t fully awake. Daphne sighed and then she heard her screaming but no one was waking. 

Outside the wind whipped her face; the dry air made her feel like she was suffocating. She grasped at the base of her neck as though she had begun choking; she got down to her knees when she heard the breaking of twigs in the brush. She crawled to be back inside the cabin but she became weighted like an anvil, as if she were dragging her entire body through the muck, and she gagged. The air around her began to smell of raw sewage because she hadn’t known the scent of death and decay. 

Her sister’s scream continued still and she felt as though she were dying; as if she were being pushed into the dirt; as if the land before her would part and she would cave into the fiery pit called hell; she knew not why but she felt the eyes of a demon cutting through her and into her soul but she could not get the demon out of her. 

She choked more, trying to hold back vomit, as the stench of her sister’s rotting corpse permeated the landscape; her sister was all around her then. In the form of something demonic and gruesome. She thirsted for water as if that alone would lessen the intensity of the heat she felt.

This wasn’t Jason. It was something like a demon but this time it wasn’t all a dream; her demise wasn’t of flesh like Freddy; Daphne gasped for a breath but her lungs filled with a fluid - a substance like bile and blood that was curdled.

She didn’t know if the demon had taken her sister; she couldn’t see anything tangible but she felt it all like an all-encompassing evil; the stories in the books gave it no justice. 

She felt the skin on her back as it began to tear like knives for claws slit her skin in a smooth and rounded edge as her blood began to seep into the ground that was giving way beneath her body. The look of terror on her face was insurmountable as Josh went to her but she was feigning death as far as he could see when the air around her became more stagnant and she thought he was coming to her possibly in a dream - perhaps all she needed to do was awaken - why couldn’t Josh see her - or what did he see?

Her sister’s screams grew louder like a piercing hum from the reverberation of an old motor like metal on metal. Josh stood before her but as though he was looking through her when he parted his trench coat and from beneath the cloak was a pick ax and Rocky came to him from behind the brush; Daphne wanted to scream like her sister but this time her cries were stifled in blood and vomit. She wanted to call for help - there’s no fucking bear! She thought to herself in a mind that could be her own worst enemy. 

Could she awaken? Was it all a dream? 

Rocky took the pick ax from Josh and together they turned toward her and stopped as if by command when the force of a demonic entity seemed to enter her. 

She began to convulse and her eyes turned to a milky white when everything around her turned to a haze. Through the opaque lens in the complete blackness of night she did not become a voice; the sheer terror of hell’s inferno ablaze in her mind’s eye was the only moment of lucidity. 

The beast was the demon, or the hound of hell, she could not know the difference and her blood curdled from her mouth like a cheese in the mix of heat: the stench was putrid and Josh and Rocky were unfazed as they entered the dark night and said they would have their way again- this time the victim would be more alarming. 

“Must have been some bear.” Josh said from beside her hospital bed; but that hospital was unlike the others. She could not move from the straps that bound her to the bed and every night before sleep she heard the tapping of nails on the glass pane and the screeching cacophony of her sister screaming was beyond the nightmare. An intense scream that no one around her acknowledged. No one but her seemed to notice and so was the end of peace or life as she knew it. She was in hell.

Dotting the ‘’I’’ and Crossing the ‘’T’’ of ChrisTmas

‘’Chris, what do you intend to do this season?’’ asked his friend, Tmas.
‘’Well, it’s a season we need each other’’ responded Chris
‘’What do you mean?’’
‘’In life, particularly this season, it takes two to tango’’
‘’Please explain more’’ Tmas said, looking more anxious
‘’look at us. We can join forces to make this holiday worthwhile.’’

