Secrets of Camp Tortuga: Episode 3

ALEXIA

In the veil of the midnight canopy, with stars peeking out like nature's own confetti, I found myself staring out the window of my cabin, Tara's fearful gaze still etched in my mind as I thought about my own memory at the lake. The water, placid and clear during the day, transformed into a mysterious abyss come nightfall. The sight brought a feeling of unease, an old memory scratching its way to the surface. I hadn't allowed myself to remember it in years, tucking it deep into the recesses of my mind. Yet tonight, the seal of that memory was weakened by Tara's experience.

I must have been about thirteen then. Young, enthusiastic, and full of spirit. Camp Tortuga was my summer haven, a place of endless adventures and friendships that tasted of cherry popsicles and whispered secrets. It was during one of those warm nights, much like tonight, when the incident happened.

I was part of the "Midnight Dare Club" that summer—a silly name for a group of us teens sneaking out after curfew to explore the campgrounds. One challenge, on a dare, had been to collect a vial of water from the lake at precisely midnight. Laughing, filled with the invincibility that came with youth, I made my way to the lake, the moonlight guiding my path, creating silver trails on the dew-kissed grass.

As I knelt to collect the water, I saw her—a silhouette, more shadow than substance, lingering by the water's edge. Her white, flowing dress was incongruous against the backdrop of the night, making her stand out like a flame in the darkness. Her face wasn't visible, but I felt her eyes on me, heavy and searching. My heart raced, the vial slipping from my hand, splashing into the lake. The figure gestured, fingers curling as if beckoning me closer.

I should've run, but I was paralyzed, captivated by a mix of dread and curiosity. Before I could muster the courage to speak, a sudden gust of wind blew, and she disappeared, leaving only ripples in the water as evidence of her ethereal presence.

I ran back to my cabin, the dare forgotten. I locked the door, buried myself under the covers, and promised never to think about it again. But promises made to oneself are often the first to be broken.

The next morning, I tried to dismiss it as a dream, a mere trick of the moonlight, but the vial, half-filled and damp, was still clutched in my hand.

I never spoke of it, not wanting to seem foolish or invite the skeptical glances of my peers. Over time, the memory faded, buried beneath layers of other experiences. But now, with Tara's words, it all rushed back.

I shivered, despite the warm summer breeze. For the first time in years, I felt vulnerable in a place that had always been my refuge. The mysteries of Camp Tortuga were unveiling themselves, and whether I wanted to or not, I was right in the middle of them.

“Got you some chocolate milk”, Ian said sitting down next to me, bringing me back to the present as he slid the small box across the table to me.

Oh yea, Ian.

The golden sunlight filtered through the trees, casting intricate dappled patterns on the old wooden tables of Camp Tortuga's mess hall. The familiar sound of laughter, clinking utensils, and chattering campers created a soundtrack to our summer days. I was always enveloped by the comforting noise and the vibrant energy. But today, that warmth felt slightly distant.

For Ian, coming here was a sweet gesture, an attempt to understand and be part of my world here. But for me, it felt like a leash tightening ever so slightly, reminding me of the life I had outside of this sanctuary. I remember talking his ear off about Camp Tortuga, weaving tales of its magic and charm. I'd painted such a vivid picture that he'd decided to immerse himself in it—literally.

A sigh escaped me. This camp was my escape, my solace, the place where I could shed the weight of pretense and expectations. It was my retreat from the strict confines of the life Ian and I shared back home. But now, my worlds were colliding, and the boundaries I had so carefully constructed seemed to be dissolving.

Ian's voice jolted me from my reverie. “I hope Tara is feeling better today, last night was crazy,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow playfully. But his tone shifted, edged with disapproval, as he added, “Your friend Noah doesn’t seem to appreciate my presence here.”

My gaze involuntarily darted across the hall where Noah sat, engrossed in a lively conversation with our friends. It was our unspoken routine to share meals together, and his absence by my side was a gaping void. The connection we shared was deep, forged over years of our experiences, laughter, and campfire tales. But it was always platonic. Or so I had convinced myself.

“He’ll warm up to you,” I said, feigning nonchalance, though internally I wrestled with doubt.

Ian's next question caught me off guard. “So, what's the story between you two?”

I felt trapped, like a deer caught in headlights. “There's no story, Ian. Noah and I, we've never been anything but friends,” I said, focusing intently on my pizza slice, avoiding Ian's probing gaze.

But Ian wasn’t buying it. He leaned back, folding his arms with an air of smug confidence. “Alexia, it’s clear as day. He’s got feelings for you, and he sees me as competition.”

A knot of unease settled in my stomach. I met Ian's gaze, my voice unwavering. “Our past here has nothing to do with our present. Noah is just a friend.”

Ian's smirk didn’t falter, but something in his eyes—maybe jealousy, maybe hurt—made me realize that Camp Tortuga's magic wouldn’t shield me from real-world complications. The paradise I had clung to so dearly was evolving, and whether I liked it or not, I was at the heart of the storm.

