The Campsite

During my Boy Scout troops' summer camp, we had lots of fun. We swam everyday, earned badges, and ate gourmet food. But on July 3, 2012, something bad happened. 5 scouts went missing. All of them were from different troops, so there was a hard time pinpointing who would've wanted them. They were all last seen at noon, and from then on they had been classified as "missing."

Because police cars were pouring into the parking lot, and because they didn't want anybody "tampering with evidence", they had us stay in our campsites, to 15 away from them. Me and my friend, however, had different plans. Behind our campsite was a big, steep hill, and we wanted to explore it. So when no one was looking me and my friend stealthily scaled the hill. It took a while, but we eventually reached the top. We were surprised by what we saw- a campsite! It had a small sign with the sentence "Camp #0" written on it. It was disappointing, however, when we saw the camp only had two tents. One had a made bed and a duffel bag full of necessities in it. There was also a table with a cover suspended over it. On it was two coke cans, and one extremely sharp stick. It looked like it had been sharpened with a machete, or some other sharp knife. The final tent's flaps were closed, but me and my friend eagerly opened it, hoping for something interesting. What we saw was interesting, in a way. It was the bodies of the missing scouts.

Me and my friend stumbled away, and stared at the tent in silence, hoping that we hadn't seen what we thought we'd had. Once my friend and I snapped out of our deep trance, the sounds of twigs snapping and leaves crunching met our ears. We dove behind a giant bolder, and sat in silence, listening to what was happening behind us. Three different voices broke the silence. "HELLO??" Whoever said that sounded like they were in a panic. Two very deep voices replied "Were back." I noticed the two voices. They were from my troop, their names were David and Mike. I also noticed who the panicky person was- another kid in my troop, named James. James repeatedly said "STAY AWAY, YOU FREAKS", until the deafening noise of breaking bones and screams silenced him. A loud thump was heard indicating that James had passed out or died. Blood puddles spattered everywhere, especially around the rock where we were hiding. My friend, being the scaredy cat he is, screamed a loud scream, blowing our cover. I gave him a death glare as we ran down the hill.

We ran the wrong way down, however. This side had many more stumps, roots and rocks. My friend and I had just started running as he tripped over a large stump. He jumped up and began running again, only to be stabbed in the back by the sharp stick we had seen earlier. He screeched, and tears began rolling down his cheeks. I would've helped him, but I saw Mike and David approaching and kept running. The last I saw of him was as he was being dragged away, screaming for help. A deep feeling of guilt, and relief, filled me as I reached the bottom of the hill. The hill bottom met the field, where officers were investigating the disappearances. The field went silent as all the officers turned toward me. An officer ran up to me, saying "Why are you here? Go back to your campsi-" He stopped, mid-sentence, as he noticed blood spatters on my shirt.

He then said "What happened to you?" The whole story came flowing out, but another officer stopped me and said "Where are they?" I pointed to where the trail was. They all pulled out there guns, and investigated the steep path. They came back with Mike and David, and my friend. My friend was cut up, missing an arm, yet still alive. An ambulance arrived, but my friend was done for. He had been rushed to the hospital, but we later got a phone call stating he'd passed away the night before.

I came back this year, 2013. I once again visited the campsite, but I heard voices, and hid behind the same rock I had hid behind the year before. I then heard some voices- belonging to David and Mike.