Camp of a Lifetime

Please note: this story was provided by the author and published as is.

It’s moving day.

And it’s just me and the boxes now. I’m drifting around the foyer, floating past the stacks of sealed-up cardboard, as if the movement can somehow help, like the motion can safely navigate me through these uncharted waters. So many questions and complicated emotions, and not enough time to process them.

I can’t believe this day has come.

My feet plod down the plywood staircase. Each step squeals, shifts, as if the entire structure is unsure. My hand floats out to the missing handrail. Another project that sort of just fell by the wayside, for another day, another summer. Such is life, I guess. Down into the chill of the dark, unfinished basement, my hand finally catches the dangling string. I pull, and the room ignites with light.

When did we accumulate so much crap?

I scour the converted storage room for one last-minute check, like I haven’t combed through the area a million times in the lead-up. But there’s always that chance you’ve forgotten something important.

My eyes wander to a corner I had ignored for years. An Amazon box beside Buckley’s old things labelled “Christmas Ornaments”, though I knew that wasn’t what lay beneath the flaps of dusty cardboard.

I reach in and retrieve the folded pamphlet sitting on top. A row of silly cartoon animals’ smile back, their paws wrapped around each other. The flyer’s caption reads: “Camp of a Lifetime”.

For a moment, it pulls me back to a distant pocket of memories. Moments buried so deep that you hope you’ll never find them.

It was supposed to be fun, right? Summer at that age was for making friends and getting to know yourself. That was the depth of our thinking here—get her outside and engaged in activities. All of her friends were going to camp. Dale was working more overtime than I felt was legally possible, and I had my hands full chasing our toddler around the house all day. I would be lying if I didn’t say we had welcomed some time back, and Sophie was just as excited for the experience. So, we signed her up and helped her pack.

We received the first letter a couple of days later. It read:

Letter #1:

Dear Mom & Dad,

Just checking in to let you know I’m okay. 

The weather here has been perfect. Hot, but not too hot, like that one summer at Grammy’s lake house when Buckley got sick. Actually, this place reminds me a lot of that place…real quiet and still. You can see right down to the bottom of the water. 

Bev says this place used to be an old adventure park or something. There’s just so much you can do! I nearly caught a fish the other day! Well, a minnow, according to Counsellor Brady, but it was me who held the line and baited the hook and everything. All me. Worm guts all over my fingers, my hands shaking like jelly. Dad, you would have been so proud!

I’ve learned how to set up our tent and how to tie some wicked knots! Slip knots, square knots, and the one with the pretty, intersecting circles. Gosh, what’s that one called again? I’ll ask Bev, she will know. 

I’ve also had a lot of time to think…I know I haven’t been the best daughter at times. I’m going to be a better sister to Katie, too. I miss you guys a lot!

The forest makes noises at night that I’m still getting used to. Strange clicking sounds. Almost like chattering. Bev says it’s normal for gross things like grasshoppers and fireflies to come out at night, but I haven’t seen any just yet (thank God). Sometimes you can hear the coyotes howl. Pretty neat, huh?

It can get pretty cold here at night, but we stick together. You packed enough for the both of us, Mom!

There’s supposed to be fireworks tonight. Can you believe that? Maybe I’ll even get to shoot one into the sky (yes, I promise, I’ll be careful). 

Anyways, kiss Bucks for me. I hope he’s being a good boy and not missing me as much as I miss him. 

Mom—I’m still holding your bracelet tight.

Miss you guys,

Sophie

***

She had wrote back.

She had actually listened.

I remember our astonished expressions in the kitchen. I shed a tear in the hall. That’s all you want as a parent: to know your kid is adjusting and doing well. We were overwhelmed with pride. Even Katie had begun to ask about her, the bickering and moaning put aside in some magical twist of fate.

Then the second letter arrived:

Letter #2:

Dear Mom & Dad,

I’m proud to say I’ve earned my first wilderness badge! I can start a fire like a caveman and know how to spot edible mushrooms and berries. Brady thinks I have a real knack for this kind of stuff. He thinks I could get a leadership one, too, but I’m not too sure about that. The kids are nice and all, but I don’t know, I guess I don’t feel too comfortable yet. Brady has been really good for that, though. He always tries to help me along and make me feel safe. 

It was a figure-eight knot, Bev confirmed it. Sometimes I wish I was more like her. I don’t think she’s even thought about home once this trip. You know how she is…anyways.

We’ve been playing a lot on the obstacle courses and rope swings. The structures look really old and dated, but they hold just fine and keep us busy. At first, I was really scared. It’s a long drop into the netting, and the perches stand taller than most of the trees, but if you focus and keep your head up, it’s really not that difficult. You can see the tips of the mountains from up there. It’s just so pretty!

