Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca by John Luke Robertson Read Free Book Online Page B

and spiritual warfare. But as far as the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future visiting me anytime soon? Uh-uh. Nope.” You know the kids around camp love ghost stories. What camper doesn’t enjoy a spooky tale told around a campfire at night? But those are just tales. They’re fun stories to freak you out. Especially when you listen to them in the dark woods, with the creatures of the night watching you in the pitch-black. . . . You glance around nervously before following John Luke once more. The two of you head for the gym.
    John Luke hits the lights. “They’ve redone the floor.”
    You find a basketball and dribble it a couple times. “Once upon a time your grandfather could shoot some hoops. Football was always my sport, but I played some basketball too.” You take a shot but miss.
    Before you can retrieve the basketball and try for another shot, you notice a feather on the floor and pick it up. “What’s this from?”
    John Luke takes it and shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”
    “If you ask me, it looks like it came from some kind of Indian headdress or something.”
    “Maybe it’s from Chief Stinkum.”
    You stare at John Luke. “What in the world are you talking about?”
    “Haven’t you heard Dad tell the story? The ghost story about Chief Stinkum?”
    “Think I missed that boat.”
    “It changes every time he tells it. I like the Zodie Sims story better.”
    “Maybe there’s too much imagination happening around here,” you say. “That’s why kids are getting crazy ideas.”
    John Luke holds up the feather. “This has to belong to someone.”
    “I guess so. But there’s nothing else to see in this gym. I think it’s time to keep moving.”

    Do you head toward the lake? Go here .
    Do you look a little longer for someone to talk to? Go here .
    Do you go back to the Jeep to get your stuff and put it in one of the cabins? Go here .

MOMMY

    YOU GRAB THE GLOVES from the backseat of John Luke’s Jeep. The knife, you remember, is in the rear.
    The good thing about the Robertson family is there’s always some kind of hunting tool floating around, ready to be used.
    You put on the gloves and dart over to get the spider off John Luke. You grab it with one hand and attack it with the knife in your other hand, careful not to stick your grandson.
    Just as you free John Luke and stomp on the spider, you spot something at the doorway to one of the cabins.
    The spider you killed must’ve been Big Sis, and it looks like Mommy is still alive.
    She’s alive and very angry.
    The legs of the big spider that jumped on John Luke look half the size of the legs on this one. If that last spider was the size of a plate, this is the size of a copy machine. It’s gargantuan.
    It’s also so fast it looks like it can sprint.
    The spider is on you before you have a chance to move your arm. You try to use the knife but miss and somehow drop the knife by your side.
    “Papaw Phil!” John Luke shouts.
    Then everything happens in slow motion.
    You
    try
    to
    open
    your
    mouth
    but
    when
    you
    do
    all
    you
    can
    say
    is
    a
    very
    slow
    “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
    And somewhere in the middle of that long, drawn-out “noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo” that just keeps going and going and going, you hear something behind you.
    A door opening and shutting.
    Boots stomping.
    And a blast of gunfire.
    The spider explodes in a big, gooey burst of yuck. You turn to see who fired the gun.
    It’s Jase.

    Behind him you see a wooden outhouse. One that’s got antennas on it and some kind of computer panel on the front. It looks vaguely familiar, somehow.
    Jase pats you on the back. “Hey, Dad. Just looking out for you guys.”
    Jase is wearing all camo and his trademark black hat.
    “How’d you know to come here?”
    “That thing over there   —the outhouse. I was told I needed to come to this particular moment in time and save you.”
    You don’t even know where to