APOCALYPSIS: Chapter 1

    Anastasia was lying on her bed, when she heard a loud thump outside her door. There on the floor was a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. Turning it over she saw that it was addressed to her; Anastasia Cullen, Westerlo Dr. Albany, Oregon. She brought it into the kitchen where her father, Walter Cullen, was reading the newspaper.
    “What’s that?”
    “A package just came through the letter box…”
    “For you or for me?”
    “For me…” She went back into her bedroom for privacy. Upon opening the parcel, she saw various reading material and a green event diary emblazoned with the words ‘Camp Calapuyau’ in blue lettering. Flicking through the pamphlets, she saw that it was a summer camp, based just outside the town of Eugene in Willamette Park. All of a sudden, she got a really bad feeling about all of this and then she found the letter addressed to her. As she read it her bad feelings were compounded;

Dear Ms. Anastasia Cullen,
   
    We are delighted to inform you that you application to Camp Calapuyau has been reviewed and accepted. Classes begin on Monday 5 June 2017 and continues for a period of four weeks. Please bring along your diary and any other provisions you might need, all information is provided in the starter packs.

Signed,
Assistant Camp Director
Ms. Lytton

    She jumped down from the bed, nearly crumpling the letter in the process and stormed back into the kitchen. “You did this on purpose? Didn’t you? You wanted to ruin my life…”
    “I’m sorry honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” he said calmly.
    She slammed the letter down on the table and left the room. How could he be so thoughtless? To sign her up for a summer camp, without so much as telling her? She had plans to hang out with her friends all summer at the mall, to hang out with her new boyfriend Kirk. She didn’t have time for arts and crafts. She went into her room and slammed the door. Her perfect day, so full of hopes and joys; the soft kisses and promises of summer, had been ruined. What was she going to do now? She flopped on the bed with her head in her hands and tried to cry. But her body was too parsimonious with its ration of tears to allow her even this luxury. And then she heard the muffled sound of her father knocking on the door.
    “Don’t come in.”
    He came in anyway. This made her even more angry, but before she could react, she saw the look upon his face; shocked, non-combative, empathetic even. “Anastasia, I didn’t have anything to do with this…”
    “You must have…”
    “There must be some mistake… Maybe it was addressed to the wrong person…”
    “No, it can’t be. There’s our address and everything…”
    “Well, is there a phone number I can ring, or something? If there is I can get this thing straightened out right away…”
    She searched around in the pile of papers on the bed with her father, and then he picked up a flimsy document and paused.
    “What is it?” she asked.
    “It’s an invoice… Wow, this camp is expensive…”
    “Is it?” She took the slip of paper off him. “How much?” At the bottom of the invoice the name of the payee was printed in capital letters; JULIA CULLEN, her mother. “But it can’t be… How is this possible?”
    “I don’t know…” he said searching through the rest of the papers until he found the camp’s phone number. “But I’m going to find out…”
    While he was gone, she stayed trying to fit the pieces together. The date on the invoice was 3 October 2007. That just a few short weeks before her mother’s death. She must have intended this as a last parting gift to her daughter.
    This changed everything. It was easy to be angry with her father, but when it came to the memory of her dead mother, that was a whole different story. She went out into the hall, “Put down the phone dad, I’m going to the camp…”


    Liane and Sylvia were sitting on the road outside of Sylvia’s house, just a few doors up the road from Anastasia’s house. Sylvia and Anastasia had been friends since as long as they could remember. Liane, on the other hand, had only come to know recently with the advent of their new high school. She was a bit ditzy at times, which provided Sylvia and her with no end of amusement and they both loved her dearly. The two girls had their bikes out on the sidewalk and were looking at their phones, when she arrived. “Hey Anastasia, Liane and I were thinking of driving up to the Wolfe’s Creek tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
    Wolfe’s Creek lay about ten miles out of town. No doubt Aaron, Kirk’s friend had offered to drive them up there, he was sixteen. “I can’t… My dad wants to take me shopping all weekend.”
    “You can come up there with us next weekend. Kirk is going to be there.”
    “I won’t be able to make that either… The truth is I’m going to summer camp.”
    “What? You’re serious… Is there anyway out of it?”
    “No… The truth is I want to go…”
    This was cause for even more concern. “Why?”
    “It was a present from my mother…”
    “Your mother… But? Anastasia…”
    “I know… I was surprised as anyone… It seems as if she put my name down on a waiting list and it only just came through…”
    “That’s one long waiting list…”
    “Where is it?”
    “In Willamette Park, just outside Eugene…”
    “Hmmm, be careful out there…”
    “Why?”
    “I hear that lots of kids have gone missing in the woods there…”
    “Who told you that?”
    “It’s all over youtube.”
    “Liane, you’re just trying to scare her? I’m happy for you Anastasia…”
    “Thanks…” she said burying her head in Sylvia’s soft hair. There was a blast from a car horn behind her and then she heard her father calling her. “Listen I have to go… Have a great summer… and hands off Kirk, he’s mine…”
    The two girls smiled at one another. “Oh we will…”