I made a s’more for the very first time. I can’t believe you guys ‌have kept this from me for so long! It’s the first thing I’m gonna make for everyone when I get home. 

Gosh, I miss my bed. It’s been really heating up during the day, and the temperature seems to linger. Some nights I don’t even use a blanket. The counsellors have been checking in on us a lot, making sure we are comfortable and have enough water. I have no idea when they go to bed, but Brady sure looks tired. He’s got his eye on this other counsellor; she’s really pretty. 

Anyways, just thought I’d send an update and let you know that everything is alright. I can’t wait until I come home.

Love you guys!

Sophie

***

I remember feeling much of the same way – just really missing her. It had been just over a week – a long time to be away from your family for an eight-year-old. She seemed really nervous still, but I was proud she was slowly creeping out of her shell. We were counting down the days. One more week to go.

Then we received the third:

Letter #3:

Dear Mom & Dad,

There’s been a lot going on lately! With all of this hot weather, we’ve been spending a ton of time at the lake. Floating on the blow-up rafts, diving off the rope swings. We’ve also been making up games to play on the playground. The other day during kickball, I took one mean ball to the face from this a-hole Benji. The redness is just starting to fade away, and I guess it’s not as bad as Bev’s forehead. She looks like a lobster, and it’s starting to peel something nasty. She keeps trying to flake the skin off onto some of the boys’ faces at night. Disgusting!

Brady’s been pretty quiet lately. Actually, most of the counsellors seem a bit off. Maybe they are just tired or bored or really homesick like me. I don’t know. They don’t tell us much, but all of the kids are talking.

I don’t think things went well with Brady and his friend. I can kind of relate…Bev seems to be getting along really well with some of the other girls. You know how she is when she’s in that rhythm… It’s not that she forgets me, but it sure feels that way sometimes.

I’ve gotten really good at skipping rocks across the water. Ten jumps is the record so far, and I’m getting better every day. 

I do have to admit that I got your bracelet wet the other day, Mom. Some stupid boy splashed me with a cannonball. I was so upset I cracked him one, so don’t worry. It’s drying in the sun right now so it doesn’t get ruined. 

Anyways, I’m told they’ve got some new games to play and mascots have arrived. Seems kinda corny, but it’s a welcome surprise!

Apparently, we are heading out for an excursion tomorrow! Can’t wait.

I miss you guys! Give Bucks a huge kiss!

Sophie

***

As a mother, you worry about little things. Sophie had been hurt. Her best friend seemed to be sort of drifting away from her. The mood of the camp…they seemed to have a lot less… I don’t know, control?

I remember Dale trying to talk me off of a ledge that evening. “Everything is fine,” he assured me. “It’s just kids being kids. In a few more days, she’ll be home.”

Created by: Danny Ingrassia

–kum-baya-mylord-kumbaya–

The eyes are just too big. Floating baseballs, shimmering and still, submerged in this black tide of trees. A hazy glare reflects back, blurred by a maze of broken pixels and shoddy camera work. But soon there are thuds like chalk brushes colliding. Mitts slapping together, again and again. 

Clapping. 

–kum-baya-mylord-kumbaya-kum-baya-mylord-kumbaya–

Humming.

A split-second glimpse of Sophie in the mess of children before the clip repeats.

Dale rubbed his temples, his forehead bunched in wrinkles. We stared as it looped, again and again, hoping the next re-watch would provide some sort of clarity. It didn’t. The more the clip played, the more a sickness swirled around in my gut.

What the hell was this? 

Dale gave my hand a firm squeeze. With the other, he gripped the home phone and dialled. 

We received the fourth letter a few days later. I remember Dale’s hand visibly shaking as he ripped open the envelope.

Letter #4:

Dear Mom & Dad,

I hope you get this. 

Brady said he is going to find a way to send a stack of these letters out, and then I didn’t see much of him all day. It’s like most of the counsellors have given up, counting down the days until camp is over. Some even look like they have gone home. It sucks. The activities, the badges, it’s all stopped. Most days are so quiet and boring that we look forward to the occasional game, even if some of them are weird.

Things have changed a lot around here. It feels…different. Kinda like when Uncle Mickey starts going off about politics at Thanksgiving. 

I’m not allowed to tell you everything, or I risk forfeiting a special trip to the party room. I could lose my share of fizzy drinks. There’s so much candy and popcorn now, and other things you would never let me have back home. But it’s okay. I promise I know my limits. 

This place…it’s not like the other place. There’s not a whole lot to do. Just patches of gravel and trees everywhere. I’ve yet to see inside the shack. I’ve come close a couple of times, but I’m bound to get there, eventually. I can’t lose forever, right? Someone’s got to pick me.

I really miss the adventure park. Bev thinks we are never going back there.

And these mascots aren’t as fun as they used to be. I really hate Pappy the Hound.

