Summer Slaycation! — What's on the Other Side of the Lake?!

Story transcript, edited from an automatic transcription. Minor transcription errors may remain; not checked word for word against the audio. Separate host segments and advertising omitted.

Summer Slaycation by David O'Hanlon The plan is simple, Henry Stout said around the butt of his cigarette. We take the canoes across the lake and into the cypress maze, and then it's just a short hike to the Miniwenyan bunkhouses. What if we get lost? Lance Calaveras snatched the smoke from Henry's mouth. It's called the maze for a reason. Henry scratched at the patch of bristly hair he called his beard. I've done the maze three times.

I can get us through. Henry was on his fourth stay at the Living Grace Rehabilitation Camp for youth offenders. The 13-week camp was developed by Pastor Frank Oppendecker to put kids on the straight and narrow through Christ. If that didn't work, the former Marine Corps drill instructor had more inventive ways to grind the little pukes into productive members of society. The Cypress Maze was the final test for all the teens that entered the program.

If they failed, they completed their sentences in a juvenile detention center. It was a one-time deal. Normally. Father O, as the delinquents called him, took a special interest in Henry and brought him back every time he re-offended. He saw Henry as the camp's one and only failure. Henry saw the camp as a grueling but welcomed reprieve from his home, a dilapidated trailer park outside of Russellville called the Green Mile. Yeah, you've done the maze, Lance said, but not at night.

Then stay here, Henry threw his hands in the air. Maybe Father O will let you polish the pews for morning service. The rest of us are going to the mini-wini-ons. And then we'll see. Ted Vang cupped both his hands to his chest as if cradling breasts. Seriously, Ted? Dexter Brown shook his head. With those glasses, you can see them from here. Too many trees in the way. Ted adjusted his glasses over his plump cheeks.

Ted's right, Henry smirked. The senior house is responsible for bed checks and lockdown, so they hit the showers last. That's when we'll strike. We throw the bombs through the windows, and they'll all come out running. Dexter held up the Polaroid camera. And I'll get the photos to make sure we all get a good look and don't miss out on anything. What about the counselors? Jimmy O'Reilly, always the pragmatist, asked. They're going to come running too.

These babies aren't exactly subtle. Jimmy tossed one of the devices between his hands. It wasn't much bigger than a thermos, with a main body of papier-mâché over chicken wire with four thinner cardboard tubes attached to the sides. A waterproof fuse snaked from the top of all four and came together in a braid with that of the main device. The entire package was wrapped in black electrical tape for easy concealment on the moonless night.

Jimmy's unsettling interest in things that went boom were what landed him in the camp. Spaz will take care of that, Henry reassured them. Marco Spaz Reynolds tugged at the ends of his shaggy mane and rocked in place, giggling. Yeah, yeah, I got something to keep those pesky counselors out of our business. Father O handpicked all the campers. He wanted to challenge himself as much as the youth's. Whether it be Henry's seeming inability to rehabilitate, Ted's obesity, Dexter's unwillingness to apply his genius IQ, Jimmy's authority issues or Lance's temper each of the 16s offered him a chance to prove his faith Spaz was no different he grew up in a satanic cult that were currently all facing charges of kidnapping and cannibalism there was no evidence that Spaz had been involved in the cult's crimes but it didn't matter he was still a devout devil worshiper the raised flesh of a pentagram branded on his forehead made Spaz a poster child for the program, if Father O could reform him.

Okay, Lance said. Let's stop talking about it and get moving. He grabbed one of Jimmy's devices. No one gets hurt, right? Maybe their feelings, Jimmy shrugged. It's all smoke and sparks and some little pops, just enough to make them think there's a fire. The six boys made their way to the door of the cabin and Dexter poked his head out first. The pastor's cabin was dark in the distance, opposite the oppressive structures of the obstacle course.