    Samantha Harding turned off the light in her room and climbed into bed. She could hear her father talking in the next room. She could just about make out his muffled words through the wall.
    “What’s the matter with her?”
    “George, you know she’s having trouble…”
    “… but why does she want to sleep in with us? She’s fifteen years old for God’s sake…”
    “She’s sixteen…”
    “Even worse…”
    “Look… You know she’s have trouble sleeping, why don’t you just show her some compassion.”
    “Compassion… And that’s another thing… She complains about monsters in her room, what kind of…”
    “George…”
    “No… What kind of sixteen year old still believes in monsters…”
    She tried to block out their voices; to block out reality. Perhaps, the thing would leave her alone and go bother someone else. Her parents, for example. See how they like being stuck in bed, unable to move, as it slides in beside them. But she wouldn’t wish this sort of dread on anybody, least of all her parents. She put the thought clear out of her mind and after no small amount of concerted effort, drifted off to sleep…
    It was sometime later when Samantha awoke again and her eyes adjusted to the half-light of morning. Even before this, she sensed a presence in her room. It was standing over the bed watching her, silently probing. She tried to move, but her arms and legs were paralysed.
    Why didn’t it ever do anything? It was always just stood there staring at her. All at once, the shadow moved, and she wished it hadn’t. He climbed onto the bed.
    It’s just a dream, she told herself, just a dream; but she knew it really wasn’t.
    Her parents were in the next room. They’d come to her rescue; they’d hear her cry. But when she opened her mouth to scream, no sound came out, just the wind.
    The shadow man crept closer. He was on top of her now and she could see that she had been horribly mistaken about him.
    It wasn’t just that he was shrouded in darkness, he embodied it. A living shadow, like something from a picture book.
    She was unable to breathe now, such was his weight pressing down on her chest. Unable to move, or to cry for help, and the terrifying reality of the situation finally began to dawn on her. If she did not get out of this situation quickly, she would suffocate to death.
    The shadowy man pried open her mouth with his thumb and forefinger. He bent down as if to kiss her lips, or so she thought, but he stopped just short of touching her. At first, she didn’t know what he was doing. She felt the strength draining from her body, and a bluish smoke arose from her mouth. And then, she knew in an instant; the monster was taking her soul.
    “Sssh, sssh,” it said in a clear voice. “It will be all over soon…”


    Anastasia got ready to place her suitcase in the car. It was six o’clock in the morning and the sun had yet to rise, but if they were expecting to get down to Willamette National Park by nine o’clock, there was nothing else for it. Her father was standing next to the car, checking messages on his phone and with a grim expression on his face. She stood looking at him and flapped her arms by her side.
    “Are you ready?” he asked without looking up.
    “All set.”
    “Good.”
    They got into the SUV and she gave a last fond-farewell to her home. As they drove along, she noticed that her father was being unusually silent. “Everything ok?”
    “Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he said and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “How about a little music, eh?”
    He flicked through the stations and the sweet, citrus tones of the violin filled the car. “That was Mendelssohn’s a Midsummer’s Night’s Dream,” said the radio announcer. “You can really feel the light bouncy feeling in the piece, as the fairies come marching across the stage…”
    Anastasia took a drink of water from her bag.
    “And now we return to Mendelssohn’s overture,” continued the announcer. “Here he tries to capture the more disquieting and malevolent side of the fairy realm…”
    Outside the car, the landscape had changed considerably. The road had become much narrower and wound its way up around the valley like a demented snake. Anastasia watched the verdant green of the forest flow by, with the occasional rushing waterfall glimpsed in between. Before long they reached the entrance to Camp Calapuyau and seeing the coach load of children being bussed in, she began to feel anxious.
    How will I know who to make friends with? she thought. Will I even like it? Then she noticed that some of the kids on the buses were very young indeed. Get a grip, she told herself. If these kids can handle spending four weeks away from their parents, then so could she. Now might be a good time to check her bag to see if she had left anything behind. A couple of bars of chocolate, an apple, some sandwiches, a drink, a well-thumbed copy of Jane Eyre, and the green diary. The diary she understood to be important, as it contained the only map of the camp grounds, as well as a neatly laid out timetable, which told her exactly where to be and when.
    “Have you got everything?”
    “Yes,” she said zipping up her bag. “Oh hang on a sec.” She put her hand up to her neck and felt for the three interlocked rings on a silver chain. “Yes,” she said again.
    The necklace had been a gift from her mother and was one of the most important keepsakes that she owned. She recalled the night, when her mother had placed it around her neck and told her that she would be safe forevermore from the monsters that lurked under the bed. Even now that she was several years older, she still had a feeling of security whenever she took hold of it.
    “You still have your necklace?”
    “Yes…”
    “Good,” he put his hand on her knee. “You know you’re becoming more and more like your mother with each passing year…”
    She didn’t think so. She had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as her mother, she doesn’t didn’t think of herself as classically beautiful in the same way.
    After a long drive up a winding roadway, they came to the visitor’s carpark. Anastasia got her suitcase from the back seat of the car. She overheard her father introducing himself to one of the other parents. “Hi, I’m Walter,” he said.
    Great that’s all I need, she thought, my dad embarrassing me.
    Just then two pink-sandalled feet planted themselves in the dirt before her and she looked up to see a girl about her age with shoulder length brown hair and milk white skin peppered with freckles. “Hi, I’m Wendy,” she said extending her arm. “And this,” she said indicating to a young boy holding a green bucket and spade and hiding behind her legs. “Is Bruno.”
    “Hello, nice to meet you,” she said shaking her hand.
    Wendy smiled at her in the bright sunshine and all of a sudden she felt much of her previous cares and apprehensions melt away. It was odd, but it was as if she had known Wendy all her life, even though she had just met her. She wondered if Wendy had the same feeling.
    “So, where are you from?”
    “Albany…”
    “We were just there,” replied Wendy with a look of surprise on her face. “We’re from Wisconsin, originally, but we flew over to meet with relatives of ours who live there. Just for the weekend,” she added.
    “Wisconsin? You’ve travelled a long way, just for a summer camp, haven’t you?”
    “Yes, but Camp Calapuyau is the most prestigious camps of all. It’s the best really, we wouldn’t miss it for the world…”
    She nodded and got her bags from out of the car.
    “Come on. I’ll take you over to the Meeting Hall.”
    She started off in that direction when she heard her father calling her back. “You’re not going to leave without giving your father a hug, are you?”
    “Dad,” she protested nodding in the direction of her new friends.
    “That’s alright,” he said squeezing tightly and letting her go. “Just remember to wrap up warm at night and don’t forget to phone me if you need anything…”
    “I will and thanks Dad…”
    Wendy called to her from the shade of some willow trees.


