From: sneakers 
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Skeptic of Bracken Lake (1/2)
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 11:13:36 -0800


##Sound of humble college student crossing her fingers that this post 
reaches a.t.x.c . . . my stuff never seems to get to the archives, and 
that's reason enough to assume it might not show up here . . .##

This is dedicated to a different Nancy (or "Ace"), the namesake 
of the storytelling character, who not only contributed to my 
obsession with the X-Files but tells a damn good ghost story as 
well . . . ask her about Georgette and Paula if you ever meet her 
. . . She is, however, MUCH NICER than the Nancy in the 
story, and imitated only in her ghost stories and not her 
personality.  

WARNING: this story DOES NOT CONTAIN MULDER AT 
ALL.  It is an attempt at 'female bonding' a'la a ghost story.  

Dana Scully is created by the great Chris Carter and ten-thirteen 
(grovel, grovel) . . . everyone else is my creation, or taken 
(lightly) from actual people . . . RR and NWGC people - if you 
see something you recognize in here, it's probably what you 
think it is . . . 


THE SKEPTIC OF BRACKEN LAKE
by sneakers


"Hey, Dana, did you hear what Nancy said?"
        
        Twelve-year-old Dana Scully looked up from her book 
as her friend Janet McCullough came barging into the cabin, 
pushing aside the carefully rigged towel-door.  "I can't believe it 
. . . you're reading again.  Don't you ever do anything else?"

        "I . . ." Dana was beginning to regret this whole summer 
camp thing.  So what if her brothers had *loved* Boy Scout 
camp since they were Bobcat Cubs?  This was different . . . and 
she had to share a cabin with boy-crazy girls that sighed over TV 
stars and screamed whenever they saw a slug.

        And were determined to involve her in their little camp 
traditions.  Janet stood next to Dana's bed, hands on her hips.  
"You're coming with me, whether you want to or not."  She 
grabbed Dana's arm, pulling her off the bed as she tried to get a 
bookmark.  "_Edible Plants of the East Coast_?  You *have* to 
hear Nancy's ghost story.  She tells the *best* ghost stories.  
And . . ." Janet lowered her voice.  ". . . this one's about 
*here*."

        "Okay . . . okay. . . let me put my book away, okay?"  
Dana found the elusive bookmark, closed the book, put it back 
in her duffel bag, zipped the bag up, and put her shoes back on.

        "Geez, hurry up," grumbled Janet, looking out the hole 
in the cabin wall that passed for a window.  "Nancy's gonna be 
done before we even get there."  Janet's brown hair stuck 
frizzily out in all directions, making her look like something of a 
ghost story herself.  With her grimy jeans, untied running 
shoes, and damp 'Bracken Lake Girl Scout Camp' T-shirt, she 
looked like a stereotypical camper.  Quite the contrast to Dana's 
clean khaki shorts and forest green shirt.  "Are you *finally* 
ready?" asked Janet, hopping impatiently from one foot to the 
other.

        The cabins, arranged in a circle around a fire pit, cast 
weird shadows in the evening light.  Nancy Raleigh sat on the 
window ledge in her cabin, illuminated by an upturned flashlight 
set on the floor.  "Where'd you go, Timbuktoo?" she asked 
flippantly as Janet and Dana entered the cabin.  "Took you long 
."

        "Yeah, well, good things are worth waiting for, Nan."  
Janet sat down again in the circle of girls on the floor.  Dana 
took the last available spot, perching on the edge of somebody's 
bed.

        "You don't want to sit there," said one of the girls on the 
floor suddenly.  Dana peered through the darkness but couldn't 
identify the speaker.  "Somebody *died* in that bed."

        "*Right*," answered Dana.

        "No, look.  It says right there: 'The ghost of Becky 
Simmons still haunts this bed'.  Tell me *that* doesn't mean she 
died there."

        "It says she haunts it, not that she died there."

