45 - Ghost Camp Read Online Free PDF Page A

first. Then darkening.
    And thickening.
    Until the fog swept over the camp, billowing like black smoke.
    Tumbling and swirling, the cold wet fog rolled over the dying campfire.
Rolled over the campers and counselors. Over the cabins and the lake and the
trees.
    A choking fog, so thick and dark the campers couldn’t see each other.
Couldn’t see the fire. Or the ground. Or the moon in the sky.
    The fog lingered for a short while, swirling and tossing, low over the
ground. Wet, so wet and silent.
    It moved on just as silently.
    Like smoke blown away.
    The moonlight shone through. The grass sparkled as if a heavy dew had
settled.
    The fire was out. Dark purple embers sizzled over the ground.
    The fog swirled away. Swept over the trees. And vanished.
    And the campers sat around the dead campfire. Their eyes blank. Their arms
limp at their sides.
    Not moving. Not moving. Not moving.
    Because they were no longer alive.
    The fog had left a ghost camp in its wake.
    The campers, the counselors, the camp director—they were all ghosts now.
    All spirits. All ghosts. Every last one of them.
    They climbed to their feet. And returned to their bunks.
    They knew the ghost camp was their home now— forever!
     
    With a smile, Uncle Marv stepped back from the fire.
    I glanced around the circle. The faces were so solemn. No one smiled or
laughed.
    It’s a pretty good story, I thought. Kind of scary.
    But it doesn’t have much of an ending.
    I turned to see what Alex thought.
    And gasped when I saw the terrified expression on his face. “Alex—what?” I
cried, my voice cutting through the silence of the circle. “What’s wrong?”
    He didn’t reply. His eyes were raised to the sky. He pointed up.
    I gazed up too—and let out a cry of horror.
    As a black, swirling fog came sweeping over the camp.

 
 
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    My mouth dropped open as I watched the fog roll closer. It darkened the
ground as it moved steadily toward us.
    Darkened the trees. Darkened the sky.
    This is crazy, I told myself.
    This is impossible !
    I scooted next to Alex. “It’s just a coincidence,” I told him.
    He didn’t seem to hear me. He jumped to his feet. His whole body trembled.
    I stood up beside him. “It’s only fog,” I said, trying to sound calm. “It
gets foggy out here in the woods all the time.”
    “Really?” Alex asked in a tiny voice.
    The black smoky fog swirled over us.
    “Of course,” I replied. “Hey—we don’t believe in ghosts, remember? We don’t
think ghost stories are scary.”
    “But—but—” Alex stuttered. “Why is everyone staring at us?” he finally
choked out.
    I turned and squinted through the thick fog.
    Alex was right. All around the circle, the other campers had their eyes on
Alex and me. Their faces appeared to dim behind the curtain of dark mist.
    “I—I don’t know why they’re watching us,” I whispered to my brother.
    Fog billowed around us. I shivered. It felt cold against my skin.
    “Harry—I don’t like this,” Alex whispered.
    The fog was so thick now, I could barely see him, even though he stood close
beside me.
    “I know we don’t believe in ghosts,” Alex said. “But I don’t like this. It—it’s too creepy.”
    From the other side of the circle, Uncle Marv’s voice broke the silence.
“It’s a beautiful fog tonight,” he said. “Let’s all stand up and sing the Camp
Spirit Moon song.”
    Alex and I were already standing. The other campers and counselors obediently
climbed to their feet.
    Their pale faces shimmered in and out of the fog.
    I rubbed my arms. Cold and wet. I dried my face with the front of my T-shirt.
    The fog grew even heavier and darker as Uncle Marv began to sing. Everyone
joined in. Beside me, Alex began to sing, quieter this time.
    Our voices were muffled by the heavy mist. Even Uncle Marv’s booming voice
sounded smaller and far away.
    I tried to sing too. But I didn’t know the words. And my own voice came out
choked and small.
    As I stared