Dexter nodded the all clear and they eased through the screen door one after the other, careful not to let the rusted spring slam it shut. The rubber band of Ted's slingshot twanged softly followed by the unavoidable pop of a lightbulb shattering. Jimmy stretched his neck to watch over the bush for Father O's lamp to come on. When it didn't, he tapped Ted's shoulder. The portly Mongolian fired another stone at the second light positioned over the rack of canoes.

Shards tinkled off the fiberglass bodies of the little boats. The boys sprinted across the open lot and quickly loosed three of the canoes. They carried them overhead just like the pastor made them on their morning marches. The boats hit water, and the teens paddled gently into the lake. On the other side of the lake, the lovely ladies of the Minnewinion girls' retreat would be working diligently to finish their nightly duties. Then they would head to the showers.

Their bare flesh was a siren song sang between the horrid cries of frogs, crickets, and cicadas. The six boys increased their rowing without saying a word. They were at the mercy of their loins, which spurred them faster into the low fog that shrouded the mouth of the cypress maze. Spaz held the narrow trunk of a smaller cypress to keep the canoe still as Jimmy urinated over the aft. Henry and Ted shared the lead boat and panned their flashlights around wildly.

Lance and Dexter rode past them and deeper into the maze. Glad you know the way, Henry, Lance said. This is the right way, Henry responded. I marked the trees the last time I went through the stupid thing. We already made it to the second marker, which means the third should be right here. That's the halfway point. You've been looking for the mark for 20 minutes, Dexter reminded him. The girls will already be dried off by the time we get there.

They'll still be naked, though, Ted reassured them all. A sudden splash broke up their debate and was immediately followed by a profane cry and another dynamic entrance into the marsh. The four teens turned their lights in the direction of the commotion. The red bottom of the canoe was facing up and rocking in the turbulence. The lights danced over the surface of the water and converged on the face-down body that drifted away from the boat, lazily.

Oh, damn! Dexter went to work with his oar, rowing them backwards. Hold on, Jimmy, we're coming! The canoe must have come down on him when it flipped. Lance rode harder and panned his head-mounted light wildly. Where's Spaz? Get him out of the water! Henry twisted in his seat. There's gators out there! Why are we out here in the dark if there's gators? Ted gripped his oar like a spear and gazed at the black void around them They hunt at night Lots of things hunt at night The bank of halogen lights illuminated the teens and everything in a 60-foot path Dexter pulled Jimmy's unconscious body across the canoe Behind the glare of the bulbs, a silhouette stalked across the deck of a camouflaged airboat The form of some strange malevolence moved behind him and slipped over the side, disappearing into the water Ted stood quickly, swinging the paddle over his shoulder like a club.

Who are you? Ted took a step back, rocking the boat hard. Henry leaned forward to the other side to steady them. Get out of here, mister. Our counselor's out here with us. The good pastor is sound asleep, the shadowy figure said. Don't struggle too much. I don't want you hurting yourself. Something broke the surface beside Lance and Dexter. A pair of malformed green-brown appendages reached up and twisted in Jimmy's clothing. His body slipped back into the marsh.

Dexter and Lance grabbed his legs and struggled to pull him back in. The tug-of-war intensified with the heavy rocking of the canoe. Jimmy's legs were completely submerged, then up to his ribcage. Suddenly, the boys were airborne. They popped their heads above the filthy water, coughing and rubbing their eyes clear. Jimmy bobbed beside them. They reached for him in unison. They screamed that way, too, when the bisected body of their bunkmate tipped over and sank into the abyss.

Dexter watched in horror as Ted and Henry were knocked into the marsh. A net sailed from the airboat over them, and something beneath the surface gathered it, dragging it back to the man hiding behind the lights. Lance disappeared with a quick splash. Dexter swam as hard as he could. He didn't care if he was swimming toward camp or the Mississippi, just so long as he was swimming anywhere that wasn't the cypress maze.

Something snagged his shirt. He felt the barbs dragging through his flesh, but forced himself onward. Then he was underwater. And he wasn't alone. The house sat on a tiny island in the back of the bayou away from prying eyes. Sawgrass obscured the boundaries where land met swamp and the tiny dock at which the airboat rocked sedately. The ramshackle three-story was built shortly after the Civil War and abandoned for almost as long.