    “They grow up fast, don’t they,” said Walter resuming his conversation with the woman who had introduced herself as Wendy’s mother. She had dark hair like her daughter, but her face was lined and bronzed with age and the effects of spray-on tan.
    “That they do,” she said folding away a beach towel into the trunk of her car. “I’m sorry Penelope’s my name.”
     “Walter,” he said accepting her hand and giving it a firm shake.
    “My you are strong, aren’t you?” she cooed. “Do you work out?”
    “Part of my job…”
    “What do you do?”
    “I’m a police office.”
    “With the police department?”
    “That’s right.”
    The woman looked momentarily shocked.
    “Is something the matter?”
    “No, it’s just… Well, Camp Calapuyau is so expensive. How on Earth could you afford it on your salary—” Then she stopped herself. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude…”
    He bit his tongue. “No, it’s alright… My wife’s side of the family booked it. They’re the wealthy side of the family. Not that we see them much anymore. We have… ah” he hesitated. “A difference of opinion when it comes to raising Anastasia…”
    “I see… And where is your wife?”
    “She passed away, actually…”
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said slamming the trunk.
    “Don’t be, it was a long time ago…”
    “Well, I’m sure she misses you very much.”
    “What?”
    “Anastasia…” she explained.
    “Oh right… She’ll be alright, don’t you think?”
    “Of course… Wendy will take good care of her. And besides the whole camp is very professional. You have nothing to worry about…”


