Night of the ShadowsMichael winced in pain as the rickety, old bus bounced along the forest

highway. It was a dismal day; it was overcast, and unusually cold for a June day. He

laid back in the uncomfortable seat while thinking of better times. Michael's parents

forced him into this. He really hated camping or any other related outdoor activity.

Michael came to the conclusion that his parents just did this because they had some

perverse inclination to force him to do things that he disliked. Well, he thought, at

least I'm not alone. One of the primary reasons that his parents had sent him to

summer camp was because all his friends were there. Unfortunately, only one of his

friends was staying there the entire time. The other one was leaving early because

of a family vacation. Lucky him!

The bus bumped again before coming to a complete halt. The youth slung

his duffel bag over his shoulder. He quickly counted the amount of people and

multiplied it times the amount of total buses. Michael estimated about one hundred

and twenty. As the last of the people unloaded off the bus, the drivers promptly shut

the doors and sped off to some unknown destination. No adult supervision, he

thought. Michael took in his surroundings and managed to form some sort of

conclusion. He didn't see any cars or other form of transport. The buildings

consisted of several wooden log cabins and a central complex, which looked like a

comfortable country home. Attached to it were a pantry and what seemed to be a

large dining hall. All in all, it seemed strangely isolated and dark. The most

prominent reason was probably lack of supervision and transportation. He was

beginning to enjoy this place less and less.

"Hello," said a voice behind him. The body of that voice was a tall, skinny

youth with blond hair and glasses. Behind those glasses were brilliant green eyes.

He had an air of calm intelligence.

"Oh. Hi Jim." Michael answered.

Jim took off his glasses and began to rub them in between the cloth of his

tee-shirt. Another boy, the shorter of the three, came up as well.

"Hi. Nice summer day were having." Bob commented ironically about the

weather.

"Yeah," chimed in Jim. "Those thunderclouds put in a nice effect."

Bob dumped his shoulder bag onto the floor and rummaged through it.

Satisfied, he produced a candy bar out of the bag and proceeded to eat it. Robert

Kenning munched slowly savoring the sweetness. When he lived in Europe for the

first eight years of his life he never had a nickname, and found it strange to have

one now. Bob, he thought, what a silly name. Robert was of medium height, though

he looked rather short compared to his friends. His brownish hair curled over the

face of a child. Bob's bright blue eyes darted, taking in everything. He shivered

despite himself and moved in closer into the group.

The buses had long since departed and the people outside began to grow

restless. A door opened near the front of the complex. A young man stepped out of

it. His hair was dark and he had eyes that were without depth and consistency.

Some of the adolescents near the road turned their heads in curiosity. Another

person stepped out of the doorway; this person was a young woman, rather tall, with

brown hair tied up in a pony tail. Both of them walked towards the group assembled

by the road. As the man came up to the crowd he cleared his throat and began to

speak.

"How many guys do we have up here?" The man flashed a neat smile and

raised his hand. Nearly half of teenagers raised their hands. Some of them however

were clearly not paying attention. "How many gals?" He said once more. This time

he got a more enthusiastic response. He flashed another smile and waved to a

group of girls nearby. The man then proceeded to state the day's itinerary, when

and where they ate, and where they slept. He also said that they were free to go do

anything they wanted for the moment and that he would say more after dinner at

eight.

What immediately happened afterwards was that most people made a rush

for the cabins. Although there were more than enough, there was no clear

movement by the adult leadership to regulate any of it. The result was, of course, a

really big waste of time and energy. Eventually the three boys found a cabin some

distance away from the center building in a small grove of trees. It was sparsely

furnished, but was suitable for their needs.

Michael did not like this at all. There was clearly no move by the assumed

counselors to organize anything, nor was there any form of contact with the outside

world. It seemed to him as if they were being rounded up, penned up, then fed like

some sort of country farm animals. That was when he decided to have a look

around the compound. He got quick agreement from both of his friends. Since there

were no locks on the doors, they decided to hide their bags in the bathroom and

made a quick sign on the door that said "THIS CABIN TAKEN."It was nearing six and the first thing they decided was to look around the

central building first. They ambled their way through clearings and cabins until they

came upon it. It was a rather large building, one floor, with a huge pantry, several

rooms, and a large mess hall attached. It also seemed to have a rather good

defensive position on top of a hill near a dense forest. Michael remarked this as he

passed numerous small groups of youths near the compound. Most of them were

kids from the school and around town. All of them were high school students, he

assumed.