        "Shut up, Linny, Dana," said Nancy unkindly, unwilling 
to give up the spotlight.  She looked around, then switched off 
the large flashlight, creating the proper atmosphere for the story.  
The only light came from a small squeeze flashlight in Nancy's 
hands.  "One of my counselors told me this story last year . . . 
*she* said it was the freakiest story she'd ever heard - not that I 
think so," she finished quickly.  "But . . . you can judge for 
yourself."

        "Is it true?" one of the other girls on the floor asked.

        "I wouldn't be telling it if it wasn't true, stupid," 
answered Nancy.  She looked around, irritated, at her court of 
girls spread out across the floor.  By the end of the night, she 
would have them spooking at their own shadows . . . except, 
she thought, that dang friend of Janet's that sat there calmly on 
the haunted bed.  Well, she'd just make the story extra special . . 
.she grinned in anticipation.  "Once upon a time . . ."

        A succession of groans rose from the group.  "Can't you 
find a better way to start?" asked one of them.

        "*Once upon a time*," repeated Nancy, "fifty years ago 
this week, there was a man here, a man in love with one of the 
counselors."

        "There's men here now," somebody pointed out.

        "Yes, but this man was . . . even worse.  He fell in love 
with this person during the year, and he couldn't bear to be 
without her over the summer.  And, of course, she didn't know 
he existed.  He was desperate.  Man, he was crazy enough to try 
anything."

        She surveyed the waiting faces, mostly confused as to 
how this was a ghost story.  "So, he decided to find a way to be 
with her.  He wasn't very smart, but he did manage to come up 
with one idea.  He dressed up as a girl and got a job as a 
counselor here."  The faces changed from confusion to 
skepticism.  "The director that year had really bad eyesight, 
okay?  The rest of the staff thought he was really weird, but the 
director wouldn't listen to them."

        "Anyway, this guy's name was Joe, so he decided to be 
Joanna.  The counselor he was in love with was Agatha.  Fifty 
years ago, this week, the fifth week of the summer, they worked 
together, in the same bunch of cabins, for the first time.  They 
lived in . . ."  Nancy leaned out the window and pointed at the 
empty cabin on the far side of the counselors' cabin.  "They 
lived there.  That's why nobody lives in there anymore."

        "I thought nobody lived there because of the bees' nest."

        Nancy snapped back, but wasn't in time to see who 
made the sacrilegious comment.  "There's bees there *because* 
nobody lives there," she said.  "Anyway, Joanna wasn't a very 
good counselor, and Agatha knew that.  She kept complaining to 
the director, but she wouldn't do anything.  Finally, the director 
got fed up and gave Agatha a few days off so she would stop 
complaining.  Agatha called her brother to pick her up and take 
her home."

        "But Joanna was watching as her brother picked her up.  
And he thought she was being picked up by a boyfriend, and he 
just about went nuts, because he wanted to have her for himself.  
So, he began making plans."

        "He grabbed her as she was coming back, after all the 
campers had left.  He tied her to that tree next to the fire pit and 
furiously began accusing her of betraying him, of cheating on 
him.  Poor Agatha was confused as heck and had no idea what 
to say.  She stayed there for all of Saturday night, listening to 
him rant on, but she couldn't escape from the ropes that tied her 
the tree.

        "Didn't somebody come by?  Didn't anybody notice?"  
Janet leaned forward, as if straining to hear something.

        "They were all at home, and they all thought Agatha was 
at home.  Joanna started to get crazier and crazier, and eventually 
he set fire to the tree, thinking that if Agatha was innocent, she'd 
survive the fire.  Obviously, that didn't work.  So that was the 
end of Agatha.  Joanna was happy.  If he couldn't have her, 
nobody could."

        "What happened to Joanna?"

