The moon has a face on it. The lake has a dock on it. The brochure had a photograph of neither, which should have been the first clue.
And there are four of them. Four! Everyone always talks about the one, the big fellow — but there's an axe, a pick, a chainsaw and a machete coming up out of that grass, and that is four sets of hands and four separate arrangements about who gets which cabin.
They do this every summer. Same fortnight. The camp reopens every June because the paperwork says it must, and the counselors arrive in a station wagon with their whole lives in a duffel bag, singing.
The sign says skip camp. It says it every year. Nobody has ever once skipped camp.
