Away From it All
By: Stitch
Part 5 - 'Marshmallows and ghost stories.'
By the time everything was cleaned, dried, and packed away, the last of the sunlight had faded. The sky went from washed-out blue to the dark purple of a ripe plum. Stars began to appear, glittering hard and bright like little flakes of diamond on a velvet background.
A faint but cool breeze started to whisper through the branches - I shivered and put my jacket back on, then made my way over to the campfire, which by now was blazing and crackling away invitingly. Pretty soon we'd all pulled our chairs up and were sitting in a circle around the fire pit. For a little while everything was quiet, save the snap and hiss of sap catching fire.
"Say, Chip," Dale said from his chair, which was beside mine. "I just realized we forgot our flashlights back in the tent... would you mind getting them?"
"Do you really think we'll need them?" I asked, not wanting to get up.
He gave me an incredulous look. "How can you tell ghost stories without a flashlight?"
"All right, all right..." I grumbled, then stood up and made my way back to our tent. It was already so dark that everything had become an indistinct jumble of shadows. I paused and looked up again. There was a space overhead where you could see clearly through the branches to where the crescent moon hung low in the sky, just a pale white sliver surrounded by stars... Dale was right, there wouldn't be enough moonlight for us to see by.
I opened the tent flap and slipped inside, then spent the next five minutes fumbling around trying to find our flashlights. Mine was easy enough, because I'd thought to pack it right near the top next to my spare washcloth. Dale's, on the other paw, required a major search through the vast clutter of junk that was crammed into his travel bag. Even with my flashlight on, it was slow going. At first I tried to be careful and not rifle things up too much, but after a couple of minutes it became clear that it made absolutely no difference, so I just jammed my paws down into it and started rummaging.
I found, among other things, a magic 8-ball, a rubber eraser in the shape of a duck, six plastic army men, a roll of green ribbon, an aspirin tin that had a bunch of candy orange slices in it, a pen, a little dogeared spiral notebook with 'My Diary' scribbled on it, a map of Chicago, some handkerchiefs, a chocolate cigar, a pair of swim shorts with a big rip in them, a half-eaten roll of mints, a bottlecap with a picture of a pirate ship on it, and two crumpled 'Kablammo Man' comic books. Finally, way at the bottom, I found Dale's flashlight.
Sighing to myself in annoyance, I clicked it on to make sure it worked (it did, amazingly), then stuffed it into my jacket pocket and left the tent.
When I made my way back to the campfire, I was surprised to find everybody all kind of huddled together with their heads down. I could see Dale's ears bobbing back and forth as he chattered something too softly for me to hear. Gadget was nodding... I think I heard her say, "Sure, no problem," but I can't be sure.
"Um, what's up?" I asked as I walked back into the circle of firelight.
"Yeek!" Dale cried as everybody suddenly stood up straight. "Oh, uh, did you find the flashlights already?"
"No thanks to your organizational skills," I said as I handed him his light. "So, what was everyone talking about?"
"We were, ah, organizing dessert," said Monty.
"Dessert?"
In unison, they all whipped a bunch of metal sticks up like fencing foils. There were marshmallows stuck to the ends of them. "Here's yours," said Gadget as she handed me one.
"Er, thanks," was all I could think to say.
Maybe I was just being a little paranoid, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something weird was going on as we all took our places around the fire pit and held our marshmallows out over the glowing red coals. Everybody was chit-chatting like usual, but now and again I thought I caught the others glancing at each other in a secretive sort of way.
Trying to ignore my nagging suspicions, I forced myself to relax and enjoy the sweet scent of toasting marshmallows that drifted up from the fire pit. Naturally Dale's caught on fire - he tried waving it around to blow out the flames, which only increased them. "Out out out!" he cried helplessly while he shook his stick and spun his flaming marshmallow around like a sizzling meteor.
"Too bad, pally," said Monty. "You know, there's a real technique to toastin' a marshmallow... you've got to keep your eye on it every second. Why, I remember one time up in Alaska, we didn't have any marshmallows and had to resort to toastin' snowballs..." He got so wrapped up in his story that he didn't notice that his own marshmallow had started to dribble until it finally flopped right off the end of his stick and into the fire. "Oi!" he yelped, holding up his now empty stick and staring at it in disbelief.
Zipper, who was hovering beside Monty, chuckled and continued turning his perfectly toasted marshmallow.
"Aw," said Dale sadly as he held up the lump of charcoal on the end of his own stick.
"That's okay, guys, we've got plenty of marshmallows," Gadget said, holding up a plastic bag full of them. Dale immediately perked up and dug his paw into it, then plucked out three more.