        "Nobody saw what happened, so life just went on as 
usual.  Then, one night, Agatha appeared to him.  She stood 
there in his dreams, yelling at him over and over.  He began to 
have a nervous breakdown, talking in his sleep, things like that.  
Two of the other counselors he was working with began to 
suspect the he had killed Agatha."  

        "But, nobody would believe them, so they decided to 
take things into their own hands.  They took him down to the 
waterfront one night and hung him.  After he died, they cut 
down his body, weighted it with rocks, and dropped it in the 
lake."

        In the dim light, Nancy could see somebody shudder.  
Good.  It was working.  "So, now they both wander around the 
camp at night, looking for revenge.  Agatha wanders around the 
campsites looking for Joanna.  Joanna is fortunately restricted to 
area around where he died . . . except when the moon is full.  
Then he can come down to meet her . . . and anybody that's 
around when they are both out is liable to be found dead the next 
morning . . ."

        Dana spoke up from the bed.  "What about the rest of the 
time?"

        "Well, Agatha's harmless.  The poor thing just wanders 
around.  She's harmless, and you can't see her, anyway.  But 
Joanna . . . he stomps around the tree where he died, moaning 
and groaning and extracting revenge on anybody that comes near 
him.  But both of them disappear as soon as it starts to get 
light."

        Dana continued.  "I suppose there's a full moon coming 
up, right?"

        Nancy glared at her opposition.  "No, actually the next 
one isn't for two weeks . . . but, it is the fiftieth anniversary of 
their deaths."

        "Have you ever seen them yourself?"

        "No . . . but one of the counselors last year told it to me 
. . . she even showed me the tree and all . . ."

        "So, how do you know it's true?"

        "My *counselor* told it to me, Dana.  Besides, I'll take 
it on faith."

        "Well, I won't.  The chances of something like that 
happening . . ."

        Nancy was furious.  "Dana Scully, you're just a big 
wimp!  You're too chicken to deal with it, so you don't believe 
it!  If you were *really* brave you'd believe!"

        Janet jumped up to defend her friend.  'Nancy, I don't 
think . . ."

        "You too!  You're both wimps!  I - I dare you to go 
down to the tree at night.  Do that - prove that he doesn't exist!"

        Dana shrugged.  "All right, then.  Will do."

        The girls on the floor were wide-eyed.  "You're not 
going to actually do that, are you?" asked Janet.

        "Yeah!" continued Nancy.  "If you're so sure that he 
doesn't exist, take Janet with you.  Meet me at the showerhouse 
at one a.m. tonight.  And, for Godsakes, don't wake up any of 
the counselors."  She kicked herself away from the windowsill 
and stormed out of the cabin.

        "Uh, Dana, you're not actually going to make me come, 
are you?"  Janet bit her lower lip.  The look on Dana's face 
convinced her that she was indeed planning on taking Janet with 
her.  "I hope you know what you're dealing with here," she 
concluded.

        "Well, we'll find out, won't we?"  Dana grabbed Janet's 
arm and dragged her out of the cabin before anyone else could 
convince her to change her mind.

===========================================================================

From: sneakers 
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: The Skeptic of Bracken Lake (2/2)
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 11:20:48 -0800


##sound of humble college student re-crossing fingers . . . ##

See the first half for the appropriate legal garbage.  
WARNING: Still doesn't contain Mulder.

THE SKEPTIC OF BRACKEN LAKE (cont.)
by sneakers


        "I can't believe I'm doing this," whispered Dana, as she 
and Janet snuck down the path to the showerhouse.  At one in 
the morning, it was as dark as it was ever going to be.  Dana's 
black pants and navy blue shirt blended with the night, and her 
shining copper hair was hidden under a dark purple bandanna, one 
flashlight gripped in her gloved hands, a spare stuck in her 
back pocket.  Janet's blue sweatpants and black t-shirt stood out 
a little bit more, but not much.  

        "No, *I* can't believe *I'm* doing this," said Janet.  
"*You're* the one that doesn't believe in ghosts.  *You* don't 
have to worry about anything besides getting caught."