    Anastasia rejoined Wendy under the willow trees. She and her little brother were looking at the ground where a colony of ants were busily making a network of channels. “What do you think they’re doing?” asked Bruno.
    “Looking for food, I guess…”
    Bruno picked up a twig and began poking at them.
    “Don’t…” said Wendy.
    “Why not?” he asked.
    “You’ll make them angry.”
    On the far side of the trees was a road with a small round traffic island and beyond that was low circular building with a conical roof like a witch’s hat. A black Lexus pulled up outside and two men and a woman got out.
    “That’s the museum and library,” said Wendy. “And over there is the fire circle.” She pointed to a large stone amphitheatre set back into the hillside to the right. “Further down is the lake. You’ll want to see that. It’s really lovely.”
    “Where to now?”
    “Eh, Conference Hall,” said Wendy confidently. “No wait,” she said turning around in the opposite direction. “I expect you’ll want to put your bag away first. Come on, I’ll take you to the dorm rooms.”
    She hoisted her bag and followed her down a sloping green to a group of low-lying rectangular buildings. Bruno carried on in a different direction and Wendy continued on talking, as if she hadn’t noticed. “What form are you in?”
    “Eh, seventh.”
    “Me too… That means we’ll be in the same dorm room. You can bunk with me…”
    “OK.”
    “Over there are the showers. The boys live up the hill there, for obvious reasons,” she smirked. Together they climbed the three wooden steps. Inside she could see a long dark room with bunk beds on either side.
    “This is our bunk, second on the left. I’m on top. You can sleep down here and then we can pass notes to each other…”
    She dumped her bags down on the dark green bedspread and looked around at the grey wooden interior. Light was streaming in through the windows and illuminated the dust motes. The place smelt dank and airless, but it had a kind of charm and mystery to it that she couldn’t quite place. Just then, group of about six or seven excited girls came into the room; talking and giggling. Wendy wasted no time in joining them. Clearly, they were all good friends, which made Anastasia feel even more like an outsider than she already did.
    She began unpacking her clothes onto the bed silently. The noise died down and then Wendy returned with another girl. She had on a striped t-shirt and wore her shoulder length fair hair down on either side of a pretty, but slightly pinched face.
    “Anastasia, this is Valerie. Valerie is head-girl here.”
    They shook her hands and exchanged a curious glance. Had they met before, she wondered? She couldn’t be sure. The petite girl cocked her head; sizing her up.
    “You from out of state?”
    “No, I’m from Oregon.”
    “You’re lucky. I had to travel from Boston to get here,” she said examining some of Anastasia’s clothing. “How is that you are just getting here now?”
    She wondered what Valerie was driving at and then Wendy came to her aid saying, “Well, there is a really long waiting list…”
    “I suppose…,” Valerie picked up one of Anastasia’s t-shirts and put it back down with disinterest. “ People with certain prestigious names get automatic admission to the camp. I’m a Vanderbilt, Wendy is a Hamilton… You are?”
    “Cullen.”
    “Cullen? I don’t think I’ve seen that one listed before… Oh this is nice,” she said picking up a blue blouse and holding it against her chest. “Can I borrow it?”
    She assumed it was some sort of test of her generosity and as she was going to be spending some amount of time with Valerie and the others, it was not a test she could afford to fail. “Sure…”
    “Thanks,” said Valerie taking it with her back to her bunk on the far side of the room. Just then, the loud clanging of a bell was heard from outside and all the girls began to file out the door.
    “That’s the bell for assembly,” said Wendy. “Come on…”
    Wendy lead the way around the back of the dorm to where there was a wide dirt road with a rows of quaint wooden chalets on either side. Directly behind the row of chalets was the beautiful blue waters of lake itself. The camp was surrounded by a number of mountains, the lower foothills of which were covered in deciduous forest of ash, oak and maple, while the upper slopes gave way to pines and, in some instances, precipitous bare rock faces. Two-thirds of the way up the road, they came to a large white building with stone pillars on either side of the door way. Children were filing in through this doorway from all corners of the camp.
    She noticed that many of the scouts, particularly the younger ones, wore a forlorn look on their faces. No doubt they were missing home and their parents. She wondered where her own father was now?  Probably half-way back to Albany by this stage.
    The Conference Hall consisted of a large room with a wooden floor and a stage area at one end. The young cub scouts took their seats on the floor directly beneath the stage, while the more senior scouts sat on chairs behind them. When everyone was seated, three people came in through a side door and mounted the stage. She recognised them as the three people she had seen going into the museum building, earlier on. One of their number, a man with a mop of orange-brown hair and a loose-fitting grey suit leaned over to his female colleague and appeared to whisper something in her ear.
    “That’s Jasper Collins,” said Wendy. “He is the camp director.”
    “And behind him is Mr. Bulwark,” added Valerie pointing to a man wearing a cowboy hat. The man, she noticed, was so morbidly obese that his rolls of fat appeared to envelope the chair he was sitting on. “He’s the sports coordinator.”
    “Sports coordinator?”
    “I know,” tittered Wendy.
    “Watch out for old Bill,” said Valerie. “He’s a real weirdo and a slime ball.”
    “Valerie thinks that Mr. Bulwark likes to perv on the girls in the shower rooms…”
    “He does,” protested Valerie.
    He was pushing forty, but looked considerably older. He had fat lips and pustules on his neck. But by far his most striking feature were his eyes, which appeared to protrude from their sockets. How disgusting, she thought…
    “Next to him is Ms. Katherine Lytton,” said Wendy pointing discretely to a woman in her late thirties wearing a grey suit. “She is assistant camp director with Mr. Bulwark and in charge of herbalism, home economics… that sort of thing.”
    Ms. Lytton wore large dark rimmed glasses perched upon the slender bridge of her nose. Indeed everything about Ms. Lytton appeared slender and catlike. In this regard, she was the complete antithesis of Mr. Bulwark. Her jet black and oily hair was pulled back severely from her face and tied into an elaborate bun on the back of her head.
    “Most of the staff refer to her as Kat, though.”
    “Yeah, especially Mr. Collins, who can’t get enough of her…”
    Mr. Collins certainly did seem to have eyes for his female colleague. He was constantly walking up to her, touching her and making her laugh. She thought there was something unseemly in this behaviour, especially as it was being done in front of the entire congregation of a hundred or so young and impressionable scouts. She looked back at Valerie and Wendy questioningly.
    “I know,” said Wendy nodding.
    “It’s disgusting what those two get up to,” Valerie concurred. “One time I heard…”
    But before she could go on any further another of the instructors lay a hand on her shoulder. “Now, now, Ms. Vanderbilt that’s enough of that…” she cautioned.
    Valerie froze solid in her chair and replied, “Yes, Ms Monroe.”
    “Pay attention now children,” she said and indicated back towards the stage, where Mr. Collins was now taking his place at the podium.
    “Good morning,” he said and then recoiled as the microphone gave a burst of feedback. “Sorry about that… Before we begin, our caretaker Mr. Haight would like to say a few words about camp safety. Apparently, there was an incident last year involving some our scouts breaking into the tool shed. Is that right, Mr. Haight?”
    The microphone buzzed again as he stepped back and a heavy set man wearing blue overalls and a knitted woollen jumper strode onto the stage. Nobody dared move fear of making a sound. The caretaker had a shock of black hair and a mottled complexion. His voice was just as rough and unrefined as his appearance. “Right,” he growled, pointing an oily digit to the crowd. “Now I want to make this absolutely clear to you all… That wooden shed out the back is strictly off limits, but to me and a few select members of the faculty. There are lots of dangerous chemicals in there. Last year, three of our scouts broke into that shed and started playing with the chemicals and they all got their skin burnt off… that was the incident Mr. Collins was referring to…” He looked at the camp director who nodded and then all of a sudden appeared to get cold feet and left the stage.
    Mr. Collins was up quickly in his place to reprise the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Haight for that most enlightening speech. Everyone, please give Mr. Haight a round of applause.”
    A subdued applause came from the mostly stunned crowd. Some of the younger scouts looked as though they might burst into tears. She could hardly blame them.
    “… Now with that out of the way, I’d like to welcome you all to the fifty-third annual Camp Calapuyau. You know that you are all special and that this year I promise you, you will all make it to the promised land of the Fifth Density…”
    A huge cheer went up from the crowd, with the younger scouts especially unable to contain themselves. There it was again, she thought. The Fifth Density. But what was it? Was it like another dimension? Had she stumbled upon some New Age cult?
    “Settle down now,” he said; the response was immediate. “Like I was saying… We do hope that you all pass through the Six Stages there to experience the light and splendour of the Fifth Density, but we know that this is very difficult for you… But even if you are not successful this time round, I can still guarantee an exciting summer of play, learning and adventure.”
    This was some bullshit, she thought. No wonder it was such a rip off.
    “Unlike other summer camps you might be used to, Camp Calapuyau does not simply focus on the physical and academic development of our young campers,” he continued. “But on the spiritual side also, which is just as important, in our opinion. That’s why our camp motto is ‘Ad Tota Persona’.. We like to focus on the whole individual and not just the part.”
    Anastasia noticed that Ms. Lytton was intently staring at her. Her eyes flashed and changed shape into the lateral lenses of a lizard. A moment later, the effect was gone; leading her to wonder if it was real of if she had simply imagined it.
    “That is why we have such great instructors here at Camp Calapuyau,” he went on. “Our staff and faculty members are all highly trained in the art of self-knowledge and self-discovery. And, if you listen to us, I promise you that we will lead you back to the Fifth Density, for you are all Children of the Darkheim…”
    A smile drew across Ms. Lytton’s face and Anastasia could not bring herself to look into her eyes anymore.
    “… We at Camp Calapuyau are trained in the ancient arts, laid out by our founder Eamon Radcliffe, who learnt everything he knew from Chief Otaktay of the Calapuyau Indians, as well as from the Tlingit and Singa tribes of Alaska. During his travels he brought back many artefacts, some of which — like the totem poles — can be seen on display in our museum…
    “… Over the coming weeks and even years we will be teaching you everything he learnt and even more about yourself. And hopefully, with a little luck you will rejoin your Spiritual Family in the hidden world of the Darkheim… Are you excited?” he said, closing over his notes before him. “I know I am…”
    There was resounding agreement from the audience and Mr. Collins began to wrap up his introduction. “Ok, well you all know where you should be, or at least you ought to. I’m taking form seven,” he said turning around to Ms. Lytton. “Is that right?”
    She nodded demurely and with that same indecipherable smile.


