Curse of Camp Wyandotte

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. ‌As Liza James wandered through the woods looking for inspiration for her next novel, ‌ ‌She‌ ‌‌looked up at‌‌ ‌‌the‌‌ ‌‌candle.‌ ‌‌‌Despite the cliche, she wondered at the ‌old cabin.

“Well, the supernatural is trending right now, witches are cool, and everybody is looking for the secrets of the universe.” Liza shrugged. “What the heck, call me cliche. Maybe I'll finally write a story that will make me rich, or better yet make national headlines for meeting Casper the ghost.”

Stepping up the porch, she gently opened the screen door.“Hello, is anyone here?”, she whispered.

The front door was unlocked. She stood at the door, scanning the empty cabin for three minutes. It was surprising how well the rustic furniture was kept considering it was abandoned.

"I assume then, that no one is home," said Liza sarcastically as she put her bag down.

So, Liza looked around the room for other sources of light and found two oil lamps. She lit them, attempted to dust off the fake bear rug, and plopped down on the floor in exhaustion.

She sighed, "This old abandoned cabin isn't that scary." "I don't know what ghost I'm seeing today or what strange story I'm creating, but at least I can meditate in peace right now," she said. I might even try the yoga stance with the crossed legs I saw on Instagram.

Liza closed her eyes and started humming. "Om," she said softly again, "empty my mind." After about 5 minutes, a figure of what appeared to be a dapper man appeared in Liza's mind.

"You want to write a best-selling book?" said the haughty, well-dressed gentleman.

"How did you know that ?" Liza inquired.

"I know a lot of things because I'm in your head," he said.

"Correction," she says, "you're in my imagination."

"No, I'm in the spiritual realm, to be technical. What do you think imagination is? Things unseen are as real as the skin on your bones. Remember your imaginary friend at age 6. Nobody could tell she wasn't real.”

“Ms. Bunny was a real character!" Liza yelled. "But now that I'm 32, there's a difference; I don't believe in that stuff anymore," she said softly.

"It isn't, and I'll show you."

In her meditation, the handsome young man wore a designer black suit that resembled a wealthy CEO. He spoke with authority in his voice.

"Look, Ms. Liza. I'll make you an offer: write whatever I tell you to write, and I'll make you famous.

"I'm broke, on a dusty floor, what's the harm in doing whatever this imaginary helper is saying?" Liza pondered. So she blinked her eyes open and reached for her laptop.

Liza was initially skeptical, but she convinced herself that it was all made up and began typing.

At first, Liza was a little weary but she convinced herself it was made up and began to type. Despite the fact she couldn’t see the man anymore, she could hear his voice in her mind telling her what to type line by line. She typed an entire novel in one night about a beast that would appear in people's dreams and tell them assignments to complete to get rich. The beast had special powers. He would transform into anything and anyone in the dream to get your attention. The beast would teach people how to be as powerful as him, and go into other people's dreams to help them as long as they agreed with whatever he said. Morning came and she sent the novel to her publisher.

“I'm done”, she sang aloud.

“Wait, I thought I was writing a horror novel?” She said to the voice in her head.

“Oh it’ll be horror alright'' he swiftly replied.

Liza decided to go home since she only lived up the street and returned to the cabin with her clothes, food, and a generator.

“Guess I'll be staying here for a while,” she murmured to her imaginary helper.

“Good idea we can get more books written.”

Liza stayed in the cabin for three days writing and on the 4th day she got a call from her manager.

Tish screamed on the phone in excitement, “I sent your novel to the publishers that signed JK Rowling. They want to offer… you…. a million-dollar book tour.”

Liza was speechless.

“Congratulations Liza! Say yes, say yes”, the voice in her head chanted.

“Yes, I'll do it.”

“How soon can you get to New York? ", asked Tish. "They want to start right away.”

And just like that Liza was an overnight sensation, people everywhere read her novel from children's book clubs to church groups to professors; Liza James was now a household name.