        Nancy, dressed entirely in black, was leaning against the 
showerhouse, cradling her huge flashlight in her arms.  "What 
took you so long?" she asked.  "I was afraid you'd chickened 
out."

        "Never, Nancy," said Janet, scowling into the darkness.  
"We were giving *you* a little time to back out gracefully, if 
you were scared."

        Dana didn't involve herself in the argument.  She 
watched Nancy, silhouetted in the moonlight.  Black shoes, 
black socks, black jeans, a black t-shirt, and, obviously, black 
hair.  She wondered how many times Nancy had told that 
particular story, and if anybody else had ever dared to disagree 
with it.  Something occurred to her.  "What are we going to do if 
somebody comes along the road?"

        Nancy and Janet turned to look at their uninformed 
friend.  "That's why we're wearing dark clothes, stupid," said 
Nancy.  "They won't see us."

        "What if they have headlights?"

        "Then we duck into the bushes," said Nancy.  "C'mon, 
are we going to get this over with, or not?"  She switched her 
flashlight to one hand and turned it on.  "Here's the plan, 'kay?  
We take the loop road until we get to the bottom of the hill.  We 
go up to the dining hall, then down to the lake.  If we get split 
up, meet on the porch of the boathouse.  If you get caught, deny 
everything.  Trust no one.  Don't reveal who's involved."

        Janet and Dana nodded obediently.

        "Remember, the truth is out there somewhere.  We'll 
find it."

        "Doesn't it seem like she's taking this a bit too 
seriously?" whispered Janet to Dana, as they walked along the 
dark loop road.  "I mean, it's just a story, right?  Look at her."  
Nancy was walking, flashlight off, eyes flickering from side to 
side, alert for any sign of motion or hint of sound.

        "Has she *ever* done anything halfway?" asked Dana.  
Whatever Nancy did, whether it was swimming, riding horses, 
or annoying her cabin mates, she put her whole heart into it.

        Janet began coughing in order to cover up the giggles 
that rose up involuntarily.  Nancy's head whipped around.  A 
look of annoyance crossed her face when she saw the source of 
the sound.  "Try to keep it down, okay, Janet?" she asked.  
"You could be covering up something important, get it?"  She 
snapped her head forward again and continued walking.

        Janet *and* Dana succumbed to fits of "coughing".  
"Boy, it sure is dusty out here," commented Dana, managing to 
keep a straight face.

        Nancy said nothing, simply turned ninety degrees to the 
right and began climbing the hill to the dining hall.  The hill that 
seemed long by day seemed practically endless by night.  It gave 
Dana a bit of guilty satisfaction to see Nancy drop her official 
march in order to stagger up the last ten feet of the hill.

        Where the head cook's car was parked.

        Janet and Dana dashed for the brush at the edge of the 
hill, while Nancy tried to catch her breath.  "Psst, Nancy," 
whispered Janet loudly.  "C'm'over here before someone sees 
you!"

        Nancy didn't answer, so Dana, after looking carefully 
around, rushed out of the tall grass and pulled Nancy back in 
with her.  "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded 
angrily.  "You'll get all of us caught by the cook!"

        "What can she do to us?" asked Nancy sarcastically.

        "Turn us into tomorrow's sausage?" suggested Janet.  
"C'mon, lets go around the back of the dining hall.  Nobody'll 
be back there, and there aren't any lights."

        They tiptoed along the edge of the building, keeping in 
the shadow of the roof.  "Crouch down here," instructed Dana 
as they passed one of the kitchen windows.  Nancy scowled at 
her, and Dana was unfortunately able to make out the expression 
in the faint light.  "Hey, I was just trying to be helpful."

        They rounded the corner of the building and crept under 
the porch, heading down to the lake front.  "Be careful, there are 
stinging nettles here," warned Janet.

