In the early 90′s, at a summer camp I will called WCC, there was a little 12 year old boy named Tommy. Tommy was not your average child. He did not have any friends. He didn’t answer the counselors. But strangest of all, he always carried around a teddy bear, and a small silver spoon he had brought from home. Nobody really noticed Tommy. WCC was on a large hill, in the middle of northern Vermont, which was quite thickly wooded. One day, Tommy, and another little boy named Luke, went missing. The camp noticed just an hour later. This was quite an expensive camp, and they needed to protect the campers, so they sent them home and called in the police. They closed down the camp for three years to search for Tommy and the boy. They still hadn’t found them, and they had concluded that they had both ran away and died in the woods. The day before they were going to close down the camp, a police officer vanished. They thought maybe Tommy had something to do with it, but disregarded the thought because Tommy was a little boy, and the officer was quite big. They continued the search of the surrounding woods, but to no avail. They closed down all searches and decided it was time to reopen the camp. After three years of being closed, it wasn’t in very good shape, so they called back the whole staff to clean it up. They worked on it for multiple months and were almost done. So one day, a counselor went to go finish up cleaning a more secluded part of camp: the arts and crafts barn. She was just finishing when she saw a small door hidden in the back. She thought she vaguely remembered it leading to the old, unused darkroom. She opened up the small door and in it saw the police officer and Luke, the little boy, sitting dead in a pool of blood with a year a tear in their flesh as if someone had scooped out the skin going in a line from their chin up the side of their face. And next to them was a pile of brown yarn and a small bloody silver spoon. Tommy’s spoon. I know all this because a few years ago, I went to this camp. Even though Tommy’s probably dead, he would be thirty now. And when you walk alone through the woods, you still feel an eery sense that he’s still hiding. Watching. Waiting.