Well, that’s different.
Man bands are cool, and they show everybody that you’re a guy. Each of us made a man band, and then Aunt Nancy said we could pass them around to our friends if we wanted to. I gave my man band to Ryan. Ryan gave his man band to Michael. Michael gave his man band to Neil. Neil gave his man band to me. Candyman just kept his man band.
After that, we went to the mess hall for dinner, where we ate some disgusting yellow food that I couldn’t identify. The evening activity was some dumb movie about rabbits. Then we went back to the bunk.
“Okay, brush your teeth and put your pj’s on,” said Uncle Ray. “Lights out in fifteen minutes.”
“What?” I shouted. “It’s still daytime!”
“We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow,” said Uncle Ray.
“But it’s too early to go to bed!” complained Ryan.
It wasn’t fair. I told Uncle Ray that I get to stay up as late as I want when I’m at home. That wasn’t exactly true, but I thought it might help us win the argument.
It didn’t. Uncle Ray flipped off the light and told us he was going to play Ping-Pong with the other counselors in the aunts’ and uncles’ lounge.
“Good night, Owls!” he said. “No talking.” Then he left.
I lay there for a few minutes, trying to fall asleep.
“Pssssst!” a voice psssssted at me. It was Candyman. “A.J., do you want some candy? I’ve got plenty.”
“No thanks,” I whispered.
“Hey,” he whispered, “did you hear about the demon drone that hovers over the camp at night?”
“I’m trying to sleep,” I whispered.
“He’s got laser eyes that can see through walls,” Candyman continued. “As soon as you fall asleep, he floats down and—”
“Will you give it a rest?” I whispered.
It was quiet for a minute or two.
“Hey, let’s tell ghost stories,” whispered Neil.
“Yeah!” somebody whispered.
“I got a great one,” whispered Michael. “There was this ghost . . . ”
“Yeah . . . ”
“And he was dead,” whispered Michael.
“All ghosts are dead,” I whispered.
“So this dead ghost gets lost in the middle of the woods,” whispered Michael. “And he walks into a sleepaway camp.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “Then what happened?”
“Uh . . . ” said Michael, “the ghost killed everybody.”
“That ghost story was lame, dude,” I told Michael.
Ryan told a story about a ghost who eats aluminum foil and turns into a jet plane. Neil told a story about a ghost who eats kids, but only kids who are left-handed. We were making up scary ghost stories late into the night.
Finally, at some point, I fell asleep. That’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened. But I’m not going to tell you what it was.
Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.
It was pitch-dark, so I couldn’t see anything. But I heard a noise. It sounded like fingernails on the floor next to my bed. I didn’t think anything of it at first. But then, there was this soft grunting noise. I reached for my flashlight. I turned it on and pointed the beam at the floor. That’s when I saw it.
“THERE’S A SKUNK IN THE BUNK!” I shouted.*
Well that woke everybody up.
“Eeeeeeeek!” somebody screamed.
“What’s going on?” Ryan asked groggily.
“THERE’S A SKUNK IN THE BUNK!”
Everybody was yelling and screaming and hooting and hollering and freaking out. The other guys got out flashlights and shined them all over the place.
“Where did it go?” somebody shouted.