    Anastasia, Wendy and Valerie left the Conference Hall together. They crossed the yellow dirt road to a small wooden chalet filled with desks. She took a seat in the centre of the classroom and watched as the other girls from Form Seven came in and settled themselves. She expected to see some of the Seventh Form boys as well, but it soon became apparent that this wasn’t going to happen. “Where’s all of the boys?” she asked.
    “Segregation…” replied Wendy. “Girls and boys are split up for almost everything.”
    “How dull…”
    She smiled. “It’s part of the Native American tradition… We still have meal times with them, but the only other time you are likely to see them is at social gatherings like the Festival of Bealtaine…”
    “Beal-taine? What’s that?”
    “You don’t know? It is the Celtic Festival of Fire in honour of Baal, the protector of the camp…”
    “Hmmm,” she thought for a moment. “What was all that about the Fifth Density, this morning?”
    “Everyone who comes to Calapuyau is from the Fifth Density.”
    “Why have I never heard of it before?”
    “You have. You’ve just forgotten, like we’ve all forgotten. That’s what they teach you at this place, how to go back home…”
    The Fifth Density, Darkheim, Bealtaine: What had she gotten herself in for? By now all of the girls had taken their places and Mr. Collins had closed the door, to begin class proceedings. “Now girls, I trust you all had a good vacation?”
    “Yes, Mr. Collins,” the girls droned back in unison.
    “Good. I see that we have a new blood… What’s your name, child?”
    It took a moment for Anastasia to realise he was referring to her. “Me?”
    “Yes, you… Well, stand up and introduce yourself,” he remarked impatiently.
    She stood up and felt the disquieting feeling of having all the girls’ eyes dissecting her. “I-I’m,” she stammered, her voice sounded barely above a whisper, in her ears. “Anastasia Cullen.”
    The girls tittered amongst each other.
    “Is this your first time at one of these camps?”
    “Do you mean a summer camp, sir?”
    “Not quite…” he replied, his tone furtive. “Tell me did you know that the Radcliffe Institute has lucid dreaming camps across the entire continental United States, across the world in fact?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Well, then it appears there is a lot that you don’t know, isn’t there?”
    There was a burst of laughter and then she overheard one of the girls say; “Stupid newblood.”
    She looked in Valerie’s direction, but then realised that the remark had come from the rather chubby looking girl sitting behind her.
    “OK, sit down and let’s get started with this morning’s lesson, shall we?… Actually first I need to do our role-call,” he said taking out a large brown ledger from his briefcase and laying it on the table. “Amelia Astor?”
    “Here,” replied a chirpy girl with long dark hair seated across from Wendy.
    “Good… Eh, Carol Mason?”
    “Here.”
    “Annette Dinehart?”
    “Present,” said the overweight girl with the curly brown hair who called her the name a moment earlier.
    “Wilma Winthrop?”
    “Here.”
    “Wendy Hamilton?”
    She smiled at her new found friend.
    “Here.”
    “Anastasia Cullen?”
    “Here.”
    Her friend smiled back.
    “And Valerie Vanderbilt…” there was no reply. “… Also here.” He closed over the book and grumbled. “Right fine, everyone take out your Book of Shadows.”
    She looked around to copy what everyone else was doing. Wendy pulled out a blue bound manuscript notebook from her bag and showed it to her. “Is everything OK?” Mr. Collins' voice sounded from the top of the room.
    “Yes,” she said reprising the notebook from her bag.
    “Good, can anybody tell me, why we refer to it as the Book of Shadows?”
    A silence returned.
    “Nobody?”
    “It’s because of Eamon Radcliffe,” replied Valerie.
    “Correct. Our founder was interested in all aspects of Pagan Ritual Magick, from the beliefs and mythologies of the Sumerians to the Celts and the Native American Indians. The Book of Shadows belongs to the Wiccan traditions.”

