Bible Camp Bloodbath Read Online Free Page A

hand gestures the whole time. Every time he said “snap” he pretended to break a stick with his hands. Snap. Snap. After he said “grinding” he made a sound in his throat that was not right.
    “I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” Chip said. “I have to go collect our other campers” He waved and headed back toward the main building, leaving Martin alone with Ricky.
    “He didn’t die, either,” Ricky said. “That’s the sick part. He’s still alive out west somewhere. Somewhere where there’s no hills, because he pushes around a wheelchair that he controls with his tongue. I heard that every once in a while his head comes loose, and it rolls around on his neck because the bones aren’t connected. Someone has to come and help him put it back in his plastic brace. Otherwise it just swings down and he has to look at his chest all day.”
    Another pair of boys was coming toward the cabin. The kid on the right had long hair down to his shoulders and he had the bluest eyes Martin had ever seen. The kid on the left was fat and he was wearing all black even though it was hot out. Ricky saw where Martin was looking and he nodded.
    “What did I tell you?” he said. “Dressing all in black on a day like this. Man. Weirdo kids.”
    * * *
    Martin woke in the dark, terrified that there was a man in the room with him. It was too dark. The blankets felt wrong. It took him a minute to remember he was at camp. It was darker here than his room at home. He breathed in and out and counted to ten as quietly as he could. He felt certain that there was a man in the dark there, about to whisper his name. Already smiling. Martin counted to ten again and then backwards from ten. He wasn’t going to scream. He could control himself. He pulled the blanket tighter and listened.
    Nothing. There was nothing. Nobody there in the dark.
    Would Ricky be able to help him if something happened? Or Chip? Chip was right in the next room. Would Chip be able to help? But what could they do? Nobody would help him. He was certain. He might as well be alone. Martin squeezed his eyes closed and it didn’t make any difference. The dark was there, too. And in the dark, the man. He tried to breathe in and out calmly. When he was almost asleep again, he thought he heard a man’s voice whisper a name, but it wasn’t his name, and it didn’t wake him up.

6.
    Franklin stood at bat, his hands gripping the wooden baseball bat tightly. Twisting on the tape wrapped around the handle. The pitcher pitched and the ball went right past. Again. All day the ball had been speeding right past. How many times was he going to have to stand here? Behind Franklin, Jim was the catcher, twelve years old with a high pitched voice.
    “Strike two!” Jim yelled.
    A trickle of sweat came down from Franklin’s brow. He gripped the bat tighter and waited for the next pitch. The pitcher lifted his foot, tilted back and threw the ball and Franklin swung hard. He swung hard, the bat missing the ball entirely and whipping back toward the catcher. It hit Jim’s leg below the knee with a crack. The bone snapped, cutting out through the skin of the leg.
    Jim screamed.
    The coach was there in a second, kneeling down beside Jim while Franklin dropped the bat and backed away.
    “It was an accident,” Franklin said.
    “Don’t look,” the coach said. The shard of bone stuck up through Jim’s skin. Jim cried and looked away. “It doesn’t look bad,” the coach said. He lifted the leg a little and lowered his face so that he could see better. There was blood pouring out from around the shard of bone now, dark and thick. “In fact,” he said, “it looks good.” With that the coach gripped the leg tight and ran his tongue along the white bone, licking up the blood, sucking on the marrow.
    “What the hell,” a man yelled from behind him. “Goddamnit, turn so that the camera can see what you’re doing. And can we get some more blood on that bone? It looks like a candy