Serial Killer Summer (A 3-Day Novel)

Chapter Ten

I stand on that deck, remembering that night. Only it's not that deck. I realize this minute that it was rebuilt at some point. Of course. How long will a deck last, exposed to the elements? It's been almost 30 years. I could have been replaced twice since 1992.

The general shape was the same, but the style of railing was entirely different and the slats of wood beneath me were wider. There was something disappointing in that fact, like if my feet were not in exactly the same place or on the same surface, I could not possibly remember exactly the way it felt when we kissed there.

We kissed until the lights in all the other cabins went out.

We kissed until I forgot everything that was happening around us.

I didn't stay, though. I couldn't.

After the last light went at Lindsey's cabin, Mark appeared out of the dark. And I needed to head back to the Hen House.

I leave the rebuilt, false deck, at last, and walk toward the place I needed most to go.

I've been circling around it since I arrived. Literally, really, since it is at the centre of camp.

The sign post. I cannot avoid it any longer; it is why I came.

I learned the camp was closing on social media. Every so often, I will look people and places up online to lurk and see what they are up to.

I never found Jay, though. He never seemed like the kind of person who would use social media anyway, so I'm not surprised.

But I did find a page for Camp Big Spirit. Probably once per year, I scrolled through that page, looking for names I recognized. And in the posted photos, faces I recognized. I looked for myself. Sometimes I would see something that made my heart lurch. But the most of the photos were more recent, and the names were unfamiliar.

Then one time, I looked for the page and saw that camp was closing.

One more alumni weekend was coming up that fall. I was tempted. But I did not come.

Then earlier this summer, I checked the page again, after a long time, and read that the camp was going to be dismantled.

Former campers and staff were invited to one last visit, not to stay, just to hike up from the conservation area to tour the camp and say goodbye.

So here I am, four weeks late. Because I could not bring myself to be here, then.

The sign post is covered in old photos and notes that people brought that weekend. They've been nailed in place as a memorial to the camp that changed so many lives.

I'm afraid, but I start scanning the photos and notes.