Stalk, Don't Run by Carolyn Keene

camp!” George added.
    “The camp grounds are pretty big,” I said. “If somebody kidnapped the sisters, they could be keeping them anywhere.”
    “With so many campers and counselors around?” George said. “Don’t you think someone would eventually hear or see something?”
    I cast my eyes back to the woods. Was someone lurking somewhere among the trees? What else was in the woods beside trees and maybe bears?
    “Well, the bunks from the old camp are in the woods where the arrow came from,” I said.
    “So?” George said.
    “So an old bunk in the woods could be the ideal place to hide a missing person,” I said. “Or three .”

 

DARK DISCOVERY
    A s much as the thought of the dark, desolate woods scared me, I knew we had to search for the Casabians.
    “We’ll need this in there,” Bess said, handing me the flashlight. “My hand will be shaking too much to hold it.”
    I shone the light between thick trees as we crunched over twigs, acorns, and dead leaves. We stopped when we noticed several paths leading in different directions.
    “Great,” George said. “Which way do we go now?”
    “How about out ?” Bess said.
    As I turned with the flashlight, I spotted an old sign nailed to a tree. The paint was faded with age, but I was able to make out the words CABINS 1–4 and the drawing of a finger pointed toward one of the paths.
    “This way,” I said.
    We walked fifteen feet or so when we reached a clearing. I hardly needed the flashlight, as the moon cast a glow on four bunks with sagging porches and cracked windows.
    “Which one do we check out first?” I asked.
    “That one,” George said, pointing to the last bunk in the row. “There’s a light inside that one.”
    I saw it too—a low, flickering light.
    “It could be Mandy, Mallory, and Mia!” Bess said hopefully.
    “Or the creep who shot the arrow,” George said.
    I took a deep breath and said, “We’ll never know unless we see for ourselves. Come on.”
    We headed quietly toward the bunk to a side window, which was cobwebby and cracked. Slowly and carefully we raised our heads to peek inside. There was a candle burning on a small wooden table in the middle of the room.
    “I can’t see much,” George complained. “Too many spiderwebs on the window—inside and out.”
    “I think I see bunk beds against the wall,” Bess said. “The sisters could be lying on them.”
    I moved closer to the window and saw the bunk beds too. Were Mandy, Mallory, and Mia lying on them? Were they tied up? Or drugged?
    “We have to go inside,” I said.
    “I was afraid you’d say that.” Bess sighed.
    “We need a lookout,” George said. “Bess, since you don’t want to go inside, why don’t you stay out here on the porch?”
    Bess looked out at the dark woods. “On the other hand,” she blurted, “it’s getting chilly out here. Why don’t I go inside with Nancy?”
    We walked to the front of the bunk, and George planted herself at the edge of the porch. The door creaked as I opened it. Bess and I walked in, and the first thing we did was check out the bunk beds—empty. No Casabians.
    “The sisters may not be in here,” Bess said, looking around. “But somebody’s made himself at home.”
    Bess was right. Clothes were draped over chairs and papers were scattered on top of a cubby shelf. A stack of paper cups, a squeezed tube of toothpaste, and a brush stood on the sink in the bathroom. On the floor next to the sink was a plastic gallon jug of water.
    “I wonder who’s here,” I said.
    Bess pointed to a bunch of arrows leaning against the wall and joked, “It’s either our shooter—or Robin Hood.”
    We walked throughout the bunk, looking for any clues on the mysterious inhabitant. I came up with an empty blue duffel bag, but it had no ID tag. Underneath the clothing on the chair I found a small plastic bag with first aid supplies—a roll of bandages, a tube of antibacterial ointment, cotton balls, and a plastic bottle of