About 6 months after the tour started, Liza had trouble sleeping. It is ironic, because she now slept in a plush, king-size bed, in a penthouse that overlooked Manhattan. The disturbing dreams happened once or twice a week and then they increased to every single night. She would see herself in the homes of people she knew putting what looked like blood or poison in their food before they ate breakfast. She saw herself sleeping with random men, and telling children to harm their parents. Liza was losing her mind. And sometimes she would know she dreamed that night but couldn't remember what she dreamed about. When she awoke she felt sore and had scratches all over her body.

One night after witnessing the heinous murder of her sister by her hand Liza woke up screaming.

“I can't do this anymore. This should not be happening” she asserted.

The man's voice in her head spoke in a calming manner. “It’s all a dream, Liza. It's a part of your superpower you know like the mysticism you write about in your book. This keeps the story alive and the money flowing.”

After he spoke she felt soothed and brushed it off.

“It’ll get better, he said. Go to the store and get healing crystals. I promise you’ll feel better.”

The next morning she went to a spiritualist store in Time Square.

When she returned from her trip to the store she felt inspired to write. Immediately she consulted with her imaginary helper and he thought it was a good idea to write a novel about all the scary dreams she had.

So Liza created a paid blog and started writing every night.

Her blog was a hit. Liza gained 2 million followers on Instagram and started a mentorship program. Fame felt good. Soon after her mentoring program hit six figures, she participated in chat rooms about crystals and the supernatural. The chatroom audiences sought her to be wise and demanded another book from the esteemed author. Her author title soon became guru or spiritualist as they called her. Everyone wanted to know how to experience the wealth and power she discovered.

As her influence grew, she made it to every major news network. “ The stations introduced her as, ‘The woman who found the secret to the universe”. Liza was on top of the world. Every day she meditated with her crystals and consulted the voice in her head on what to do. She no longer feared her crazy dreams but embraced them and wanted other people to experience the spirit realm. Night after night she would host small meetings in her apartment lobby with the top paying members of her mentoring program. Liza enjoyed taking them to the spirit realm telling them to use their imagination just as the young man taught her.

Occasionally she would get frantic calls about gruesome dreams and someone in the group having no recollection of dreaming at all, waking up with blood under their fingernails. But to her, that was normal for beginners. Call after the call she would calmly assure the person they were getting stronger; more powerful. Tell them “It's all in their head, meditate with the crystals in addition to your daily yoga. You’ll be fine I promise.”

Liza's followers adored her and did everything she said. The students in her group got strong enough to talk to their imaginary helpers. The term she coined was a spiritual guide. Her mentees made boatloads of money from reselling her supernatural training techniques and eventually hosted separate meetings where she'd get a portion of the money.

Three books and two years later Liza felt pure contentment until one morning she saw shadows on her wall that looked like the shape of men.

Uneasy with the ominous presence, she asked the voice in her head “what's this?”

He politely replied, “they're your shadow friends here to keep you company.”

“Demons?”She snapped back.

“Nooo darling, positive language. Again they’re shadow friends. Everybody has them, think of them as protection. Most people barely know they’re in the house at all”.

In her heart of hearts, Liza knew something was off.

Perturbed she said “Dreams fine, crystals fine, but shadow henchmen. Don't you think that's a little overkill?”

“What's overkill when you can do anything you want? You're Liza James.”

“You know what?” she said ignoring her conscience “Agreed,”. Liza went about her day as usual.

That night Liza barely slept. She called off her meeting the next day and fell into a state of paranoia. Liza would see the people in her group sacrificing animals, robbing people, and getting in massive car wrecks, with her eyes open like a hallucination. She was so tired but her mind kept racing. Liza thought watching TV would calm her down so she turned on the boring 10 o'clock news. The Lead story was a massive car accident in upstate New York. Eight people were killed by a manic driver leaving the cemetery in Rochester.