The air seemed to get colder, even as the summer sun beat down, the moment Ian’s smirk emerged. “Ok, Alexia,” he drawled, leaning back and lazily picking up a fork, his eyes never leaving mine. The weight of his disbelief hung between us, a palpable thing that made the food in front of me lose its appeal.

Pushing aside the unease Ian’s presence brought, my thoughts swirled back to Tara. Had she seen the same haunting silhouette I had witnessed five summers ago? That eerily familiar feeling of déjà vu intensified.

As the day's activities kicked off, I caught a glimpse of Tara's petite figure. She was seated alone on the weathered bleachers, watching as the other kids lost themselves in the joy of a boisterous kickball game. Her solitude in the midst of such vivacity was telling.

“Still thinking about last night?” I whispered, easing into the seat beside her.

She looked so small, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees, her gaze distant. “The girls in my cabin, they...” she hesitated, her voice a fragile thing, “They laughed when I told them. Said I was making it up.”

Drawing her close, I squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “You know, sometimes, the scariest thing isn’t what we see, but how others react to our truths. But I believe you.”

She peered up at me, hope twinkling in her eyes. “Did you see her too? The lady by the lake?”

I hesitated, my pulse quickening. “I... I think so,” I confessed, the memory resurfacing after years of suppression.

Her grip on my arm tightened, excitement evident. “We should tell Mrs. Marshall! If you saw her too, everyone would—”

“No, Tara,” I interrupted, voice firm, "We need to keep this between us."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "But if you vouch for me..."

I shook my head, meeting her eyes earnestly. "It's not about proving anything to anyone. It's about understanding what we experienced."

Before she could counter, a familiar shadow fell over us. Noah stood there, his gaze fixed intently on me, his aura exuding a gentle concern.

“You okay, Tara?” His voice was soft, but I could sense an underlying protectiveness.

Tara's face lit up. “Alexia’s seen the lake lady too!” she blurted.

A ripple of surprise flashed across Noah's face as his gaze met mine, searching for the truth. Tara's words hung in the air, the weight of her revelation bearing down on the atmosphere between us. I sent her a pointed, disapproving glance, but she just offered an indifferent shrug. Ugh, kids and their unfiltered tongues!

Noah, wearing a look of pure astonishment, shifted his gaze back to me. “Lex, did you really see her? The lady by the lake?”

I hesitated, searching Tara's eyes. There was a silent plea there, a wish for validation. Biting my lower lip, I found my voice, “Not last night,” I began, my voice tinged with vulnerability. “Five years ago. I was dared to go out there, and well...” I trailed off, remembering that chilling encounter.

Tara’s face broke into a triumphant grin, relief evident in her young eyes. Noah, on the other hand, looked like he'd been punched in the gut. We shared everything; how could I have kept this from him?

His eyes suddenly lit up with determination. "Lex, we should go to the lake tonight. See if she shows.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Can I come too?” Tara piped in eagerly.

“No!” Noah and I shouted in unison.

“But that's not fair!” Tara huffed, the picture of youthful indignation.

“Noah, I don't think—” I began, but he cut me off, his voice filled with excitement.

“Lex, think about it! If we can figure out what she wants, maybe we can help. I have a disposal camera. Imagine, just imagine if we caught one of Camp Tortuga’s legends on film.” His eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark.

I laughed, the sound tinged with a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “We aren’t The Ghost Busters, Noah.”

His smirk turned teasing. “Scared to sneak off for a little adventure, just because Ian's here?”

“That's not—”

“Oooooooo!” Tara chimed in, her laughter filling the space around us.

Feeling cornered, I threw my hands up in exasperation, locking eyes with Noah. “Fine. 11:30. Here.”

Noah's grin was infectious, and I couldn't help but return it, albeit reluctantly. The boy certainly had a way of drawing me into his antics.

The golden hue of sunset faded into the deep blue of twilight, and no matter where I turned or what I did, Noah's face seemed to be imprinted in my mind. Every whispered word, every stolen glance, the weight of our upcoming rendezvous at the lake weighed heavily on me. It was just a walk. A brief midnight stroll to placate our curiosity and the ghostly tales that we'd grown up on. Nothing more.

Ian's presence now felt like a tether, reminding me of the reality outside Camp Tortuga's gates. When Noah had poured out his feelings, asking me to make a choice about our summer, it felt like a lifeline had been thrown my way. But it was a lifeline I couldn’t grasp. We were meant to be two souls, eternally entangled in friendship. Any hope for more had faded when I began dating Ian. Right?

The wooden floorboards of the cabin creaked beneath my feet as I paced, wrestling with my thoughts. Friends go on innocent adventures all the time, don’t they? Our trek to the lake was just that - two old friends chasing the shadows of legends. And maybe, just maybe, we'd find clarity amidst the moonlit waters.

I sighed, peeking out of the window to see the first stars twinkling brightly against the inky canvas of the night. I'd slip out, share some laughs with Noah, and be back before the world realized I'd been gone.

Simple as that.

No strings, no feelings, no complications.