It was June of 1984 when my parents sent me to spend the summer at a sleepaway camp in the forests of North Carolina. To this day I’m not sure why they did it, but I don’t remember ever feeling any type of anger about it. Truthfully, it seemed as good a way to spend the summer as any. Back then, kids used to say that the devil himself lived in those woods—that if you strayed too far from your cabin in the night, you’d hear the heavy thudding of hooves or the ominous crackle of hellfire. I was never a particularly superstitious person, but despite my quick dismissal of those rumors as nothing more than silly camp legends, I won’t deny that there was something strange about that summer. Although I can recall the months before and after with perfect clarity, those twelve weeks seem to blur together in my mind, as if someone placed a piece of film over my memories and now everything’s a little hazy. Whether that’s my own mind playing tricks on me or honest-to-god infernal influence, I’ve never been able to tell.
If there’s one thing that I do (at least for the most part) remember about that summer, it’s Judith. She and I were among the oldest at camp, unceremoniously shoved into cabin 6 with eleven other girls who were one or two years our junior. The cabin was small and, much to everyone’s dismay, one cot short. Taking what I felt was my responsibility as the oldest, I volunteered to sleep on the floor. Uncomfortable as it was, this sacrifice earned me respect, and before I knew it I had become a sort of leader of our group.
I grew close with each of the girls, but Judith by far the most. She was often proud and haughty, but though I’d always considered myself a kind and peaceful person, there was something about Judith that I found oddly compelling. Perhaps I admired the way she was never afraid to voice her opinion, or how she seemed to be completely devoid of fears. I had a feeling that there was more to her than she presented on the surface, and I wanted to figure her out. To my surprise, she found me just as interesting as I found her, and before long we were doing everything together. Judith was obsessed with the same camp legends that I scoffed at, sneaking out and dragging me with her into the woods night after night to maybe catch a glimpse of the so-called devil. The specifics of those nights now slip my mind, but I’m almost certain we never achieved that goal of hers. I’m sure that the sight of the devil, in the flesh, is something that even my failing brain would hold onto. What I do remember is how I felt during my adventures with Judith —giddy and fulfilled.
Despite what happened in the end, the memory of her still makes me feel an inexplicable fondness. When I grew weary of sleeping on the floor, she invited me to share her bed. We were best friends in every sense of the word—and though we never said a thing about it, there was some semblance of romance in the way her eyes held mine for just a little too long, something vaguely sexual in how her hands often settled on my hips in the night.
When summer started nearing its end, Judith began acting strangely. Our excursions into the woods became less frequent, and it seemed like she had something heavy on her mind, something that she was always contemplating. As curious as I was about what she was hiding, I never asked. I think I was afraid of unleashing something that I didn’t truly want to know.
A few nights before we were supposed to leave, Judith asked me to come swimming with her in the creek. We crept out of the cabin while the others were asleep, undressing at the riverbank and trying to stifle our shrieks as we felt the frigid chill of the water. Splashing around with her in the dark, I forgot about the fact that we’d be leaving soon, or the possibility of some demon watching us from just out of sight. I simply felt happy.
When we finally decided it was time to head back, I heard Judith let out a cry of pain. She had cut her foot on a sharp rock while stepping out of the creek, and it was bleeding profusely. Seeing how her face went pale at the sight, I offered to help. She sat down on a large log and I knelt at her feet, using creek water and my own towel to clean the wound. Something about the experience felt strangely intimate. Almost biblical.
“So,” Judith began, breaking the intense silence. “The devil. I think I know how we can find him.”
I paused and looked up. Judith was gazing far into the distance. Her eyes avoided mine.
“Oh?” I remarked.
Judith didn’t elaborate. She merely nodded.
I resumed washing her foot in silence, until it was sufficiently clean and I tore off a piece of towel to wrap it in. “All done,” I said softly.
I looked up at Judith, and she looked down at me. I could tell there was something she wanted to say, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Finally, she opened her mouth and spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
I was confused. “Hmm? Sorry for what?”
Once again, she didn’t answer, so I just kept staring into her eyes. It’s funny—I’ve never forgotten the emotion I saw behind them, but I can’t remember what color they were.
The next night, Judith asked me to accompany her into the woods once again. As we made our way through the trees she was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn, but every step she took seemed filled with a great sense of determination. I grew more and more intrigued as she led me to a section of the forest that we’d never been before.
We stopped at last in a patch of woods where several trees had been chopped down, their stumps forming an ominous circle. Most of the surrounding vegetation was dead—this area was almost completely barren. “Judith,” I started. “Where—”
And then she kissed me. There were no words, no explanation, nothing at all that could have prepared me for it. I simply stood there in shock, and as I did, I vaguely remember feeling very hot, smelling something a bit like brimstone, and then—nothing at all.
My memory is completely absent after that. I’m told that I was missing for three days before I wandered out of the woods, apparently completely fine. I had missed the final day of camp, and everyone else had gone home, including Judith. I have no idea what became of her, and I never heard from her again.
I often wonder what really happened that night, but the harder I try, the less I seem to recall. At this point, I’m not sure any of the remaining memories I have from that summer can be trusted. They grow hazier and hazier by the day. I’m certain that in a few more years from now, I’ll remember nothing at all.
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