They found a well-worn trail near the front entrance and followed it. Michael

wondered why it was so well worn, unless there were more people coming to the

compound. He also noticed that some of the larger cabins were taken ahead of

time, probably by people who were already there. Already there, he thought, and

the people in charge are no older than college students? These thoughts made him

increasingly uneasy.

The group of boys came upon an amphitheater with wooden benches and a

crude tree stump set up in the middle. This place also was well worn like the path,

but something else caught his eye: the tree stump.

"This red streak...." Michael muttered as he traced his finger across a red

stain on the stump.

"Blood," Robert commented as he squinted in the pale light. The clouds had

parted, leaving a splendid red sun setting on the Rocky Mountains.

"Somebody forgot to clean up," whispered Jim at last. He removed his

glasses off his angular face and rubbed them in between his fingers and his tee-

shirt.

"That wasn't funny," remarked Michael, but as he glanced back at his friend,

he noticed he was dead serious. Sometimes it infuriated him to see Jim so calm and

seemingly omniscient, but he could tell he had something important to say. It

scared the living excrement out of him.

"Animal sacrificing, entrails reading, odd religious sects, compounds,

standoffs; all sorts of recluses!" Jim stood there as calmly as ever and placed his

glasses back upon his head. He looked up into the sky that seemed to be the source

of all his answers. "Do you believe in the occult Mike?"

"Okay Jim...." Robert was about to make sarcastic stab at his bizarre

monologue, but was cut off by Michael.

"What's up? Why are you saying this? What's so unusual about this place?"

Michael shut up when he realized the truth of what Jim was saying. Jim turned

around and walked into the woods.

"Hey! Where are you going?" called Michael. He sincerely wished he could

throttle the answers out of Jim.

"I'm going to take a whiz, what do you think?" retorted Jim.

Michael sat down on one of the benches and sat quietly thinking to himself.

Robert shook his head and decided to join him.

Michael pondered to himself what was so unusual about the events that had

just transpired. He decided to start from the beginning. Three school buses had

arrived a little earlier that day to drop off a rather large sum of students at a

summer camp. He frowned. That seemed perfectly normal. The drop off point was

a rather large complex with a score of log cabins. Also perfectly normal. One could

go to the Grand Canyon and see the exact same thing. He didn't see any form of

transportation at the complex. He knew this wasn't downtown Denver, but he did

expect to see at least a few cars belonging to the camp counselors. Then he

thought of the camp counselors. None of them were very old; they were hardly out

of college. Did he expect anyone older? Maybe. What about the occupied cabins?

Maybe they were vacationers. He abandoned that thought immediately. He came to

the conclusion that there were many people here, presumably for a long time since

none of their cars were parked here. He then began to think of the bloody stump, or

what seemed to be dried blood.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud metal click.

"Finally got you varmints," cackled an old, harsh voice. Robert began to

slowly turn his head. "Don't you move!" the old man cried out suddenly and pointed

the shotgun straight at his cranium. The man was dressed in overalls and a red,

plaid flannel. His hair was disheveled and his beard stubble just as unkempt. He

carried a menacing hunting rifle held up to his shoulder. His features were clear in

the failing sunlight.

"I've been waiting all this time for you people to hold one of them meetings

so I could collect my dues, if you know what I mean," the oldster rasped. He seemed

overcome by rage and anger.

"What dues?" Robert asked breathlessly.

The man grimaced at them as if they were idiots. "Don't play stupid on me.

You know very well what happened to all my livestock!"

"Livestock," Michael wondered, "you mean farm animals?"

"Right," the man drew out the words slowly still wondered why the boys

hadn't given up at playing stupid for so long. At that very moment Jim returned to

the clearing.

"Who the Hell are you?" demanded the old man, brandishing his firearm.