    So, she was right. They are a New Age cult… Why would her mother wish to send her here, she wondered. Her mother wasn’t exactly what you might call ‘alternative’; not that that term even meant anything anymore.
    “… It is more generally a book of magical spells,” he continued. “But we will also be using it as a dream journal and for other such dreaming practices. Now, I want you to open you Book of Shadows on a fresh page and divide the page into three columns, like so…” He showed an example. “In the first column, I want you to write a list of animals. Whatever animals come to mind, it doesn’t matter which…”
    “Can I borrow this?” asked Wendy picking up the ruler.
    “Sure.”
    “… So, dog, cat, bear, rhino, that sort of thing…”
    She started to list animals in her neat handwriting.
    After about a minute, she had assembled a list of twenty or so animals; dog, cat, badger, elephant, rhino, chimpanzee, frog, gorilla, squirrel, horse, eagle, crab, shark, mosquito, pigeon, mouse and so on… When she was finished she looked around at the other scouts, still busily working away. All except for Valerie… She had obviously finished ahead of everyone else. Then she wrote another animal down; Snake.
    “All done?”
    “Yes, Mr. Collins,” they replied.
    “Good, now in the adjacent column, I want you to write down a positive or a negative attribute of all the animals you listed. So, for example, if you’ve written dog, you could say that a positive personality trait is one of loyalty. What’s a negative one?”
    Amelia raised her hand. “They’re filthy…” she said.
    A quiver of amusement went through the class and Mr. Collins said. “Quite right… Dogs are wretched, disgusting animals…”
    Why the hatred towards dogs, she wondered? She loved all animals.
    “What about a cat? What might a positive trait of cat be?”
    She stuck her hand up. “They’re soft.”
    “Yes, they’re soft, but that is more of a qualitative trait… I am looking for a personality trait…”
    Wendy raised her hand next.
    “Yes, Wendy…”
    “They’re intelligent.”
    “That’s right. And what about a negative? Can anybody think of one?”
    Wendy thought for a minute. “They’re sly?”
    “Yes.”
    “And lazy,” added Carol Mason.
    “Okay, lets not get carried away with ourselves… One will do…”
    The children chuckled again.
    “I’ll give you a few minutes to complete the task. Begin…”
    In her Book of Shadows, she began listing in the different attributes for the animals one by one. The first couple of animals were easy, as they had been broached in class already. A dog was indeed loyal, but she disagreed that they were particularly dirty; instead she wrote down ‘greedy’. She agreed that cats were both intelligent and sly. The next animal was that of ‘badger’ and this proved more difficult.
    At school, she was used to doing tasks that required her to memorise information and she was good at that, but here she was being asked to be more creative; to draw upon her own experience of the world, which was something she wasn’t all that used to.
    Then, she recalled that Kevin Dobson, a friend of her father’s, had been on a hunting expedition one time and had come across a hole in the ground. He knew that the hole was an entrance way into a badger set, and he had wanted to know how deep the hole was. He grabbed a big stick and began poking into the hole. The next minute out shot the badger, smacking into his leg and causing Kevin to fall over. She recalled how she had howled with laughter, when she had first heard the story from him and wrote down the word aggressive. For frog she wrote resourceful, although she really had no idea why. But somehow, she felt she was getting better at the task.
    In the end she managed to compile the following three lists;


    “Now how did you all get on?”
    There was no reply from any of the girls.
    “Any questions at all?”
    “I wrote down ants,” said Wendy. “But I couldn’t think of anything for them.”
    “Ah yes… Well, typically ants are associated with industry, community and craftsmanship,” he said reading from a stack of notes on his desk. “Their negative aspects are that they are warlike and invasive…”
    “What about bats?”
    “A bat is a symbol of rebirth, as it thought to emerge from its cave to live again each evening.”
    She looked at her own page and at all of the gaps in her knowledge. “What’s a positive attribute of badgers?”
    “Ah yes, the badger,” he said looking at his notes once more. “Tenacity and courage,” he read allowed. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you these handouts to look over and if you have anymore questions you can refer to them…”
    Stapled sheets of paper were passed around the class. Reading through them, she came to understand that the attributes of the animals functioned mostly on a symbolic level and in direct relation to prophecy and divination. If you encountered a crow and you wanted to know what that signified, you could consult your Book of Shadows and see that it foretold ‘magic and the ability to manipulate one’s physical appearance’. The notes also made repeated reference to the notion of spirit animals and totem poles in each of the different entries. She learnt that: ‘The appearance of animals are said to herald messages from the ancestors, who belong to the spirit world.’
    She recalled the ants that Wendy and Bruno were watching in the grass. Community and industry were certainly attributable to the camp, she thought. But ‘warlike’ and ‘invasive’? How on Earth did that fit in with anything?
    But she did not have long to ponder the question, before the sound of the old metal bell rang out around the grounds once more.