        "*Not* pleasant to run into," remarked Dana, as she ran 
into one.  Fortunately, the needles didn't go through her thick 
pants.  She stood in front of it for a second, shining her 
flashlight on it.

        "Aw, you're just a wimp," retorted Nancy, still angry 
about being told to crouch down.  "Watch this."  She switched 
flashlight hands again, reached out her left hand towards the 
plant, gingerly touching the top leaf with the tip of her pointer 
.  "Do that, Dana Scully!"

        "Nancy, be reasonable . . ." begged Janet, impressed.  
"Don't do it, Dana . . . c'mon, we can just go back . . ."

        Dana handed her flashlight to Janet.  "I'll do better than 
that," she told Nancy.  She backed up a few steps from the 
plant, looking for the perfect leaf.

        Nancy smirked.  "Touch *that* one," she suggested, 
pointing at a large leaf near the base of the plant.

        Dana shrugged.  "All right, then."  She bent down, 
grasping the leaf where it connected to the plant, and cut through 
the stem with her thumbnail.  Straightening, she held the leaf in 
Nancy's face.  "You mean *this* leaf?"  The spikes were less 
than an inch from Nancy's nose.  

        When Nancy backed up, Dana took the leaf away, and, 
ignoring the awed look on Janet's face, folded it and stuck it in 
her mouth.  Janet and Nancy fell silent as she chewed and 
swallowed the bitter-tasting leaf.  "They're better in tea," she 
admitted. "Not bad, though."

        Janet gulped.  "Let me guess, _Edible Plants of the East 
Coast_?"

        "Nope, my brother."

        "Stop dawdling!" commanded Nancy, even angrier at 
being one-upped by this short redhead that calmly ate nettles.  
She sidestepped the nettle plant and continued down the hill.  
Dana and Janet followed at a safe distance.

        "You know why she doesn't have to worry about 
nettles?" whispered Janet, as they wove through rows of plants, 
some identifiable, some not.  "They're too scared of her, that's 
why.  She probably comes out here at night and tortures them.  
Sort of a nettle boogey-man."

        Dana was still "coughing" as they came out on the 
muddy stretch of lakefront that passed for a beach.  Nancy sat 
on one of the fire circle benches, arms crossed defiantly.  "I was 
*wondering* when you'd show up," she remarked.

        Janet ignored her.  Dana stopped *coughing*.  "So, 
where's this *ghost* supposed to hang out?  Not right here in 
the fire circle, I hope."

        Nancy slid down from the bench with infinite slowness 
and care, wandering in Dana's general direction.  "It's at the tie 
tree," she said, "but you guys took so long that it's probably too 
light for the ghost to come out *now*."

        "Tie tree?"  Janet looked out across the lake, puzzled.

        "It's a *tree* they *tie* boats to, stupid," answered 
Nancy.  "And *you* just took the point out of going to it, 
because it's too light now."

        "C'mon, Nancy, we got this far . . . take us to see the 
tree," whined Janet.

        Dana shone her flashlight across the dark water.  She 
could see the tie tree protruding out over the water, a solitary 
canoe attached by the painter rope.  She moved the flashlight 
along the tree line, past the canoe shed . . . sure enough, there 
was a rather distinct trail leading up past the outhouse.  Ignoring 
Nancy, she began walking towards the trailhead.  "We'll just go 
by ourselves, Janet.  Nancy, you can go back, if you want to, or 
you can join us."

        "You'll get lost," predicted Nancy ominously.  "*I'm* 
the only one that's been there before, *remember*?"  She stood 
just outside the fire circle, arm obstinately crossed, waiting for 
the world to fall, begging, at her feet.

        Predictably, it didn't.  Janet joined Dana at the trailhead, 
but stopped and looked at Nancy before entering the forest.  At 
the last minute, Nancy gave in, joining them with an exasperated 
"If you guys are stupid enough to do this, the least I can do is be 
kind and help you."

