I used to be a camp counselor, when I was a teenager. In the woods up in Vermont. Had the night shift, tucked the girls in, turned off the lights. The typical drill. Everything seemed fine, all the kids were asleep. You know, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Until I noticed there was some blood, on the hallway floor. So, I followed the blood trail out to the camp director’s cabin, walked up to his bed and he was just lying there, underneath his covers. Dead. Someone stabbed him. I ran out of there so fast, out the door, down the hall. I just remember it… being really dark. Once I got to the door, there was another counselor there. I guess she heard me scream. They caught the caretaker on his way to town, I guess he still had the knife on him.