    Walter arrived back home, and put his feet up: today was the first day of his two week long vacation from the force. He would have very much liked to spend that time with Anastasia, but he expected Camp Calapuyau was more important to her, at this point.
    His phone showed two new messages. One of them was a voice mail and the other was sent from Kevin, a friend of his that worked dispatches for the department. Before he even read the message, he knew something of its contents. So, he wasn’t exactly shocked to learn that another young girl had been taken in her sleep the night before. Samantha Harding, just sixteen years old; cause of death unknown.
    Sixteen, he thought, just two years older than Anastasia.
    He knew the Hardings; but not very well. He had been round to their house once or twice for a poker game. He recalled Samantha was a quiet girl, but that was a long time ago. She had been much younger then. Should I call over and see them? Pay my respects? No… It was best to leave it for a few days. No doubt they would have enough to deal with, without old acquaintances like himself arriving on their doorstep in the midst of it all.
    In a drawer under his desk, he kept a case file of every missing person and unexplained death in Albany. It was a morbid preoccupation, but he had been forced into it by the sheer volume of cases, quite unprecedented for the size of population and growing more numerous each year. There had been four incidences of apparently young and healthy people dying in their sleep, in the last few weeks alone. And that was just in Albany. Ten more had taken place in surrounding neighbourhoods and towns in the same period. Jefferson, Millersburg, Riverside: there wasn’t a place on the map that was unaffected, according to his records.
    The majority of cases saw the deceased going to sleep on a particular night only to be found dead in their beds the next day. There were no obvious signs of bruising, except those which were thought to be self-inflicted. In general, the victims were found asphyxiated. Sometimes their bodies were found twisted up in the bedsheets; blue and contorted. The really bizarre incidences were the ones in which the deceased had left their beds in the middle of the night; only for their naked lifeless bodies to be found in parks, or in woodlands or water-filled ditches.


    He had spoken with his own superior at Albany Police station on the matter; Police Chief Emerson Stolz months ago and he still recalled what he said on that occasion. “There are no suspects, no leads and the cause of death was confirmed natural by the coroner in each instance. So what are you going to do about it?” He knew this as well as any one of course: There was nothing anyone could do. But what surprised him was why the media had never taken up the story. Undoubtedly, these strange deaths were talking place all over the country and yet they were never commented on by anyone other than the sporadic reports by the local authorities.
    But now that he was on vacation, he was free to pursue this any line of inquiry he wanted. He checked the obituaries page and saw that there was a service for the dead girl later that day at the local St. Paul’s church. Time to make himself look presentable, he thought.


    Anastasia and Wendy joined the other girls at the far corner of the camp, where the forest came down to meet the water’s edge. Ms. Lytton was there and Anastasia noticed that she had changed out of her suit and was wearing a black woollen jumper with combat trousers. She indicated to a heap of white canvas bags next to the wooden fence. “Right, girls. Grab a bag and follow me…” she said.
    They followed Ms. Lytton through the spring-loaded gate and up the old trail. While the girl scouts struggled up the steep incline, their teacher bounded on ahead with great agility and an enviable lightness of step.
    Before long they came to a less inclined area of tall pine trees under which was a sea of white and blue flowers. Their teacher sat down in the grass and asked them all to do the same. “Today we will use Native American Shamanic practices to identify which species of plant are edible and which aren’t. To begin with I want you to all select a plant, then examine it… Examine every inch; the stem, the leaves, and the flowers, if it has any. Once you have a good picture of it in your mind, ask the plant whether it is good to eat or if it has any medicinal properties… Take samples and note the answer down beside it, in your Book of Shadows.”
    Anastasia looked around her and saw a tall green plant topped with small white flowers. She began observing the plant in great detail; taking note of the little vascular tributaries; tracing their paths all the way to their terminus. She started to follow the course of another of the veins in the leaf, but quickly realised that she had forgotten the layout of the first, and so, had to start all over again. Getting a complete sense of the plant in her mind, at this rate, would be impossible, she thought.
    “What’s the matter?” asked Ms. Lytton. “Can’t you do it?”
    “I’m trying but there’s just too much to take in.”
    “Don’t be so rigorous… Just get a general feel for it.”
    She nodded and went back to her task. Once she had gotten a sense of the plant in her mind, she asked it if it was good to eat. To which the plant responded in a quiet, small voice; “Yes.”
    “What did you get?”
    “It said yes, it was edible…”
    “Don’t look so surprised. You see, it works… The plant is Garlic Mustard. Pick a few leaves of it and then move onto the next one…”

    A large plant with broad leaves, rough to the touch was her next subject. She examined the plant thoroughly, before asking it the same question and to her surprise she got a similar response. The experiment did appear to have repeatable results, at least, perhaps it wasn’t as hokey as it appeared. She broke off several of the large rhubarb like stems from the base of the plant and then joined Wendy and Valerie who were foraging near by.
    “What did you get?” asked Wendy.
    She took up the broad leaf and show it to her.
    “Ugh, burdock,” grimaced Valerie. “I hate that stuff.”
    “This one’s nice,” said Wendy pulling up a handful of green leaves and handing it to her.
    She sniffed the leaves and detected that they had a vaguely garlic aroma to them. “Wendy?”
    “Yes?”
    “What’s a new blood?”
    “Oh it just means that you’re the first generation.”
    “First generation what?”
    “… First generation of your family to join the camp and discover your true self…”
    “Oh…”
    “My parents went to this camp when they were young. So did Val’s.”
    “I see.”
    “Once the Soma Ceremony is over and you’ve been initiated, it won’t be such a big deal. Don’t worry…”
    “S-soma ceremony? What’s that?”
    “Whenever a camp member reaches a certain age or level of development, they are given an initiation ceremony where they let you drink the Soma. So I’ve heard, anyway..”
    “You haven’t drunk it yet?”
    “No, I was sick last year, when they were doing it. Hey, that means you and I will probably get to do it together,” she squeaked. “Hmm, fun… I was sort of dreading having to do it all by myself…”
    She smiled. Then she noticed Wendy was drawing in her notebook. “What are you doing?”
    “I’m making sketches of all the plants I pick, because some of them are too big to fit in the pages of notebook.”
    This made sense to her. She went back in the direction of the tall, thistle like plant and did her best to try to capture its image with lines of black ink. When she was finished, she examined her work. She realised that by drawing the plant you could get a good overall impression of what the plant was like. It would probably help with the psychic link up.
    On the far side of the wood, she saw a patch of shrubs swaying in the light summer breeze. The leaves were so dark, they were almost black. She went over to them and then noticed the wood shifted quite suddenly into deciduous woodland. She liked the look of this forest better, and tracked down the leaf-strewn slope into the unknown.


