Sinister Snowflakes

chapter one - slut cult

It was literally the longest drive of my life, but I'm finally here.

The large sign displaying the name of the camp – CAMP ICELAKE – doesn't offer much of a warm and welcoming introduction, and I can't see much from my window except for that. Even through the thick snowfall, it sticks out like a sore thumb. The putrid and green, rotting wood could be seen a mile away by an elderly woman that's blind in one eye. Also, the subpar paint job that was supposedly intended to cover that up is chapped to the max and wasn't even applied properly. The strokes go off in several directions rather than a composed pattern. It's really weird, because I swear that everything looked so much better in the photos online and in the brochure. The sign looked brand new, and the cabins were–well, about as cute as a cabin in the middle of nowhere could be. Based on that sign, I highly doubt they're actually any good. They probably look like war bunkers compared to the pictures on their website. I understand, though. If your camp is a pitiful failure, you have to make income somehow. Even if that 'somehow' includes false advertising.

Getting out of my car and entering that run-down camp is suddenly at the bottom of the list of things I want to do during my winter break. I would much rather be at home, since my family practically has enough money to cure cancer and birth Mars an atmosphere that isn't useless. I'd be showered with gifts like a tropical storm. Everything I request, I receive. Here, I'd be lucky to give a handjob to one of the not-so-attractive male counselors during the annual Christmas Eve party in exchange for a bead bracelet. But I refuse to drive another five hours back home in this hellacious snowstorm, so it looks like I'm stuck with whatever this scam is meant to be.

Groups of teens pass the sign, and fade away once they reach a certain distance due to the intense flurry of snowflakes clouding my view. They all seem overly excited to spend the next couple of weeks away from their families at a camp that looks nothing like it should, but from the way they're dressed I can tell they're not used to the top-notch living conditions I've grown accustom to. So maybe, this isn't a problem for them. I can already tell that none of them will ever relate to me, I'll never relate to them, and I won't be making any new friends. My social life during break will consist of Farrah and Brinley; two girls from home that know what it's like to be held to a higher standard. How it's like to be part of the upper class. But they had their parents drive them, so I have no clue where they are right now or if they've even arrived yet.

There's no doubt in my mind that I look some creepy ogler because of the way I'm just staring at these people with a deathly glare, so I should probably go now. Almost against my own will, I park my car and exit the vehicle. Somebody I hired to retrieve the vehicle, and take it all the way from this parking spot and back to my driveway back at home should be arriving in a few hours. This snow would absolutely decimate my car, and I don't really trust strangers to not bash the window open and snoot through my belongings. Especially since it's easily the best looking car in this parking lot, and would automatically become a target because of that.

I brush some snowflakes off my thick, mink coat, but it's no use. Seconds later, flakes build up once again and start to layer on top of each other. The least I can do is stop them from falling onto my lashes, so I reach into my coat's front pocket and take out a pair of black-rimmed, tinted shades, and and put them on. Much better. It also helps with the glare from all of the white outside.

Super cute but functional winter-wear, check.

The walk to the gross cabins begins. My eyes are kept low to avoid eye contact with any of the other campers. Well, it's not exactly eye contact since they can't see my eyes through my shades, but I can still see theirs so it counts in my book.

Upon reaching the entrance, a counselor sporting a name tag with the name FELIX written across it waves in my direction and approaches me.