Portions of the roof sagged, and others had collapsed long before and were patched with tarps. Glass was long gone from the windows, and the breeze whistled across the edges of the century-old shards that remained. Two rusted water tanks had been converted to hold gasoline for the generators, and three windmills provided the rest of his electricity. The owner stretched his aching limbs. The isolated home was the perfect location for the laboratory and the clandestine aims of his research.

It was not so easy on his ailing body, however. He wrung his arthritic hands and worked the blue nitrile gloves over them with a pair of sharp snaps. He checked his reflection in a grimy mirror. Its surface shook with the constant rumbling of the generators. He'd forgotten surgical masks on his last trek into town. not that it would matter once the procedure was complete. He adjusted the paper cap over the few remaining patches of vomit yellow hair and the unfortunate results of the last treatment.

He would succeed soon. It was a shame the one boy was torn in half, but science came with losses. No one cared how many monkeys got vivisected in the name of medical advancement. Teenage boys were just as abundant and equally expendable. One of them was advancing at an exponential rate already. The previous summer's campers were failures, but they did get him closer to his goals, and he was certain that this was his year.

He wiggled a tooth in its socket with his tongue. It clacked off the floorboards next to his feet. If he didn't succeed this year, there wouldn't be enough left of him for another harvest. He padded up the stairs, feeling each step rattling his fragile bones. The boy in the suspension tube was showing amazing cellular response. The other had not been so compatible. The doctor watched two of his previous failures dragging the corpse to the window to push it over the sill.

A splash let him know they'd made their shot. The two creatures slapped each other's backs wildly and screeched with excitement. Baboons were so easily pleased, even ones that weren't entirely monkey anymore. The three remaining teens awaited their first rounds of injections on the reclined gurneys that served as surgical tables. The chubby Asian boy was sobbing while the other two observed the room quietly. The doctor found their calm unsettling and busied himself with turning up the isotope saturation of the suspension tube.

The disfigured teen floated in the irradiated solution beneath the glow of ultraviolet lamps that shimmered between the lily pads floating at the top of the tube. The doctor tapped the glass until the boy's eyes opened. You are a marvelous creature, the doctor said. His two servants bounded closer to him. Leaves pressed through their green-gray hairs with coiling vines dangling from their aged faces like unkempt beards. They were his first successes and his only companions.

The doctor patted their heads. Go feed your siblings. They may not be necessary after tonight. He leaned in and kissed the suspension tube. We may finally have what we need. Frank Oppendecker dragged the inflatable boat onto the island's shore. His boys were missing, and there were two places they could go. With no disturbances at the Mini Winyan camp, that only left the creepy house in the middle of the swamp. Something splashed behind him and he cocked the shotgun slide to remind the mysterious owner to stay away.

It did. Father O crept through the house, thankful for the drone of the generators masking his creaking ascent to the second floor. He pressed the walnut stock of his weapon tight into his shoulder and swiveled around the doorway into the lab. Three of his campers were strapped down. another man stood with the back of a filthy lab coat turned toward Father O. He inched into the room, scanning the abundance of shadows left by the inadequate illumination of the strands of Christmas lights overhead.

Lance's face stretched into a smile as he saw the pastor coming in to save them. He quickly wiped the look away before the doctor could see it. Where are the others? Father O asked. The doctor turned slowly, warped earthen tendrils stretched from corrupted flesh and wiggled in the air. Beneath the lab coat was nothing but liver spots and deep purple veins broken up by the abominations of the doctor's self-experimentation. Tiny leaves sprang where normal men grew hair and bright red flowers opened to sniff the air.

You never come to visit anymore, Francis, the doctor ambled closer to Father O with his arms outstretched. I mean it, Dad. You can't take all of them. Frank lowered his weapon. I thought your experiments were running amok again. I should have known it was your gluttonous zeal for this blasphemous perversion. Dad? Dexter tried to sit up, but the straps binding him to the table just turned it into an awkward twitch. Father O, what's he talking about?