"Dale, you're going to make yourself sick," I warned when he started toasting all three at once.
"Ah, come on, they're only mini-marshmallows."
"Mini-sized to humans, maybe. They're half as big as your head!"
"But - "
"No 'buts'. And on top of all that pizza, too... I'm not gonna listen to you bellyache about your aching belly all night. You can have three marshmallows, and that's all."
Dale lowered his chin and gave me a gloomy little pout. I don't know what's more pathetic, his puppy-dog eyes or the fact that I can't help but cave in whenever he uses them on me.
I sighed. "Okay, four marshmallows, then."
His ears perked and he happily continued toasting.
"But don't come crying to me if you get sick," I grumbled, but it was such a beautiful night, and everybody was having such a good time that I just couldn't stay annoyed.
Crickets serenaded us with their soft chirrups while the cool breeze gently sifted through the trees. Orange firelight danced in a circle around our fire pit, flickering and radiating cozy warmth. Monty started up another of his tall tales, which we found ourselves listening to with rapt attention even though the part about fending off vampires with a bowl of seven-layer roasted garlic dip was pretty farfetched.
Once my marshmallow was nice and golden, I held it up and bit into it. Pretty soon my whiskers were completely coated in sticky goo, but I didn't mind too much because I really do like toasted marshmallows.
"Mmmbrrghl," I heard Dale say. When I looked over at him, I saw that he'd somehow managed to cram all three of his marshmallows into his cheeks. Even for a chipmunk that's no small feat... his whole face looked puffed out, the lower half of it slathered in gummy white marshmallow goo. He looked ridiculous, but I bit my tongue and just let him stand there, chewing furiously (besides, I figured if I bonked him he might spit marshmallow at me).
Once he'd managed to swallow most of it, he started licking at the corners of his mouth, to little avail. When he finally noticed that everybody else was staring at him, he blushed at his eartips and shrugged. "I didn't want them to get cold," he said, smacking his lips.
For the next minute or so Dale struggled to clean the lower half of his face, but all he really managed to do was spread the goo onto his paws and up over his nose. Finally I just couldn't take it anymore. "Oh, for crying out loud," I sighed as I walked over to the supply bag and took out a washcloth. I soaked it in water from the bucket next to the sink, then marched over to Dale and handed it to him.
"'Fanks," he said. He started wiping at his fur, but he obviously couldn't see what he was doing and kept missing the parts where his fur actually needed cleaning.
"Let me do it," I said, taking the washcloth from him. Then I scrubbed at his face for what seemed like five minutes while he squirmed and twisted his head to and fro like a little kid who doesn't want to take a bath. "Would you hold still already? This is your own fault, you know, if you weren't so greedy you wouldn't have to... er...what?"
The 'what' was aimed at Gadget, who was standing beside us with her paw over her mouth and apparently struggling not to laugh. "Nothing, guys, nothing," she sputtered between half-swallowed giggles.
More than a little puzzled, Dale and I could only look at each other and shrug. Then I resumed wiping Dale's face, until at last it was clean. Once I was done, he preened his whiskers to straighten them out, then immediately started reaching for the bag of marshmallows. Anticipating another disaster, I grabbed it and held it out of reach.
"Well, you did say I could have four," he said. Before he had a chance to try his puppy-eyes on me again, I pulled a marshmallow out of the bag, grabbed the end of his stick, and skewered it into place.
"Eat this one slowly," I said. "Got that? Slow-ly."
When I turned around again, I saw that Gadget was still watching Dale and me with a weird little smile on her face. It took me a few moments to recognize it - it was the same 'aw, cute' expression humans get when they see us in the park back home. I'm quite fond of Gadget, but sometimes I have no idea what's going on in her head.
I went back to the sink, rinsed the washcloth out and hung it up to dry, then walked back to the campfire. I was kind of hoping that we could spend the rest of the evening just quietly enjoying the fire and listening to the nighttime sounds of the forest, but just as I sat back down in my chair Dale grabbed up his flashlight, clicked it on, and held it under his chin.
"Who's up for ghost stories?" he asked, giving us one of his best 'evil' grins (he really thinks he's scary when he does this, and I've never had the heart to tell him that he's about as menacing as one of those fuzzy little caterpillars you see in the petunias in City Park.)
"Oh, brother," I said as I propped my chin on my paw.
"Right-o, pally, you asked for it," Monty said as he took the flashlight from Dale and held it up under his face. "I'll tell you a tale guaranteed to send icy-cold shivers of terror right up your striped spine!"
"Oooh," Dale replied eagerly as he rubbed his paws together and leaned forward. He probably didn't notice it, but Zipper, who was perched on Monty's shoulder, was rolling his eyes and smirking.
