The Summer Spookies

Another installment of my Thurber Summer Letters to my nephew at summer camp. This time its a ghost story for him to share with his friends.

Dear E, the Bravest of Summer Camp Knights,

I write to you today to recount a spine-tingling tale from my own days at camp, a story that has been passed down through generations of campers and now finds its way to you. Now, make sure you are safely tucked into your sleeping bag, and if you dare, hold a flashlight under your chin to cast an eerie glow on your face and gather your fellow campers close. This tale is not for the faint-hearted.

Many moons ago, when I was not much older than you are now, our camp was gripped by the legend of Ol’ Silas, a mysterious old man who, they said, had once been the caretaker of the campgrounds. Legend had it that every full moon, the spirit of Ol’ Silas would rise from the old tool shed near the lake, haunting the grounds he once tended to with his trusty rusty rake.

One summer, much like this one, I decided to debunk the myth of Ol’ Silas once and for all. Armed with only a flashlight and an excess of teenage bravado, I made my way to the tool shed one moonlit night. The air was heavy with the scent of pine, and the lake shimmered in the pale light.

As I approached the shed, the wooden door creaked open, seemingly of its own accord. My heart pounded in my chest, but I pushed onward, the beam of my flashlight piercing the gloom. And there, in the dusty shadows of the shed, was the unmistakable glint…