The pastor ignored him. The doctor pinched the embroidered pocket of his coat and wiggled it in the direction of Dexter. Dr. Werner Oppendecker. I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself sooner. Warner turned to his son. Does it make life easier, Francis, going through it blindly accepting magic instead of reaching for obtainable knowledge in the realms of science? Save me the Thanksgiving disappointment debate, Dad. Cut them loose. He jerked a thumb toward the suspension tube.

You can keep that one, but these three are going with me. Where are the other two? Dead, I'm afraid. And you're not taking my subjects. I'm too close this time, Francis. I've destroyed my cancers, though with unfortunate side effects. These hooligans that you brought me will take the procedure to a level that will end all human suffering. Human, Lance grunted. Humans don't grow lilies on their skin, you nutjob. You're not human.

And our ancestors were not apes, Werner turned, and the woody tendrils reached out to caress Lance's face. They were more, and so shall we be. I am no longer just a man. Werner twisted away, letting the appendages scratch Lance's cheeks as he made his way to the tube. He slapped the glass. Evolution is an undeniable reality, and I have harnessed it. Human and plant will come together to create a human that never ages and is immune to all of our horrible diseases.

Meat and veggies all in one dish, Dexter said. Sounds pretty crazy to me. Don't you think so, Ted? Ted cried louder in response. I think he agrees, Lance said. I'm not screwing around, Dad. Father O raised the shotgun to his hip. I'm taking the boys back with me. I knew you'd say that. Werner smiled as best he could with so few teeth remaining. You should have paid more attention in school, son.

Plants communicate with pheromones. The floor collapsed under him and the shotgun boomed as he fell through. The shrieks of the two baboons mingled with Father O's screams until they were the only sound remaining. Lance stared at the mad scientist clutching the tight cluster of buckshot holes in his abdomen before he toppled over. Werner's face splashed into the pool of water streaming from the holes in the blood-splattered suspension tube. The glass spiderwebbed around them.

Fissures raced along the surface until the weight of the fluid tore the pieces away in a fantastic crash of falling glass and rushing water. He struggled to get a hand free of the straps while the mad scientist screamed at the disaster. Success. Lance quickly undid the buckles across his torso and proceeded to free Dexter. They worked in tandem to release Ted, who immediately curled into a fetal position. I want to wake up now, he cried.

I'm sorry I tried to look at the girls. I just want to wake up. We don't have time for this. Lance slapped Ted's cheek with no result aside from a raised handprint. Come on, Ted. We have to run now. Better idea. Dexter kicked the brakes on the gurney's wheels. That works. Now let's get out of here. They pushed Ted toward the doorway as fast as the rusted, squealing wheels would roll. One of the plant monkeys sprang through the hole in the floor and blocked their path.

Its mossy, covered lips peeled away from piercing fangs. Lance slid like he was stealing home base and kicked it back into the hole. The creature's terrified shriek was replaced with Lance's own as gnarled, root-like fangs dug into his leg. The second beast emerged from broken floorboards. Tiny buds bloomed among its stiff hairs, revealing snapping, floral mouths full of adhesive, fuchsia fingers. Even the plant-based parts of the monstrosity hungered for flesh. It launched itself out of the hole and straddled him.

The creature tried to pulp Lance's skull and narrowly missed. Dexter seized it by the thick coat of its back, only to be attacked by the miniature mouths hiding there. The plants tore into his hands and held him tight while the baboon's jaws snapped inches from Lance's throat. A horrible, chaotic orchestra of howls, shrieks, and unintelligible shouting played below their battle. I'm sorry, guys, Ted Vang rolled from his stretcher and darted for the window.

I just wanted to see boobs. The towering green form lumbered across his path, twisting vines of inching long thorns hung like living dreadlocks around its verdant face. Scales of bark sprouted along the angular jaw and, in the center of the thing's forehead, was the raised lines of a pentagram. Ted held his arms up defensively. Spaz? Is that you? It's Ted. We're friends. Right, bud? Right, Spaz hissed before his new hair ensnared the portly camper.