        Once past the outhouse, the woods were darker than the 
ones around the cabins.  Dana was in the front, followed by 
Janet, tailed by Nancy, who was still giving 'tips'.  "There's a 
big drop-off by the tie tree, kind of like a beach, remember?"

        Janet turned around and walked two steps backwards.  
"I thought you were the only one that had been here before, 
*remember*?"

        "Anyway, if you stand on top of the drop-off, he can't 
get you, but you can't see him, y'know?  So, if you go down to 
the flat part by the tree, then you can see him, but you might 
have to run away, or climb up the hill.  But if you get on the 
tree, you can talk to him, but if he decides he doesn't like you, 
you'll have to jump in the water, get it?"

        "Nancy, keep it down, okay, please?" asked Dana, 
without stopping.  "Somebody could hear us."

        "Yeah!  The dead guy could hear us," echoed Janet.

        "No, the people whose cabins are over there could hear 
us."  Dana took her flashlight off the path and shone it along the 
lakeshore at the older girls' cabins.  "They could still be awake, 
the counselors over there."  She began walking again.  
"Besides, where we go depends on what it's like when we get 
there."

        "That's right, it could be too light," said Nancy smugly.  
"But that's not *my* fault . . ."

        Dana stopped again.  "Right now, I am *not* interested 
in whose fault it is, Nancy Raleigh.  Think you can remember 
that, and keep accordingly quiet?"  Frustration flared across her 
normally calm face, along with a determination Janet had never 
seen before.

        "Brat," muttered Nancy.  "Who died and left *you* in 
charge?  You're acting like a stinkin' Army general."

        "Quiet in the peanut gallery, *okay*?" was all that Dana 
said.  Janet watched the whole incident with silent interest.  
Nancy was used to being in charge, but Dana could hold her 
own quite well.  The short redhead continued along the trail, 
Janet and Nancy following her silently . . . until they got to the 
tie tree.  "Hey, where do you think you're going?" asked 
Nancy, as Dana continued down the trail.

        "Looking at it from the other side, maybe?" answered 
Dana, shining her flashlight down the short drop-off.  It looked 
perfectly normal to her, albeit slightly muddy from being so 
close to the lake.  The infamous tree stuck out over the lake, 
anchored securely by roots that climbed the drop-off and spread 
out in long knotted arms.

        "That's where they hung him," said Nancy, pointing at a 
thick branch that hung backwards over the shore.  "They tied the 
rope around his neck and stood him on the edge . . . then 
pushed him off.

     t was long enough to reach 
from the tree to here wouldn't be long enough to hang ant.  "Their feet 
would still be able to touch 
the ground."

        "They stretched it, dummy," said Nancy, crossing her 
arms yet again.  "I told you it was too light for him to come out . 
. . are you satisfied now?"

        "His weight would have stretched it, too," Dana pointed 
out, crouching at the edge of the cliff, resting her flashlight on a 
moss-covered stump.  "When did this happen, anyway?  I suppose the 
edge could have eroded away some . . ."

        "Fifty years ago this week . . ." said Janet, " - or, at 
least, that's what Nancy says."

        "Hey."  Dana snapped her fingers.  "Didn't you say that 
he couldn't be seen unless you went down to the water level?"  
She looked pointedly at Nancy.

        "It's too light to see him, I told you."

        "Didn't you?"

        "Yeah, that's right, she did," said Janet suddenly.  "And 
you can't talk to him unless you're on the tree."

        Dana shone her flashlight around the lower ground.  
Determined to prove or disprove the ghost theory, she continued 
talking.  "How can you be so sure it's too light, if you ca      "Just 
trust me.  It's too light."

        Dana stood up suddenly, grasping Nancy's arm.  
"C'mon, lets go down there and find out.."

        "Are you *nuts*?" asked Nancy

        "You yourself said he wouldn't come out . . . so he 
won't.  I just want to see what it's like down there . . . I mean, 
if he's gonna spend an eternity down there, he's got to have left 
some mark of his presence.  Bad vibes or something."  