"I go to the summer camp down the road," answered Jim quietly.

"What summer camp?" The old man began to lower the barrel of his gun a

few inches. There was a look of surprise on his face.

"The one down that trail, down by the road," he informed the man as he

pointed down the dirt path. The old man swore and slammed the butt of his gun

into the crunchy, gravel floor.

"This happens every year." The old man said after he sat down on the

benches. He then resumed his speech. "Every summer," the man continued, "the

people at that compound announce a summer camp. A busload of kids come, and

they stay there. Every so often, a group of them comes up to my farm and steals

some produce; chickens, eggs you name it. I've seem 'em hold meetings at this

very spot every so often."

"Do any of the kids at the summer camp leave?" asked Jim.

"Nope. Every year they change the name of the place and change addresses

to avoid any problems." The man had a weary look in his eyes.

"Did you contact any authorities?" demanded Jim.

"I tried, I tried. Alas, they refused to believe me. They thought I was a nut.

They tell me that none of that kind of stuff ever happens around here." He paused

thinking. "Listen," he said. "Come by my place around midnight. I'll leave the back

door open. I'll try to get you boys back into town." He then pointed to a ranch in the

hills about a mile off. "That's my place. The trail here will take you there."

The boys thanked the man as he wandered back into the woods.

The boys arrived at the mess hall about five minutes late, but nobody

seemed to care. They ate their suppers in silence and in haste. They said hello to a

few people they knew, however they revealed their plan to no one. It was about

eight thirty when they came back to their cabin. It was empty and undisturbed, just

as they left it.

They spent the rest of the evening saying little and tried to keep themselves

busy with a deck of cards. They waited until there were no more voices outside the

cabins and until it was completely dark. When the clock struck ten thirty they left

like three wraiths in the dark.

They walked swiftly between the cabins daring to make no noise whatsoever.

The moon was out and it guided them to the darkened trail where shades might

have once lurked. Michael often wished the moon wasn't out to aid them in their

stealthy expedition. They marched swiftly on the trail and they were soon

consumed by darkness. Oddly enough, Michael noticed fresh prints in the dirt path.

Could they be belonging to people who were going to the amphitheater? He tried to

put those thoughts out of his mind, but to no avail.

All three stopped shortly afterwards. They began hearing loud voices, almost

chanting, through the forest. Through the break in the trees they noticed a large

bonfire burning at the front of the amphitheater. Michael's fears had come true. All

three jumped when they heard the voice behind them.

"You guys looking for something?" said a youth behind them. They turned to

see two other adolescents walking down the path. After closer inspection however,

they seemed to be much older than they were.

"Nah. We were just wondering what's going on over there," Jim nodded

towards the amphitheater.

"Yeah, its just a meeting. Care to join us?"

"Sure," agreed the three boys reluctantly. They walked a step or two behind

the two older boys, undecided as to what to do.

"How are we going to avoid the meeting and these two freaks?" whispered

Robert while jabbing a thumb towards the two boys they had encountered on the

path.

"We make a break for the forest when we're far enough behind." Suggested

Jim. The three boys agreed. They slowed their advance to a crawl until they were a

few yards away.

"Now!" whispered Jim hoarsely. They plunged into the forest. Michael was

soon afraid they had lost their way. There was an absolute lack of light that made

their surroundings as dark as pitch. Sounds of pursuit soon followed. They soon felt

blood rushing to their ears. Michael heard Robert's ragged breath behind him. He

wouldn't be able to keep up much longer he worried. He heard his footsteps fall

further and further behind. He couldn't stop running though, and his heart pounded

with the effort. He heard some yelling behind him. They have caught him, he

thought in dismay. Jim was keeping up though, his long legs carrying him forward

effortlessly.

All of a sudden, there was a sudden dip in the terrain. He saw it and leaped

over it just in time. He skidded to a halt when he heard Jim trip over it. He felt the

sweat dripping off his head and wiped it off in annoyance. Jim moaned as he helped

him up to his feet.

"Come on," Michael urged, "we've gotta get to the farm."