"Golly, what kind of story is it?" asked Gadget.
"The most horrifying of all, Gadget, because this one is absolutely true. After tonight, you may never sleep soundly again... now then, it all started when I was a much younger lad, barely out of mouse school and yearnin' for adventure..."
I felt another 'oh, brother' coming on, but this time I bit my tongue.
Monty launched into his tall tale, which had something to do with ghosts, haunted castles, secret passageways, mysterious daggers, and, oddly enough, floating cheese. I hadn't really been prepared to do much more than listen politely, but after a little while, I had to admit that Monty's story started to seem kinda... well, creepy. Maybe it was because we were all alone in the dark of night with only our campfire for warmth, or maybe it was just Monty's way with words, but I started to find myself envisioning the dank stony corridors laced with cobwebs, the flickering candles, the pale ghostly paw that reached out through the old oil painting, its fingers curled...
"Say, Chip - "
"Yeep!" I nearly jumped out of my seat when Dale tapped me on the shoulder. I must have startled Dale too, because he yanked his paw back and almost fell out of his chair. Gadget, Zipper and Monty all turned to stare at us, then immediately started chortling. I was more than a little embarrassed... even Dale was laughing.
"What's so funny? You just surprised me, that's all..."
"You were scared!" Dale was practically doubled over and kicking his feet back and forth in the air while he giggled.
I felt my ears get all hot as I blushed. "Well, so were you," I snapped.
"I know!" he said, finally managing to get himself somewhat under control. "Isn't this great?"
"Nice to know I haven't lost me touch," said Monty proudly.
"What was it you wanted, Dale?" I crossed my arms and scowled, still annoyed with myself for getting so wrapped up in a stupid ghost story.
"Oh yeah," he said, then picked up his marshmallow stick, which he'd set down on the edge one of the stones surrounding the fire pit. "I was gonna ask if you wanted half of my marshmallow." There was a nicely roasted marshmallow on the end of his stick, which he held out to me.
"Oh... uh, sure, thanks."
His display of generosity left me feeling suddenly awkward. Not five seconds before, I'd been thinking of bonking him on the head. Still blushing, I took the marshmallow and ate the end part, then handed it back to him.
Monty, meanwhile, had started his story up from where he left off. We listened until he finished (for all the buildup and suspense, the payoff simply had something to do with the ghost stealing Monty's cheese... I suppose to him that's a scary thought).
"Wow, great story, Monty," Dale said. "Okay, Gadget's turn!"
Monty passed the flashlight over to Gadget, who took it and stared down at it in surprise. "Me? Uh, gee, I'm not very good at ghost stories, guys..."
"Aw, it's easy! Just try and think of something really scary. You know, like werewolves or zombies or somethin'." Dale held his paws up and wriggled his fingers for emphasis as he spoke.
"Hmm. Er, um," she said. After a few moments, though, her ears perked up and she leaned forward. "Okay, I've got one! Alright, this is the story of a psychotic mad-mouse named... uh, Bob. One night, he escaped from an insane asylum, but he lost his left paw in the process, because he wasn't very careful about the security system... see, they had one of those outdated copper filament wiring setups in their central alarm panel, and when he tried to cross the polarity on the... well, nevermind about that. Anyway, so he escaped, but he only had one paw. Now, before he was sentenced to the asylum, Bill... I mean, Bob... had been a criminal mastermind, and he had a secret workshop where he'd planned all of his nefarious deeds. With the police hot on his trail, he made his way back to his underground den. 'I'll need a new paw,' he thought..."
Gadget was right... she's not very good at ghost stories. She was trying, I'll give her that, but even Dale had a puzzled look on his face by the time she got to the part where 'Bob' tried to build himself a mechanical paw.
"So, anyway," she said, now ten minutes into her story, "after his third attempt at integrating a fiberoptic circuitry net into the tungsten chassis of the paw, he managed to short the hydraulics! So, his evil brain decided to undo the torque screws below the second digit..."
"Um, Gadget, love," Monty interrupted.
"Huh?"
"Are there any actual ghosts or anything in this particular story?"
"I dunno," she shrugged. "I'm kinda making it up as I go."
"Obviously," Dale said with a roll of his eyes.
"Hmmph. Well, then, let's see you do better," she replied, then handed the flashlight back to Monty so he could pass it to Dale. She tried to sound miffed, but it was obvious she was relieved not to have to continue her impromptu story.
"I will, thank you," said Dale as he took the flashlight. Waving it around under his chin, he started: "My story begins in the cold, dark expanse of the cosmic void, in the farthest reaches of space that exist beyond rodent knowledge, where terrible things lurk that have squidgy tentacles and big green eyeballs..."
