The camp had been here a number of years. Decades old, built from the ruins of an old insane asylum. It had housed the mentally ill during the roaring twenties, through the depression, right up to the start of WWII.

The clientele was the usual mix of the rich and famous. Burned out starlets, washed up actors, other recognizable celebrities, politicians and all-around movers and shakers. They came to unlearn bad habits, correct their social skills and even a few for the mental healing. Maybe it was a resort for the filthy rich rather than a true mental institute. 

When war broke out in Europe, the Department of Defense claimed the site. Current residents were sent packing, a ten-foot barb-wire fence was erected and two elite Army squads were stationed here. White coats were continued to be seen on the grounds and while an occasional ambulance did arrive, most traffic was tightly seated Army convoy trucks.

The gossip in the nearby burg of Leonard included talk of mind control experiments, zombie sightings and the use of hallucinogenic drugs. Occasional screams could be heard coming from the buildings and while screams were nothing new, these had a certain eeriness to them now. It should also be noted, that while it was assumed people entered the gates, no one but the soldiers and the white coats were ever seen leaving.

Had we known of the camp’s past history, would we of continued to use it? Would it have made a difference? Would we of believed it? Doubtful because I still struggle with what happened the last time, I walk the paths and hills of this cursed place.

It was after curfew and we were looking for violators. Walking the camp, checking the usual locations. We were passing the large metal raised tube that was centered in the camp. A man hole cover of some type? An entrance to the sewer? I had no idea the purpose of this contraption. 

On this quiet night, as we passed the slight sound of scratching could be heard. We stopped, slowed out breathing, aimed our lights at it and listened. 

Glancing at each other it was evident we both were hearing this. Then something more mixed with the scratching, laughter or giggling? Yes, someone or something was down there.

I turned to run away, lose this terror and find my bunk. But my partner grasped my wrist and shook his head. With his other hand he reached out and took the rusted paddle lock that secured the top into his hands. 

He twisted it a few times and the old, fatigued metal snapped off. He looked down in surprise and terror, not knowing what might become of his actions. 

I mouthed “No”, and using my eyes begged him to leave here with me, to release me and allow me to run away. 

His eyes hardened and his stature intensified as he threw the lid back. I looked over the edge as he shined his light into the dark recess. There in the depths, almost past where the light could reach were eyes reflecting back the light. Eyes that begged for mercy and yet begged for flesh.

The only sound now was a faint, pitiful, “Help me’”

Without hesitation, he threw his leg over the edge and began to descend.

“No, no, no, please no”, I whispered.

When his legs had almost breached the level of the eyes, a hand shot out and wrapped itself around his ankle. With a quick jerk, he disagreed into the darkness. 

Before his screams ended, I had slammed the lid shut, placed a concrete block and it and ran.

I ran that night from Band Camp and never returned.

Roy Richard
August 2023