I want to come home now and fill you in on everything.

I miss you,

Sophie

***

She is fine.

I found myself repeating these words often—at the checkout line in the grocery store, while I was driving to the next play date—any time my mind tried to drag me into that crippling darkness where nothing can survive. I remember the other parents’ reactions, the cops’ uncertainty, and here I stood, across from the bathtub, as bubbles overflowed the porcelain:

She is fine.

Everything is fine.

The next day she was due for pickup. Not one counsellor or kid was found at the camp. We searched that place for hours, parents hollering and crying and scattering through the trees.

She was not fine.

She was gone.

When we returned home, it was dark, but the porch light exposed another orange envelope.

Tape #2: 

The children’s hair appears drenched, shirts soaked and clinging to their slumped shoulders. They are dancing in a circle, their movements disinterested. It is only when the bear enters the screen that their faces perk up with smiles. It urges them on with a clap of its paws, nudging their backs and hopping up and down in an agitated jig. There is no audio apart from the music: a subtle, twinkling tune reminiscent of a ballerina music box. They circle and circle with feigned enthusiasm, but it’s clear that many of them are shivering. The room is dark, the walls crumbling drywall. Some of the surfaces are speckled with questionable stains. The floor is missing tiles, and what is left is barely holding on.

A deer pops into frame, holding out a long wooden stick. A wolf grabs the other end. Then a boy bends backwards and leads with his hips, hopping his contorted body under, to the delight of the other mascots. The train of kids follow suit.

Sophie’s eyes flicker toward the camera before she shakes her hands and hips.

***

The cops had finally taken things seriously (Dale had made sure of that), but to say we were hopeless would be an understatement. The site was cleared of any evidence that people had ever been there. Parents were instructed to wait for any communication from the perpetrators. Patrol cars waited outside homes. Phones were tapped. But still, we were left with no answers.

The fifth letter was delivered by an elderly mailman. He nearly stumbled off the porch with a heart attack when the undercover cop approached.

Letter #5:

Hello Mom and Dad,

I am having such a blast with all of my friends and camp leaders! We are making memories that will last us a lifetime. This is the time of my life, and I don’t want it to end! 

But there is a slight problem…

The camp leaders have informed me that they have severely under-budgeted their supplies. We will run out of food soon. It’s nothing to worry about, but they have provided me an address below to send payment to. Bitcoin is the preferred method. It’s the cleanest, easiest way since we are out in the middle of nowhere. The more you can send, the better. The winners get a sleepover in the party room! 

I’m being a good little girl! I promise!

Sophie

***

A week had passed since camp was supposedly over. Between the parents and the police, there were many heated debates: should we pay the ransom or not? No specified amount seemed strange. Dale felt like they were feeling families out. Seeing what the life of their child was worth to them. Most of us didn’t know the first thing about Bitcoin or Crypto.

We never paid it. That was our biggest regret.

Tape #3: 

Boys and girls sit in a circle, the campfire’s dreary glow surrounding them. A furry squirrel is seated with them; it covers its eyes and then removes its hands as if playing peek-a-boo with the boy across. He doesn’t respond to it, only shivers. A beaver claps from the other side of the circle, bobbing up and down playfully. A bunny steps into frame, and slowly it places its paw on top of a girl’s ponytail. She flinches. It moves on to the next, and the next, each time placing a hand atop their heads. The only smiles are from the animals, plastic and painted. When it finally settles on the boy with an untamed cowlick, they both sprint in opposite directions of the circle. His eyes are saucers, roaring with panic. He rounds the bend, little arms and legs pumping. The beaver slips its tail out in front of him. The timing and girth of the material are just enough to send him off his feet. He topples headfirst, spinning toward the flames. Fits of hysterical laughter follow, too cartoonish to be real. The bunny’s felt tongue lolls out of its mouth as it hops mockingly toward the vacant patch of dirt they were chasing. The boy dusts himself off inches from the spitting embers. There are tears running down his cheeks.

You can just make out a tiny, rickety structure in the distance.

The beaver gives a goofy wave to the camera. 

It loops again. 

***

Written on the envelope was a dollar sign, followed by an astronomical number. 

Letter #6:

Hello Mom and Dad,

The camp leaders have mentioned that they have not received any payment from you yet. 

I am hungry. I am scared. 

Let me remind you that I should have been home weeks ago, but I promise you I am safe. 

I really need you to send some money, or things can change quickly here. I’ve written the instructions for you again below.

Please hurry. 

Sophie

***

At this point, the Dale I knew was gone. He wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. He was prying too much, I told him that. The police wouldn’t just sit on their hands. They were doing all they could. But as time wore on, I wasn’t quite sure…

His work sent him home on paid leave, and we proceeded to point fingers at each other, breaking things for no good reason other than to vent. It wasn’t healthy. It was destroying us.