Spaz's chest opened with a sticky slurp and he jerked Ted into the maw head first. Spaz snapped around to the remaining campers as they fought with the baboon. He stomped toward the fray. Things just got worse. Dexter slammed a knee into the monkey's tailbone and tore a hand free. Lance held the creature's jaws apart with his face caught between them. Not from down here they haven't. Kill this stupid thing. Spaz's foot connected with Dexter and sent him in the abomination thudding into the wall.

Shit, Lance stared up at Spaz. Things just got worse. Lance rolled away as the thorns scoured the floor in a vain effort to seize him. He pulled the gurney between him and Spaz. Ted's legs kicked soundlessly as his head and torso dissolved inside Spaz's new form. The man plant's lips contorted in malevolent joy. I've always enjoyed the taste of human, it growled. Yeah, well, I've always hated vegetables. Lance grabbed Ted's leg and jumped down the hole.

Spaz caught himself on the broken boards and Lance dangled from the leg of his slowly digesting fellow camper. The first floor was a demolition site. The busted cages lined the walls. Malformed freaks ran amok, tearing apart the home and he other. Father O, what was left of him, limped through the madness freeing more of the doctor's failed experiments. Lance dropped the rest of the distance and picked himself up with a groan.

Something that might have been a raccoon snarled at him and he booted it across the room, its mossy body bounced next to Father O's shotgun. Spaz came crashing down beside him, with Dexter on his back. The teen winked at Lance and then jumped off the writhing beast. Let's get out of here, Dexter said as he ran for the door. Detour first. Lance dashed for the weapon and joined him on the front porch.

They watched some of the creatures swim away from the tiny island. Others simply disappeared beneath the placid surface of the swamp. Lance twisted and saw the oblong, rust-covered tanks next to the house. He raised the shotgun and fired it until it clicked on the empty chamber. Gasoline spurted from the wounds, but the tanks didn't explode. Dexter raised an eyebrow and shrugged. It's the thought that counts. It always works in the movies, Lance pointed at the airboat.

Let's go. The two teens untied from the mooring and turned on the motor, watching the oversized fan spin without any sort of guard. The doctor cared as much for safety as he did for medical ethics, it seemed. Dexter laughed and held up a plastic box with big block letters. Emergency signal kit. Lance took the case and opened it quickly, Finding the flare gun inside drew an excited whoop from him. Bet it blows up now, Dexter said.

He moved them away from the dock gently as he got the hang of the controls. The boat rocked hard and the boys spun to see Spaz climbing over the side to join them. Dexter jumped from the controls and body checked him before he could get his balance. The fan blades caught the vines and diced them. Lance and Dexter exchanged glances. Dexter ducked under Spaz's swinging fist and dropped to the deck behind him.

Let's toss this salad, Dexter shouted. Lance jumped over the steering column and kicked Spaz with both feet, sending him careening over the prone Dexter and into the fan. Spaz's mulched remains sprayed behind the boat as his body passed through the oversized food processor with ease. Let's toss this salad? That was the best you could come up with? Lance laughed. Dexter scooped the flare gun and slapped it against Lance's palm. Shut up and burn the house down already.

Gladly, Lance sat up and fired at the tanks. They watched the fire spread through the tall grass. It moved placidly until it met the dried, ancient timber of the house. The structure flared like a matchhead, spreading its light across the black water. Somewhere in the swamp, a baboon cried out as it watched its home burn. Think the girls have taken a shower yet? Lance asked. Probably. Dexter turned the steering wheel. Can't hurt to double check.

The fuel tanks exploded behind them, but they didn't bother looking back. Dexter sped up, maneuvering through the bayou. The experiments were loose, but at least the doctor wouldn't be making any more. They would tell the authorities what happened. Eventually. There were more pressing matters to attend to first. They smiled through the blood and grime and aimed the boat toward the cypress maze.