"Can't," Jim grunted, "I twisted my ankle. Might have broken it." The sounds

of pursuit began to close in

"Go!" cried Jim in pain. "Leave me here!"

Michael stumbled aimlessly through the forest and finally came a halt in a

small clearing. He fell to the ground exhausted, the sounds of pursuit all but gone.

He heard a strange, squeaking sound from up above. Looking up, Michael saw what

seemed to be a dark form suspended from a ruined rope. He stood up and stared

right into two maggot-eaten eye-sockets. The body produced a fetid odor, and he

had the uncontrollable urge to vomit. After he had finished spitting up the delicious

dinner he had earlier, Michael looked back up at the worm-eaten body. That was

what was going to happen to them, he thought.

He kept on running for a while, but then saw it was useless. He started

walking now, since his side was beginning to ache. He made for a break in the trees

and ended up where they had started. Soft moonlight danced upon the roofs of

wooden cabins. Michael's body stumbled ahead into the night. He reached their

cabin and he began to sob. Michael felt miserable in the chair he was sitting in, and

he wished to have never seen that rotting corpse. Both of his friends were going to

become that. His mind couldn't stop thinking about it. Imagine Jim as the corpse;

an undead monster, rubbing his foul glasses on a disintegrating tee shirt! He looked

at his watch: eleven thirty was printed in digital upon the display. It was too late he

thought.

Michael washed off his face in the bathroom and began to pace around in the

cabin. With a spinning head, no plan came to mind. He slowly built up his anger

and frustration. Mike had lost his most important asset: Jim. Without him, he

thought, he was helpless. However, his thoughts were interrupted by a scream

outside.

Michael rushed to get the only weapon he had, which was a baseball bat that

he had packed in his bag. He quickly replaced the sign that had been on the door

and rushed towards the sounds of a struggle. He recognized the two youths who

were attacking a girl. They were the same ones they had escaped on the path. He

ran up to the first man and smacked him in the head with the baseball bat. Bones

crunched, then the figure grunted and fell to the ground. The bat fell as the second

man rushed at him. Michael was physically fit, and had some martial arts

experience. He fell backwards and pressed his knee against his chest. The

momentum threw his assailant over his head. He spun around and dodged a punch

aimed at him. Michael came around with a hook that landed at his opponent's jaw.

He hit again at his stomach, and the youth crumpled on the ground. He then went

immediately to the girl who was nursing her swollen cheek. She followed Michael

away from the site to the cabin. After he helped to clean her bruise, she thanked

him.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Sandra. Sandra Patterson." She responded while putting an ice pack on her

cheek.

Michael didn't recognize her name, nor did she look familiar. He walked over

to where the bags were stowed and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder.

"Well Sandra," he announced, "get your stuff, because I know a way outta

here."

The path was clear and they had long since passed the abandoned

amphitheater. This time, there was no one to stop them. He glanced at his watch in

the faint moonlight. Twelve thirty. He hoped the door was still unlocked as the girl

and the boy came up to the ranch. No sooner had they reached the rear porch when

the door opened.

"I had almost given hope on ya," said a familiar, rough voice through the

door.

"Here, let me help you two with your stuff." The old man said as ambled

down the steps of the porch. He picked up both of their belongings and carried

them to and old Chevy truck. "Who's that you've got there with ya young fella?" He

shrugged when he didn't get a response. "Say, what happened with the other two

guys you were with?" asked the man with an inquisitive expression on his face.

Michael could hardly bring the words out. The man put his arm around his

shoulders and consoled him. "I left them back there. They'll never be able to leave

that place." he managed to get out.

The oldster made room for both of them. The girl got in first, who

immediately fell asleep. The truck's engine roared to life, and soon they were on the

highway to Denver. I wish I could sleep, thought Michael as he leaned his head

against the window. He kept on recalling the image of the rotting head. He turned

his head and stared at the empty pastures as they whizzed by. Michael suddenly

realized how beautiful the mountains were in the moonlight. He thought back to

better times, a warm bed, and to his friends gone by. Soon, as his body was

overtaken by the roar of the highway and the vibration of the engine, he fell fast

asleep.