‘’How!?’’
‘’We have what it takes to make the celebration a memorable one’’
‘’What’s it, Chris?’’
‘’It’s simply Dotting the ‘I’ and crossing the ‘T’ of Christmas’’
‘’Chris, there you go again! I’m lost in your explanation, right now’’
‘’You see, my name is Chris. Yours is Tmas. Right?’’
‘’Yes’’
‘’If we agree to work this season out together, you would see that the ‘I’ in the name ‘Chris’ and the ‘T’ in the name ‘Tmas’ means a lot’’

‘’So what?’’
‘’The ‘I’ being dotted and the ‘T’ being crossed will bring about you and I to tango’’
‘’Meaning???’’
‘’If we decided to put our names together, we would savor the season’’
‘’I see’’ Tmas responded, having a clue where Christ is driving at.

‘’Chris, my name. Tmas, your name. If we joined our names, it would be ChrisTmas!’’
‘’Wow’’ exclaimed the fascinated Tmas. ‘’It’s interesting to know how the dotting of the ‘I’ of your name and crossing of the ‘T’ of my name can make a befitting ChrisTmas!’’
‘’That’s the spirit!’’ Chris assured. ‘’You see dotting the ‘I’ and crossing the ‘T’ of our names as we practically tango, or should I say, ‘work together?’ will earn us ChrisTmas!’’

‘’That’s thoughtful of you’’, Tmas reasoned. ‘’Let’s get into the business of working together or like you’ve just said, ‘let’s tango’’’
‘’Tmas, that’s what I’ve been saying about Dotting the ‘I’ and Crossing the ‘T’ of ChrisTmas!’’ Chris Concluded.

Arti-Blog: Amanful Disastrous Deluge – ADD

            On Wednesday 15^th June, 2022 around 5pm the drizzles of rain which commenced with seemingly no intentions to cause havoc in the suburban community where I grew up turned disastrous deluge outlook in the Amanful West. Slowly by surely, in the 6pm hour unpaved paths started engulfing drops of rain which later affected pavement portions of the area. It’s crystal clear visibility, refrigeration repair shop, kebab selling structure ,seamstress as well tailor shops, provision shops, backyard garden, building hardware shop, pharmacy, mini bars, hospital and various houses within parts of Amanful locality had become like a lagoon or river as a result of such torrential rain. Initially, whilst writing some new songs on paper there’s bit writer’s block so I paused and reached out of the parental room which is having some stubborn disturbing bed-bugs… Oh, gosh, ouch!

They pinch like unseen pins in the living room chairs and the carpet. Among other things, many fell into gutters and holes they couldn’t see due to such massive flood situation which affected cars on the roads here on Amanful West suburban community in Takoradi. Although floods have been taking place more often in the Western Region of Ghana in the wet season, this time around it exceeded previous years of such rainy magnitude. Based on research done, Southern Ghana records two rainy seasons; major season from April to July and minor from September to November. It’s evident that the rate of this recent Amanful Disastrous Deluge #ADD supersedes the happenings which have taken place over a decade. Of course, when I was trying to rescue some items moving away from the house, it’s seen that height or level of flood was around my neck. Thus, it’s capable to cause drawn or death even as it’s seen some birds such as fowls, hens and ducks died because there’s no shelter for them in such a typical flood zone.

            In relation to one-on-one interaction as vox-pop, some of the neighbors’ or folks revealed that the Interchange project taking place on Principal Street of Takoradi at the Kwame Nkrumah round-about has also been the major cause of such disastrous deluge in the area. Indeed, due to the block of water-flow in the huge gutter, aside it’s hard to have appropriate or proper tunnel to ensure movement of rain-water. Another cause as fact is bad drainage system and sanitation because some indecent folks put garbage in gutters causing chokes at the long-run.

Aside, improper architecture planning of the suburb in terms of settlements has various effects whenever it rains cats and dogs. According to some elders of the community where the flood i.e. (deluge) took-place. It used to be lagoon about a century ago so your guess is as good as mine.  Terribly, it’s about 5 hours of non-stop down-pour and those of us using ground-floor facilities were adversely affected as some experienced sleeplessness due to flood invasion. Indeed, some of the spoiled and missing items include the following: television sets, laptops, electric fans, study desks, sound speakers, bed mattress, pillows, shoes, bags, hall tables, chairs, clothes just to mention but a few. It’s quite obvious the rate of disaster cause by such deluge made folks clean almost every part of houses, especially as witnessed at the Amanful West for days. Heaps of rubbish and other broken items seen on the aftermath were refrigerators, television sets, electric irons, stoves and others. 