Dale spent the next half hour spinning an elaborate tale of alien invasion that was clearly influenced by those comic books he's always got his nose buried in. It was a pretty silly story, but he told it with a lot of enthusiasm as he waved his arms around and gave funny voices to all of his characters... it wasn't nearly as scary as Monty's story, but I have to admit it was kind of a hoot.
"...And so the mysterious purple saucer fled the moon-base and disappeared into the starry blackness of space, and was never seen again. The end." Dale clicked off the flashlight and leaned back in his chair, obviously pleased with his own performance.
"Quite a campfire tale, that," mused Monty. "I just have one question... when you said that the moon looked like a great big wheel of cheese in the sky, what kind of cheese did you mean?"
Dale blinked and tilted his head to one side. "Uh, gee, I'm not sure. Swiss, maybe? It was kind of a... whadayacallit, a semaphore."
Monty pondered this for a few seconds. "Swiss, aye? Hmm... yeah, I could see that, though it should have been muenster. Anyway, good story, Dale."
Dale gave us all a puzzled look and shrugged. Then he held the flashlight out toward Zipper. "Wanna tell a ghost story, Zipper?"
Zipper just smiled and shook his head. "No thanks," he buzzed.
"Ol' Zipper here thinks ghost stories are silly, don't ya pally?" Monty gave his friend a mildly disapproving look, but Zipper just nodded.
"Silly...?" Dale was apparently stunned by this, because he was silent for almost a full minute. I was just thinking that maybe we'd finally get some quiet time in when he shook his head and said, "You're weird, Zipper. So, Chip, I guess that means it's your turn." He held the flashlight up at me.
"Me?" I blinked.
"Yeah, you." He smiled. "Come on, I bet you know lots of scary stories."
"Just ones that involve you."
He stuck his tongue out at me, but continued to hold up the flashlight like he was passing a relay baton or something. I found myself feeling hesitant to take it, though. "Gee, I dunno, guys, it's getting kinda late..."
"Aw, just one?"
"Yeah, Chipper, how about it? I'd love to know what scares our fearless leader," said Monty with a chuckle. Even Gadget was leaning forward in her chair with an interested look on her face.
"Well..." I took the flashlight and held it in my paw, keenly aware that everybody was staring expectantly at me.
Now, there have been times when I've thought I'd have made a decent actor. I'm pretty good at putting on disguises and getting into character if the case demands it (except maybe for those occasions when Dale and I have to go undercover as female chipmunks - I'm not sure what's more frightening, the two of us in dresses and pearls or the fact that Dale's genuinely good at it). But even more than that, there's a part of me that really enjoys acting, just for its own sake.
Well, there was a perfect opportunity staring me right in the face, with that flashlight in my paw and everybody waiting for me to tell them a story... I even had a good one in mind. Somehow, though, all I could think about was how poorly everything else I'd tried today had turned out. I guess I just didn't want to end up disappointed again.
So I clicked the flashlight off and handed it back to Dale. He took it and stared down at it, then up at me with a puzzled look on his face.
"Sorry, guys, but I'm with Zipper on this one. Besides, it really is getting late." I stood up and stretched. "I think I'll just do a bit of writing and go to sleep."
"Are you sure? I mean, don't you wanna stay up just a little bit longer? We could sing some camping songs, or make toasted peanut butter crackers..." Dale seemed truly dismayed at my decision to go to bed, and for a few moments I was actually tempted to sit back down and stay. But I'd already made my mind up, and besides I did want to get a start on tonight's journal entry because I knew I'd have a lot to write about.
"That's okay," I said. "I'm just tired. Don't stay up too late," I added, then turned and walked away from the campfire.
"Well... goodnight, then," Dale called after me.
"Yeah, see you in the morning," said Monty.
"G'night, Chip," said Gadget.
"Bzzz," said Zipper (I think).
When I got back to the tent, I unbuttoned the flap and started to step inside. As I did so, I turned and glanced over my shoulder. The others were still sitting around the fire, all of them leaning forward and talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. I sighed, then went inside and closed the flap behind me.
And so here I am, tucked into my sleeping back with my penlight propped up beside me, scribbling away the day's events in this journal. Apart from a brief break to read a bit more from my Sureluck Jones book, I've been writing for what seems like hours. Dale finally came back a while ago with his fur smelling like campfire smoke (and a telltale smear of marshmallow on his whiskers) and slipped quietly into his own sleeping bag. Once again he's snoring, but I'm so tired that I doubt I'll have any trouble getting to sleep.
Which is what I'm going to do right now.