Camp Nehiyawak (neh-HEE-oh-wuk)

I had spent three summers of my youth there. Come along, I want to show you. Let your mind's eye seek, a grand brick and mortar estate nestled in the open hands of a sprawling valley, lavish in rich vegetation. Brimming with the most beautiful and verdant foliage you’ve ever seen, the ground scored with gravel pathways and raised wooden boardwalks. At the basin of this valley sits a lake, one that remains forever still, as such deserving of its name, Echo Lake. Its shade muddied from the umber-colored earth that it rests upon. The area encompasses close to three square kilometers. Land that once belonged to the Plains Cree, a disillusioned olive branch was offered in the form of the camp namesake, but it is forever entrenched in a history that was. No balance or equal, leaving only people with power and the powerless. Muddied as the water the land is forced to lay upon. However, the story I’m about to tell does not fully encompass the heritage that has been thrusted upon this great valley. The main institution within the estate was opened for use in 1917 as a sanatorium for Tuberculosis patients. The other small detached houses scattered on the property were developed as needed when it would much later turn into a summer camp. Location of the camp to my proximity was far and I was lucky to fly to and from camp each year. You must then have to take a bus to get on or off of the compound. My first summer I endured two weeks, most of it in which I spent sulking. I was only twelve and had never been away from home for more than a weekend. The second summer was three weeks and my third and final summer was six weeks.

I will begin by saying I was a firm non-believer of anything spiritual or supernatural. I am not easily frightened and to be honest I have been called oblivious on more than one occasion.

My first summer was overflowing with activities. Almost too much to cram everything in. We sailed, we swam, we rowed. Learned an awful lot about boat safety and obtained a certificate in first aid. There were a lot of other day to day pursuits including physical and recreational training and learning music, which is my reason for returning the following summers. From what I can recall, the only disturbances from that summer were that the door and window to my bunk that faced the communal sunroom seemed to operate on their own. I assure you there were no drafts as the barracks had no air conditioning and all outdoor windows were fixed shut. There was no way to explain my open closet door either, only I had the combination to it. But I was much too involved within my own self I had given no attention to anything seemingly unimportant. Next summer however would be different.

In my second summer I was much happier, at first. My friends from the year before had returned. This year I came back for music, however we are still required to spend five days at the lake. I’m okay with that, I love the beach at home. I took swimming lessons for six years all prior to camp. I’m an excellent swimmer and my body has a natural T-Shape. With muscular shoulders and great upper body strength I have a great advantage. We sailed for two of the days and rowed for one, then first aid again for two. On the other side of the lake if you sailed far enough, you could see beautiful houses that must’ve been made just out of glass. They all had private dock entries too. It had occurred to me that no boat was ever tied up to any of the docks and I never once saw a single presence on those Home and Garden inspired patios. Ever. Yet it felt as if someone were watching, and it made me feel anxious enough that I would make mistakes in our two-man pirate or lose sync rowing. I swear I could hear something being whispered, but it was carried off with the wind. No matter how hard I tried to focus, it was just a blurring of words. I was lost in thought and everyone could tell. I just chalked it up to growing pains and laughed in embarrassment. They’ll think I’m fucking nuts or something if I told them the truth.

My first week was finally over, now we would be land locked in our music room. Stuffed full with just about any instrument you could dream of. The night we finished at the lake everyone was exhausted. We ate, showered and then it was lights out. I had an incredibly deep sleep, then woke up to my alarm set ten minutes ahead. This is to accommodate the shared washroom so I can be alone. Our door, I and my roommate's, was already ajar. I figured nightly checks left it that way, as I stepped into the hall I almost fell on my ass. A puddle, resembling lake water, lay exposed in front of our room. The ceilings in our barracks were intensely high with open array of plumbing pipe. I knew this didn’t come from the ceiling it was someone being a bully. Each of us are in charge of our own cleaning, so naturally I had to mop up. Maintenance was called to confirm no leaks, a man well in his 50’s, tall and lanky with unblemished dark leather skin and hypnotic amber eyes was the main site supervisor. As I got to know him, I found out his name was Arnold, or Mr. Aaywahe. Arnold was mild mannered and soft spoken, even though he had faced many difficult life challenges. From what I knew his family was Plains Cree and originated in that same area. He didn’t know much about his familial past but what he did he shared with me. His mother’s side was Cree and his father from what he was told was a white man, he thinks of English ancestry. When he was only two weeks old his mother died from an infection left untreated after childbirth. His father blamed himself and was unable to care for his son, he died a little later from suicide. There was no one left to care for him. He only just survived foster homes as he put it. That he faced ridicule from both sides of his ancestral backgrounds for being a half breed. As bad as this sounds and the feelings surrounding it, Arnold was a caring and compassionate man. So, what Arnold told the others and what he told me came as no surprise, he gave two different explanations. He told the others it was condensation from the pipes above, and it dripped and made a puddle. It’s plausible but improbable. My dad works in building engineering and I’ve picked up on enough to know better. Arnold asked me to go with him to get some floor cleaner as a way to distance myself from the others. He then explained to me that he had seen this once before here, and with superstition he told me about Wisakedjak. He explained to me that this was a Cree legend, and Wisakedjak was a trickster. Liked to cause turmoil and suffering between people, but that in the end he became a Hero sort of. What Arnold was trying to do for me is see if this scenario applied to my life in some way, in other words how religion uses teachings. From this I took it would do no good to blame or cause fights with my other mates. Arnold also told me as a precaution, he would return when the floor was empty and perform a smudging quickly. He said he had bundles of sage at his residence and that it wasn't an inconvenience. I could tell there might be something more, something he wasn't sharing. Either because he felt it was unnecessary or didn't want to frighten me and give whatever it was more power. I remember thinking how can you give more power to a puddle?