            Surprisingly, on 18^th, 19th and 20^th June, 2022 those who have traveled and returned to see such mess done by the deluge, they’re still cleaning and putting their items in order. Another point to note in this Arti-Blog at the time of completion it became crystal clear as video recorded in the midst of torrential rains and the deluge had been sent to the Member of Parliament for Takoradi Constituency as well being the Western Regional Minister, Honourable Dr. Kwabena Okyere Darko Mensah to ensure possible assistance to the folks affected. However, there’s no rapid response to aid the Amanful West community. Well, his verbal statement to help construct another pavement path on the other side of the flood zone has not been done, thus over seven years since making promise to the electorate of Amanful West in Takoradi, Ghana. It’s obvious, some political leaders in Ghana are often concerned about making their families rich whilst majority of the citizens suffer in times like this due to poverty. Factually, as a leader people look up to you in terms of honoring words you voice-out or state in ensuring fulfillment. 

It’s so unfortunate and sad, even the Assemblyman of this Amanful West by name Nana Baiden has not even come to visit or see the rate of damage caused so as to find long-lasting solution to this bane. Even my private message to him about meeting-up to share communal development related ideas with him never yielded positive result. Well, are people elected to leadership positions in Ghana worthy to be called Honourable if they’re not honouring the words of promise to the masses? Indeed, this Amanful West has got lots of issues and problems with the youth in relation to reckless living and such disastrous deluge has compounded it environment bitterly. Obviously, solutions of fund support can only come from the outside world like USA, UK, Canada, Australia, Germany and other great nations. Its estimated $3500 is needed to assist the rate of damage caused in the Amanful West suburban community so as to ensure our lives turn around in goodness.

Kindly, make use of the attached pictures as proofs or evidences with regard to this Amanful Disastrous Deluge #ADD in order to bring about support. Thank You.

Ike Boat writes from Takoradi in the Western Region of Ghana, West Africa.

Synchronized Chaos International Magazine – SCIM Regular Contributor

Email Address: ikeboatofficial@gmail.com

Artiste WhatsApp: +233 267117700

WhatsApp Biz: +233 552477676 <—> MTN Mobile Money Number.

Registered ID Name: Isaac Adjei Boateng

Freedom Or Freedumb

There isn’t a simple answer to what freedom means to me.  There are things that it is and there are things that it isn’t.

I have freedom of movement, but that doesn’t mean that I get to drive a Cadillac or take a cruise around the world if I can’t afford it.

I can believe or not what I want.  That doesn’t give me the right to force people to believe as I do, or do as I want them to do.

I can own a firearm with limitations according to whatever local law and the Supreme Court is saying on a given day.  I’m not in a regulated militia and don’t want to kill, so I avoid gun ownership.  As I am writing this, fourteen people were killed with a gun or guns in a school in Texas.  Revision – nineteen people.

I can support or vote for the candidate of my choice, but for several years I’ve had a choice between different losers, so it doesn’t do much for me.

I get an education, but it is up to me to evaluate it and use it.  Many ignored or forgot most of what they learned in school and now depend on conspiracy nuts, talk shows, and celebrities for their information.  The loudest, craziest, and most partisan are responsible for most of the noise.

I get health care, but if I weren’t on Medicare, it might not be good.  While many in the USA get inadequate health care, some get too many tests and waste doctors time.

I can live where I want if I can afford it, but it might not be a pleasant place and I might not be wanted.  Depending on my race, religion, and looks many places that are technically open to me are not practically available.

I have freedom from want, but it isn’t guaranteed, it depends on my bank account.

None of us have freedom from fear because of hateful people who might want to kill us because of our race or religion, or some other reason.

I can live and love with the person of my choice if that person agrees to it.  Unfortunate people end up with abusers or alone.