The news anchor announced “There was a funeral procession for 22-year-old Garret Harris leaving the cemetery when a manic driver drove head-on into the funeral hearse causing it to crash into the cars behind it. Two cars caught completely on fire before the passengers could get out. The manic driver 26-year-old William Thompson is also dead. Police are still unsure of his motives.

Liza heart stricken with grief 5 out of the 8 people were in her mentor group.

When Garrett told her he was so depressed he had to start taking pills she knew this had something to do with shadow tormenting him every night.

"It’s my fault she cried," remorsefully. "This has to stop."

"Hold on Liza. This is not your fault people die, that's life, the man said in her head. Some people can't handle the power. It's natural selection."

"But why am I feeling this way too anxious, and sad, unable to focus long enough to even write my thoughts?"

“There there, Liza you're okay, it just means you need to meditate longer, try some Reiki, you're fine I promise."

"Listen, I didn't sign up for this."

"You did, we had an agreement and I’ve held up my end of the bargain."

“You did but look at what it’s costing me. I'm losing my soul here,” yelled Liza.

"Hold on Negative Nancy," he said in a fathering tone. “You lost your soul but gained the world. Look around, you have everything.”

“I guess you're right. I am pretty rich.”

“Don’t forget powerful and famous”

“ Right, that too," she said.

Eventually, Liza meditated and drifted off to sleep on the couch. When she fell asleep she dreamed about being in the woods by the old cabin, terrorizing a group of young campers as a snake. As she bit a camper she woke up sweating, only to notice she was outside in the brush about a half-mile from her apartment.

Confused, she asked herself “how did I even get out here? I don’t remember coming outside.”

The voice in her head ignored her question and eagerly responded, “go home, write it in an e-book and make more money.” Reluctantly, she walked home in the same clothes she had on the day before. Zombie-like she grabbed her laptop and typed an e-book for her website exactly what the voice told her to do.

Her stomach growled.

Liza barely had a desire to eat. Most days she forced herself to even want food so she decided to take a break across the street at the local Chinese spot. Outside the restaurant, there was a woman, mid 40’s who grabbed Liza's shoulder and cried;

“I know you, you coached my daughter in your program. Your books are demonic portals. I saw my child's sunken eyes with my own natural eyes. Her father and I would see shadows in her room. She stayed in the house all day talking to herself. Last week she stabbed her father in his sleep. The week before, blood dripped from her eyes while doing some strange crystal meditation. She’s 15 and in the psych hospital now, this all started with your books. I beg you please stop writing. Get rid of the books you’ve written. They are the tools of hell.”

“Get off me you old witch”, Liza snatched away. “I’m Liza James. I’ll do what I want to do.”

“I see the same sunken eyes on you too. Repent to save your life before it’s too late, you're doing the Devil's bidding”

Liza got her food and went home. Arrogantly she uttered, “I must be doing something right. Liza James has hate..ers.”

The old woman's statement made no impact whatsoever. Liza kept writing, producing as much content as she could. The more she produced stories the less she slept. Whenever she could sleep for a few moments she would dream about occult meetings, her mentees sacrificing animals around fires while drawing blood symbols on their bodies, or mass murdering campers near the cabin.

The only thing that comforted her was writing. As a result, Liza wrote about her life in the chat room encouraging others to share their strange experiences with the shadows on the wall. Every week more people she encountered started dying; jumping to their death or overdosing on drugs. When newcomers questioned “why so many deaths on her platforms,” her response was always “Some can't handle the power. Can you handle it?”Naysayers would be sucked in by the challenge. Eager to start their spiritual journey. By now Liza was fully aware of the shadow friends intentionally killing people, but she loved the fame so much it didn't matter how much blood was shed.

