When I was fourteen my grade went on a school camp for a week. I wasn’t very excited about it, I hated my school and most of the people in it. One of my best friends couldn’t come because her parents decided it would be a good time for her to go to hospital for an eating disorder instead. I was left with one friend, two bitches who hated me but were friends with my friend and two acquaintances who were put in our cabin because we didn’t have enough people and they didn’t have enough friends.
We did all of the usual camp activities like horse-riding and rock climbing and at night, back in our cabin, we told freaky stories to each other. There was a huge, locked cupboard next to my bed and someone decided that there was a boy inside. We made up stories about “Lawrence”, who had been stuffed inside the cupboard and left there many years ago. At night, Lawrence would crawl out of the cupboard and we never could decide what he might do next but I barely slept, just in case.
We wrote letters to Lawrence, telling him we knew he was in there and asking him not to hurt us. We slid these letters into the gap in the cupboard and hoped he could read them in the dark. I wonder what the camp workers thought if they ever opened the cupboard. I wonder what was really in there. It was so big and so high up, right next to the top bunk. It wasn’t that hard to believe that there really was a body in there, rotting away in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.