I have freedom of expression within legal limits (plagiarism, libel, perjury), but no one has to offer me a venue or listen to me.

I have the right to pursue happiness, but I’m not guaranteed of attaining it.

I have the freedom to try for the occupation of my choice, but nobody would pay me to play basketball or sing.

I can’t speak of other countries, but in the USA freedom is frequently unused, misused, and abused.

To appear in Written Tales

What is Life About 
By
Linda Hibbard

Problems and Change
Change and Problems

Is Life a series of solving Problems?
Is Life a series of Change?

Is solving Problems creating Change?
Is Change creating Problems?

Is it a Problem?

An Autograph from Mingus

	Charles Mingus was my first jazz obsession. When I was an adolescent, my older brother Bart worked in the mailroom at Columbia Records and was often able to bring home swag from the label. I glommed onto Mingus Dynasty, the follow-up to the landmark album Mingus Ah Um. I was especially taken with the tracks that went beyond the jazz I was familiar with, the ones that had adventurous compositional structures, “Far Wells Mill Valley” in particular, which combined influences of classical composition with wildly swinging jazz. This wasn’t the somewhat forced and stiff “third-stream” music I’d later learn about, it was a consummate artist putting all his influences and resources at the service of his music.
	
Mingus’ earliest recordings as a leader tended to lean heavily on his classical compositional proclivities, and then, around 1955, he took a wholly new tack, eschewing written arrangements for a looser approach, where he’d talk his band through arrangements in rehearsal, aiming for greater spontaneity. By the late fifties he’d started bringing both approaches together, along with liberal doses of blues and gospel, forming the style that would characterize his music for the rest of his career, a brilliant tension between the composed and the spontaneous, emphasizing the individual sound characteristics of his sidemen (something he learned from Duke Ellington, one of his mentors), creating a repertoire that drew upon a wide variety of influences to make music that was both eclectic and idiosyncratic.

	After hearing Mingus Dynasty, I started buying other Mingus albums, and then, in 1972, when I was just short of 16, I saw him live, one of my first jazz concerts. It was a New York homecoming for Mingus. He had been only intermittently active since 1965 and had just released his first major-label album in 8 years, back at Columbia after more than a decade, Let My Children Hear Music. The concert at Lincoln Center, like that album, featured a large ensemble playing new compositions as well as many of his career classics. It was also my live introduction to a number of other jazz greats who appeared as guests to help celebrate the return of Mingus, including saxophonists Gene Ammons, Gerry Mulligan, and Lee Konitz. Mingus and Friends in Concert, recorded that evening, is the first of a number of jazz albums to include my applause.

	From then until 1977 I saw Mingus many times, in concert halls and clubs. A Carnegie Hall concert in 1974, featuring a number of Mingus saxophone alumni in a jam session, was released by Atlantic. On Mingus at Carnegie Hall, the discerning listener can hear how much more self-assured my applause had become in just two short years.
	
I caught Mingus at least one time each at The Five Spot, The Village Vanguard, and The Bottom Line, and numerous times at The Village Gate, where he had two-week or month-long residencies. Most of those times at the Gate it was Mingus with his tightest quintet in years, featuring tenor saxophonist George Adams, trumpeter Jack Walrath, and pianist Don Pullen. During those longer engagements other musicians, like singer Jackie Paris and trumpeter Tommy Turrentine, would often sit in. 

	At The Village Gate, Mingus performed at the upstairs space called The Top of the Gate. Most of the time I’d sit at the bar—which was just outside the main room with the stage, but from which you could still see the band—because there was no cover, just a drink minimum (and back then 18 was the legal drinking age in New York). But one time a friend and I splurged for a table. We had arrived early and got great seats right by the stage. Shortly after we sat down, as Mingus was setting up, tuning his bass with his back to the audience, he let out a big, brassy fart. Next thing we knew, Mingus turned around and graced us with a big shit-eating grin. 

	It’s the closest I ever came to an autograph.