    Harmon awoke and lay with his eyes closed, trying to keep the world at bay a moment longer. It was no use the birdsong crept in under the gap in the curtains and with it the memory of what lay in store for him that day.
    Today was the day they buried his friend; Samantha Harding. He got up and dressed in his ill-fitting black suit; the one he had prepared the night before and poured himself a bowl of Krispie Chunks; a dollar brand cereal marketed to kids that tasted like cardboard topped with chocolate sprinkles. He looked around the room at the poverty and decay that surrounded him. Working as an artist was tough. Since leaving college he had made some money selling landscape paintings, but that had all dried up.
    The reason for this was probably due to his insistence on taking his work in a new direction; one which was not to the liking of the general public or — as it transpired — the art world. He had taken to painting scenes from his own dreams.
    Recreations of these nocturnal visions now covered every available space in his cramped one-bed flat. They lined the walls and hung above the doorways; stuck out from under the bed like a visual library of unsanctioned dream states. After he had finished breakfast, he took his bike down to Church Street and tied it up against the black railing. Friends and relatives of the deceased girl filed in through the gates; head bowed and sombre.
    He had been getting to know Samantha intimately, even as — unbeknownst to them all — her final days and weeks approached. Harmon had never met anyone quite like Samantha before. She was kind and honest; fearless — in a way — and intelligent. In fact, she was probably the most intelligent girl he had ever met in his life; and this was saying something. And yet there was something there; a darkness she hid from the world and from those around her.
    He could see it, because he shared the same dark world she did.
    She had spoken to him about the faces she saw at night when she closed her eyes. It was among the first things she had ever said to him and the last. It was this that made him fall instantly in love with her; not only for her brashness, but because in all his years of research — both in books and online — he had never heard anyone tell of that same condition. Of course others had admitted to seeing faces as they closed their eyes to fall asleep and to dream; but only himself and Samantha (it appeared) where subject to faces of such gross and malicious countenance. Nightly men with abnormally thick set jaws and scornful eyes intruded upon their slumber. Lately, he had found that they were not merely content to remain in dreams, but were spilling over into reality. A dangerous development, to be sure.
    They crawled across his bedroom floor at night, slid in behind the headboard and perched themselves on his chest with those leering grins, mocking eyes and salivating chins in the vague hypnogogic twilights of the mind. He felt sure that Samantha had witnessed these creatures too, although he had never gotten the chance to fully speak to her about it. He had never gotten the chance to do many of the things he would have liked to do with her; least of all tell her how much he loved her. As he was passing through the gates towards the church, his arm was scooped up into the arm of another girl. He recognised her as one of Samantha’s closest friends Amanda Carrington and next to her was her friend Julia Winters. Amanda’s hair was bright red and her eyes were a crystal blue laced with the onset of tears. Neither of them said anything. There was no need; her eyes said enough for both of them.
    The service was considered and to the point and although it offered solace to the family members and drew a line under their tragic loss; it did nothing either to alleviate or to remedy the passing of Samantha. Some people might have held that against the church, who professed to be the arbiters of God on Earth, but he harboured no such delusions. Priests were, after all men — no better equipped to solve such intractable problems as the next men. Afterward, he was given the opportunity to go shake hands with Samantha’s parents. He had heard much about them, and while much of it had been unflattering he still suspected that he would have gotten along well with any set of individuals capable of producing and moulding such a remarkable and unquestionably likeable person, as Samantha had been. But it was for precisely this reason that, in the end, he chose to forego the encounter. Meeting them, he felt, would have been like reimagining her and while the seed of their relationship had already begun to propagate in his heart, its life had been pressed and aborted. There was no need for him to pine or consider it any longer.
    He had been through difficult break ups in the past and he tended to get very emotionally involved in all of his partner’s; to the point of obsession — some would say. He never again wanted to feel that way about anyone. With age had come understanding and he had determined that he would no longer become drawn into an emotional feedback loop of his own creation. Instead, he would keep moving forwards, eyes fixed upon the new horizon and leave the dust of his old life, where it lay.
    When he emerged from the church, he stopped and waited for Amanda and Julia to rejoin him. As soon as they did; a middle-aged man with closely cropped red hair and a dark suit came up to them and asked for Amanda and Julia by name. He recognised him as belonging to the Albany police department. He had that smell about him.
    “I’m sorry to bother you… My name is Walter Cullen. I’m a police officer with the Albany police department,” he took out his badge and showed it to them. “I’m wondering if I could contact you later to ask you both a few questions.”
    “A-about Samantha, you mean?”
    “That’s right… I just want to find out a few things… Places she might have been, the people she was seeing. Purely informal…”
    Amanda clutched at the sleeves of her cardigan and nodded her affirmations.
    “Is there somewhere I can reach you?”
    “Forty three Hill Street.”
    “Is that along by the canal?”
    “Yes.”
    “I know the place.” He turned back in Harmon’s direction. “And my condolences again…”
 Harmon watched him leave and resisted the urge to spit on the ground.