traced.
“Look, buddy, it’s all good. I’m just . . . It’s just . . . it’s nothing, really.”
He hangs up, leaving you holding the receiver.There’s no dial tone or eh-eh-eh sound that comes on. It goes totally dead.
Dead silent.
“Who was that?” John Luke asks.
“A wrong number,” you say, setting down the receiver. “Still, I think we should call the cops. Just to tell them.”
“About what?”
“37 Chestnut Lane. Never hurts to be too careful. Let’s use your cell phone this time, though.”
You never thought you’d say those words.
But this feels like a solid lead on who might be behind the camp’s mysterious happenings. That guy might act innocent, but only a fishy person could call a phone that’s not plugged in.
Can the police track a call to an unplugged phone? Surely they can. And maybe they’ll let you help interrogate this guy when they find him.
Mystery solved. You think.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
PECULIAR MOSS
YOU’VE BEEN IN THE DIRECTOR’S CABIN for a few minutes when John Luke asks you about something weird in the corner, right by the doorway.
“Do you know what that is, Papaw?”
You rub your beard and stare at it for a moment. Then you get closer.
It looks like a green beach ball. But upon further inspection, you see that it’s a clump of moss. You touch it and wrench your hand away immediately.
“That’s real, all right,” you say. “Burns to the touch.”
“What’s it doing here?”
“Maybe someone was usin’ it as a foot warmer. Who knows?”
As you unroll your sleeping bag on one of the bottom bunkbeds (yep, even the director’s cabin has bunks), you feel something strange on your fingertips. You look and see some of the moss stuck there.
“John Luke, I’ll be right back.”
You go into the bathroom to wash your hands, but for some reason the moss won’t go away. In fact, as you scrub your hands together, the moss seems to be growing.
That’s crazy. These old eyes are seein’ things.
But by the time you turn off the water, both of your hands are covered in moss.
It’s definitely growing.
“I think we have something peculiar happening right here,” you call to John Luke as you return to the main room.
The ball of moss has been busy. Now it’s covering most of the floor.
“John Luke?”
You find him on one of the top bunks, staring down at the floor.
“It’s out of control,” he says.
You show him your hands. Your fingers are no longer visible —they’re just clumps of moss.
“Papaw!” John Luke shouts.
“I know. I think we need to get a little help. Whatever this moss happens to be, it’s taking over my hands.”
“And your head!”
You almost ask John Luke what he’s talking about butinstead run back to the bathroom and glance in the mirror. Sure enough, somehow the moss got on your head. Parts of your hair are turning into moss. Your beard too.
“John Luke, we need to get out of here!” you shout, running back into the main room. He leaps off the bed and hurdles the multiplying moss.
The two of you escape from the cabin just as the moss overtakes the door and window. You stare in disbelief.
“Does this count as something we should report to Isaiah?” John Luke asks.
“Uh, yeah.” The moss has stopped growing on your body, but your hands are still unrecognizable. “But first I’m gonna need to head home and get a haircut.”
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
IT WAS ALL A . . . DREAM?
YOU WAKE UP in your own living room, more thankful for your favorite chair than ever before. The credits are rolling for some movie. Itâs playing scary music, so it mustâve been a horror flick. Itâs late, and most of the lights are turned off already.
You get out of the chair and stretch. Then you remember the dreams you were having.
Isaiah Bangs and a mysterious
“Look, buddy, it’s all good. I’m just . . . It’s just . . . it’s nothing, really.”
He hangs up, leaving you holding the receiver.There’s no dial tone or eh-eh-eh sound that comes on. It goes totally dead.
Dead silent.
“Who was that?” John Luke asks.
“A wrong number,” you say, setting down the receiver. “Still, I think we should call the cops. Just to tell them.”
“About what?”
“37 Chestnut Lane. Never hurts to be too careful. Let’s use your cell phone this time, though.”
You never thought you’d say those words.
But this feels like a solid lead on who might be behind the camp’s mysterious happenings. That guy might act innocent, but only a fishy person could call a phone that’s not plugged in.
Can the police track a call to an unplugged phone? Surely they can. And maybe they’ll let you help interrogate this guy when they find him.
Mystery solved. You think.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
PECULIAR MOSS
YOU’VE BEEN IN THE DIRECTOR’S CABIN for a few minutes when John Luke asks you about something weird in the corner, right by the doorway.
“Do you know what that is, Papaw?”
You rub your beard and stare at it for a moment. Then you get closer.
It looks like a green beach ball. But upon further inspection, you see that it’s a clump of moss. You touch it and wrench your hand away immediately.
“That’s real, all right,” you say. “Burns to the touch.”
“What’s it doing here?”
“Maybe someone was usin’ it as a foot warmer. Who knows?”
As you unroll your sleeping bag on one of the bottom bunkbeds (yep, even the director’s cabin has bunks), you feel something strange on your fingertips. You look and see some of the moss stuck there.
“John Luke, I’ll be right back.”
You go into the bathroom to wash your hands, but for some reason the moss won’t go away. In fact, as you scrub your hands together, the moss seems to be growing.
That’s crazy. These old eyes are seein’ things.
But by the time you turn off the water, both of your hands are covered in moss.
It’s definitely growing.
“I think we have something peculiar happening right here,” you call to John Luke as you return to the main room.
The ball of moss has been busy. Now it’s covering most of the floor.
“John Luke?”
You find him on one of the top bunks, staring down at the floor.
“It’s out of control,” he says.
You show him your hands. Your fingers are no longer visible —they’re just clumps of moss.
“Papaw!” John Luke shouts.
“I know. I think we need to get a little help. Whatever this moss happens to be, it’s taking over my hands.”
“And your head!”
You almost ask John Luke what he’s talking about butinstead run back to the bathroom and glance in the mirror. Sure enough, somehow the moss got on your head. Parts of your hair are turning into moss. Your beard too.
“John Luke, we need to get out of here!” you shout, running back into the main room. He leaps off the bed and hurdles the multiplying moss.
The two of you escape from the cabin just as the moss overtakes the door and window. You stare in disbelief.
“Does this count as something we should report to Isaiah?” John Luke asks.
“Uh, yeah.” The moss has stopped growing on your body, but your hands are still unrecognizable. “But first I’m gonna need to head home and get a haircut.”
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Shadows That Follow Us: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
IT WAS ALL A . . . DREAM?
YOU WAKE UP in your own living room, more thankful for your favorite chair than ever before. The credits are rolling for some movie. Itâs playing scary music, so it mustâve been a horror flick. Itâs late, and most of the lights are turned off already.
You get out of the chair and stretch. Then you remember the dreams you were having.
Isaiah Bangs and a mysterious
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