        Both Nancy and Janet relaxed visibly.  "Presence is 
good enough," agreed Nancy.  Dana carefully crawled down the 
incline, followed at a distance by a cautious Nancy and a truly 
nervous Janet.  They joined her at the shore, shining their lights 
around the tie tree, examining its damp roots.

        "See, nothing down here," said Nancy smugly, giving 
the tree one last kick with her boot-clad foot.

        "Yeah," echoed Janet, elbowing Dana, then whispering, 
"Told you it wouldn't be anything."

        Unbalanced by being elbowed, Dana slid in the mud.  
Grasping for anything to hold on to, she reached about her head 
and grabbed one of the branches, spinning but fortunately 
staying in relatively the same place.  Her face froze in silent 
horror, too petrified for words.  Her eyes fixed on something 
neither Nancy or Janet could see.

        "What is it?  Dana, what's wrong?"  Janet stared at her 
motionless friend.

        "Oh . . . my . . . God . . ." said Dana slowly.  She lifted 
one hand and pointed back at the bank they had been standing 
on.  "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee . . ."  Her 
mumbled prayers did not work, did not stop it . . .

        Janet's jaw dropped.  Nancy turned and stared.  The 
moss-covered stump Dana had leaned against was . . . glowing.  
Harsh white light shone through the holes in the moss, casting 
flickering shadows on the ground.  It seemed to be getting 
brighter, closer . . . 

        Janet was crying, Dana was praying Hail Marys over 
and over again.

        But Nancy was screaming, a shrill, high-pitched scream 
that was somehow loud and soft at the same time.  She grabbed 
her flashlight and scrambled up the bank, running frantically in 
the direction they came from.  Janet followed as soon as she 
could move again, but the incline kept falling out from under 
her, the soft dirt resisting all her efforts to get up.  Tears and 
sweat ran down her face and she continued her futile climb.

        Dana, on the other hand, walked over to the stump and 
pulled her spare flashlight out of the moss before it slid all the 
way through and fell.

        Janet stopped climbing and slid down to the ground with 
a soft thump.  She took a deliberate breath, trying her lungs out 
to see if they worked.  "Dana . . . I can't believe you."  She 
lifted a mud-covered hand to wipe her face.

        Dana pulled her bandanna out of her hair and offered it to 
Janet, wrapping her exhausted friend in her arms.  "I'm sorry, 
Janet."

        Janet was breathing easier.  "It . . . it was brilliant, 
Dana."  She took the bandanna and wiped first her face, then her 
hands.  "She'll bring one of the counselors, you know.  We'd 
better get out of here."

        "You okay?  Nothing broken?"  Dana pulled herself up 
the bank, the helped Janet up.  The sun was indeed creeping 
over the edge of the eastern hills.  "We'd better be back in bed 
when Nancy gets back there."

        Janet took a few more deep breaths.  "You know, Dana, 
I'm glad there's not a lot of ghost stories about this place."

        Dana grinned.  "Why?"

        "I don't think my heart could stand it.  Too much 
excitement."

        Cracking up, they began climbing the hill again. "You 
know what I'll do if Nancy brings up another ghost story?" 
asked Dana.

        "No, what?"

        "I'll tell her to eat a nettle."

THE END

BTW . . .

The nettle-eating scene has nothing of the slight-of-hand in the 
cricket scene in "Humbug" (though I did just watch the re-run . . 
.).  It's a standard counselor procedure for impressing campers, 
along with running one's hand up the stem of the plant.  One 
problem though . . . do ner are 
they a west coast phenomenon?  

Also, the idea of having a man masquerading as a counselor 
comes from . . . where else, Ace's ghost stories.  Hope I didn't 
infringe on too many of her ideas . . . Joanna and Agatha are my 
take on her Paula and Georgette.

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