The more she wrote what the voice said the more powerful she felt. But the power was only in her mind. Her body began to eat itself and you saw the bones on her face. She stopped leaving her apartment and whenever she stopped meditating she felt depressed. Liza craved more power; this wasn't enough to sustain her happiness anymore. At sunrise she wrote stories for her fans, during the night she talked to the shadow children that danced along her walls. She would go into the spirit realm and start killing people for sport. Anybody who said negative things about her in the media would turn up missing. She would steal the destiny of children so they’d fail in life and cause faithful husbands to cheat. Misery wants company was her motto. She made sure to consume the souls of ignorant subscribers to her blog and innocent reporters who just wanted to know about her. Friends, family, and no one was off-limits.

Five years after her debut in the world, she aged like a 75-year-old grandmother. A 37-year-old walking corpse and she hated every part of her body. She knew her wicked deeds aged her but at all costs, she would keep up her lifestyle. The voice in her head said she could do more magic that made her look young again to the natural eye like a mask. He made the process appeal to her vanity thus she got her healing crystals and followed his instructions. To the natural eye, she looked 25 years old but when she looked down she saw old decrepit skin.

Liza wanted a fresh start in her new body. She packed up overnight and drove back to the cabin in Massachusetts about 4 hours away. The cabin was there, just as she left it the day her life changed but now there was a campground built around it. Someone put a sign on the cabin “ Historic site. Do not touch it.” She threw the sign on the ground and went in.

“Home sweet home she smiled." She felt powerful. The candle was still burning and you could see the flame in her black pupils. Liza was no longer present but a spirit wearing her skin. Her soul was trapped in her mind clawing to get out, but the darkness was too strong.

During the day she would transform into a bird scouting the place for victims, during the night she would transform into a wolf quietly snatching campers to eat. The voice in her head, now controlling her body, made her eat campers to keep looking beautiful. The more souls she took the better she looked. And he justified it to her sobbing soul “saying who doesn't want to be youthful.” Sometimes innocent campers would wander to her porch and she would be sweet to them, offer them snacks, and read them stories. She would invite them back just before dawn to teach a quick lesson on the spirit realm. The young boys thought she was cute, the girls thought she was incredible, and their friend.

"One by one the campers would go missing. The curse of Camp Wyandotte they called it and sometimes she would prowl around the fire and leave the body parts for the camp counselors to find. Just like this!" Mr. Craig held up a fake bloody hand and all the counselors screamed.

“Boo!”, he said, exaggerating.

“Mr. Craig, that's not funny,” said Tim, one of the camp counselors.

They were a group of college kids volunteering at Camp Wyandotte for the summer as an internship. Mr. Craig the camp director was doing the welcome night ceremony before campers arrived.

“I was really scared, and I'm too old to be scared, '' said Susie.

“Nice one Mr. C,” said Amber, giving him a high five.

Still shaken, Susie quivered “Mr. Craig, what if she's out here?”

“Nahhhh. Guys just an old witch tale for fun. Take it and share it with your college buddies at a bonfire. It’s not that serious”

“But there's a crow at the top of the tree. Look everyone!”, pointed Nico

The counselors gasp.

Susie started praying.

“Man, what if she's listening to us?” said Nico.

“Well my grandmother always said be careful what you say, for the bird of the air will carry your voice, or some winged creature will tell the matter.”

“Ohh Tim here you go with your old grandma wisdom,” scoffed Nico.

“Guys I’m serious. It’s not just old grandma wisdom.”

A wolf howls in the distance.

Manny shrieks “Mr. Craig it's getting too creepy out here I'm ready to head out.”

“Yea Mr. Craig” the group chimes in “It’s time to go.”

“Alright then youth counselors put out the fire and let’s head to bed,” replies Mr. Craig.

As they put out the fire and gather their things. Manny paused “Mr. Craig, wait, where’s Alex?”

Mr. Craig replied, “Well he was just sitting right here.”

“Alex, Alex,” the counselors called over and over.

Susie ran over to the log where he was sitting, only to find his cell phone and sneakers covered in blood.