We needed Sophie home.

What we got was the fourth tape delivered to our door.

Tape #4:

The screen is black. Splitting shrieks blare from the speaker. There is the hum of a distant generator hidden beneath the chorus of cries. Somewhere in the chaos are the sounds of water. Volleys of splashes. The sound of an alligator thrashing and smashing its prey near the surface. More crying. More screaming. 

Two bulbous, glow-in-the-dark eyes appear. Then, a voice that clearly has been modified: 

“Send the money or camp is over.” 

***

We were called into the precinct around 7:30am that morning. Leaves and a hint of flurries scattered across a gust of autumn air, the brisk whoosh forcing me into Dale’s embrace. I tasted the stale, cinnamon breath on his lips, the morning whiskey sloshing around in his tumbler.

The room was cold, lifeless. Dale and I stared at the blank walls in silence. It had been months since we had returned here, and never together. He held my hand, bracing for the news.

A detective walked in and dropped a hefty file folder on the table. He was not the one we were used to dealing with—this one was a stout man, all belly and moustache.

Detective Walker began to detail the many challenges they had been facing: from forensics on the letters and USB drives, to casting out a wider net on their search through campsites to adventure parks to even abandoned theme parks, a search that spanned across multiple county lines and states. My fingers nervously picked at my bracelet, spinning every bead we had placed together. The letter S for her name. The C for mine. Much of this information did not feel new.

In one of the most recent tapes, an old watchtower had been spotted. The image was blown up, and they were able to trace back some of the materials to a manufacturer. The company had gone out of business, but the owner was tracked down. They narrowed down the leads to spots that fit the proximity of the kidnapping.

Before he could finish, the metal door swung open.

***

Two exaggerated honks burst down the stairwell. It wakes me from my daze.

I shuffle through the box quickly. Sucking in my breath, gathering my composure, I leap up each creaking step.

The boxes had left the foyer.

My God, I was too late.

Sprinting out into the blinding sunlight, for a second, I really believe they are gone. But leaning against the Ford Fiesta, Sophie grins. Dale stands next to her; the back seat folded down behind them to cram all of the boxes inside, the furniture stuffed to the windows. More of it was strapped to the roof.

“You sure you don’t want to pack the house, too?” I ask.

She scoffs, shaking her head. Katie comes dashing in from the house with another bag for Sophie.

“We really should be going,” Dale remarks.

I stroll to Sophie, wrapping her in the biggest hug. Her UCLA hoodie has damp patches when I finally release her, streaks of mascara around the stitching. She smiles, wiping her glistening eyes.

Her hair had been cut shorter when we found her, chopped in an awkward, lopsided bob. She was nothing in that oversized sweatshirt; her face sunken with swollen eyes starved of rest. A jagged scar ran across her forehead that she could never (or would never) explain.

But it was her.

Through years of therapy, Sophie was able to process much of the trauma. The nightmares would never leave her, though.

She would recall much of her time at camp in pieces: some cliff by the edge of a gully, the stale, choking cloud of bleach and rot, patches of gravel, stars like diamonds, and a nature society had no bearing over.

The games.

The abandoned pool room.

The best way for her to process it was through sketches. A smiling cartoon moon with a toothy grin. Its eyes seemed to follow you everywhere. Only its texture always appeared odd against the wall, like it had been painted crudely, unoriginal to the place. Water spouted from a fountain in a sickly stream, like a tiny puncture wound in a hose. A lonely red slide stood in the corner.

Something always haunted me about this picture, this place. Like its thin veil of “fun” could not mask its misery.

She would hear the deafening thuds from the locked pool room they found her in. It would haunt her for many months, years. Sometimes I wonder if she will always hear it.

Her hair is pulled back in a tight pony now, her frame grown into a young woman’s. The scar is nearly gone, merely a faded, milky-pink line only truly noticeable in the sunlight.

She urges me not to worry, as I back away, begrudgingly. Promises me she will be home soon.

But I have heard that line before.

When they have safely left the cul-de-sac, I pull out another letter from my back pocket.

“What are you looking at, Mom?” Katie inquires.

It was the last one received prior to the kids being rescued. It had the same cartoon array of animals, only a different slogan that read: “Thank you for choosing the Camp of a Lifetime! We hope to see you soon!” Police assumed the set of coordinates accompanying the picture was a pickup address. It led them deep into a remote stretch of swampland, far from where they eventually found the children. Far from anything, really. They never found the captors.

I wanted to wish her good luck. Study hard. I wanted to tell her I loved her.

But all my emotions would allow was a subtle wave goodbye as Dale pulled out of that driveway.

And, like we all have to do when the time calls, I had to let her go.

She will be fine.