Five days had gone by with no issue, and then it started happening. The puddles again. Every single morning for three mornings straight. The evening of the fourth morning, I got smart. I used one of my own towels which in itself sucks because you only do laundry twice a week. I put the towel down in the hall where the puddles kept forming, when everyone was asleep because I still thought it was a joke. Alarm goes off ten minutes early as normal. I get up and I have an air of arrogance about me. Our door is closed which I don't pay too much attention to it, so I whip it open. The towel was dry. I couldn’t believe it, this made me happy, one less thing to worry about. Only one week left of camp, this is good. Normal morning routine, P&RT then breakfast. Get our uniforms on and get our instruments ready for morning Parade. I played snare I love hitting things, I guess. After that we change into our work dress and head to the instrument room. We spend almost our whole day inside and sometimes if we’re lucky, we got to be out in the grassy field. Just so long as we were practicing or studying theory. Everyday were as such, every night the same. I would set my alarm and put the towel down in front on my door. I had only two nights left, when I bumped into Arnold in the music room. He was called because we needed help setting up the projector to watch movies. There was a lock down due to extreme weather conditions, it was insanely hot but we lucked out because our music room was in the renovated wing that had air conditioning. I mentioned casually to Arnold the idea I had with towel, he was surprised and happy. I didn’t see Arnold again until the following summer.

The last night I did the same thing, out of precaution and not because the thought was still unsettling. Set my alarm and put down my towel, I was already packed and would just have to shove it in my rucksack come morning. I woke up before my alarm went off and shoved that in my bag. Relieved to be going home, I opened the door and bent down to pick up my towel. To my dismay the towel was soaked, and in the middle was a pair of muddy soles. I jerked away, letting out whatever sound I could muster. My breath filled with horror. There were no muddy prints in the hall, no water anywhere else. I caused a disturbance on the floor and everyone came to bear witness, just as terrified. Our floor supervisor came and loudly ordered everyone to finish getting their belongings together, we had just fifteen minutes to get the hell off the floor. She had picked up the towel and told me to not worry, as if she knew for certain it had to be someone on the floor. She genuinely thought it was a joke, but down deep I felt only dread.

We spent the remainder of our last day in the band room, just until it was time to catch a flight or bus out. No one said a thing about what transpired earlier. I did my best to let it go too. The year to come was full of welcome distractions to put me at ease. I rationalized the previous summer misadventure as just that. I had no ill will towards anyone that thought it would be an epic prank, because quite frankly it was. How I wished someone would've take responsibility.

Snow melted into rain, the rain became radiant sunshine. Summer was here again. I agreed to return to Camp Nehiyawak on the simple premise that I would evade discussing the previous summer with everyone. Not my family, not a shrink, I was back and everything was fine. Until it wasn't. There had been a boating accident, a couple weeks in. One of the girls on our floor during a routine sailing exercise fell off. Her head made contact with the boom and then she was gone. I mean completely gone. Nobody found her, she never floated up, never washed ashore. They performed an extensive search of the lake and shore lines. We were not all required to wear life vests, some of us were certified at an instructor level back home and we weren't required to wear helmets either. That part made sense, but not how they couldn’t find her.

All I remember that night was that there was someone or something chasing me. I was covered in blood, other persons and mine and it burned. There was mud everywhere and bodies. Some reached out with their hands for help I could not even tell who was who so I kept running. As I got out of the building running down the gravel pathway, running towards the highway was all I could think. The highway intersects through the perimeter of the camp for access on and off. It was pitch black, no moon in sight. Then two lights, my body felt an impact, like an ambush. Realizing I had been hit by a car I tried to convey a warning to them but my head hit the concrete hard, I was unconscious. No one is completely sure what really happened that night.

When I came to, I was in a hospital bed. I couldn't see my lower body under the sheet and the upper area was covered by a gown. There were bandages covering my hands and arms, I could feel my hair wrapped in bandages around my head. I pressed the call button and a nurse and doctor came in, followed by two plain clothes police officers. Panic began to sit in, this was real. Help them! Suddenly there was blood and muddy water everywhere, I had slipped in it. The screaming, begging as I kept running. I felt like I was running towards the lake instead of the highway, like I was being corralled. The nurse gave me more pain medication in my IV and the officers pulled out a folder, containing pictures. All I could make out was red and brown death. They pulled the pictures gently out of my hands when I began to sob, then they asked me to look at an array of photos to see if I recognized anyone. In the six polaroid's they sat across my lap one I recognized. The girl from my floor, in the boating accident. She had drowned, I gave it back to them. They told me she was alive and well, locked up in a psychiatry ward. She had managed to swim out across the lake after the accident. Broke into one of the houses made of glass and stayed there, until we all stopped looking. The black night came and she swam fully clothed across the lake and began her murderous spree. Taking almost everyone. I asked them about the muddy water everywhere, it certainly would've dried up as she walked. I was told to rest and they left. The camp was eventually torn down, Arnold felt displaced once again and I never heard from him again. He sent the hospital bundles of sage with a note that read simply “Muskrat”. A symbolic message of starting over, for me and him. There was no closure, no trial, no answers. It was as if it was simply in my head. When all you are left with is questions, you begin to make up your own answers. That's what I did.