More Ben Thompson Brooks: Boy Necromancer!

I'll need a better way to format this so it comes out cleaner when I put it on here. In the meantime, my apologies. Here is an adorable and maybe frightened panda to make up for it. Stick 'em up Panda. I want your bamboo.

Chapter 2
The Unlettered Bottle

It was Sunday morning, and the post man had not yet come, for he did not come on Sundays, of course. Nonetheless, there was a letter on the doorstep. Moreover, the letter clearly did not come from the post office, because the post office was not in the habit of delivering unmarked glass bottles. The bottle was worn and dinged and chipped, and looked like it had been tossed around on the sea for quite some time; it even had what looked like a bit of sea salt caked around the screw top. It took Mrs. Smith a few times to get the rolled up piece of paper from out of the bottle, shaking it upside down and trying to catch a bit of it with her finger, but eventually she succeeded. All along, she thought nothing at all out of the ordinary in her behavior, even though she was usually of the firm belief that when something strange appears on one’s doorstep, one should probably throw it away or maybe even phone the police. Yet she could not stop herself from her investigation of this penurious parcel.
Falling lightly into her hands, the coiled paper unfurled almost of its own accord. Looking at it, she saw it was an advertisement for some kind of summer camp: “Wild Jim’s Country Fun Camp and Boarding School”. It looked professionally done in a folksy sort of way, the camp seemed of high standing, the celebrity endorsements were convincing enough, certainly. This would be something fun to do for Jacob over the summer, and the prices were very reasonable.
“Jacob,” called his mother.
“Yeeees?” he answered from upstairs.
“Come down here a minute.”
“Just a second!”
It was a long second, because he wasn’t anywhere near a save point, but his mom waited patiently, looking over the advertisement. “Look at this, Jacob. It’s for some sort of summer camp out in the country, at some place called Dog Tick.”
“Dog Tick? Why would I want to go there?”
“It’s just a name. I think its some sort of reading camp. They’ll teach you all about ancient civilizations and such.”
Jacob looked at the paper for the first time. “But this is just a bunch of scribbles.”
“What? Of course not, look, here’s a picture of their ropes course.”
“It’s all hand written.”
“No, that’s just the font.”
“What are you talking about? It’s just scribbles on a piece of paper!”
“Look, Jacob, if you don’t want to go, then just say so. But I think it looks like a lot of fun.” Also, she saw the promise of “GPA boosting study classes, habits that every sixth grader should know!”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Well, think on it.”
“No.”
“Jacob Alexander Smith,” she said firmly, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to one side so that all her blonde hair hung over her left shoulder. “You’re going to at least think about going to this camp. I think it will be a good experience for you.”
Jacob stood perplexed beyond belief, but he didn’t have the strength of will to countermand his mothers semi-disciplining. What was she talking about? There was nothing on that little leaf of paper but odd squiggly writing. He could barely even read it except at the top where it said “Wild Jim’s Country Necromancy Camp and Boarding School.” “What’s ‘necromancy’?” he wondered to himself.

Jacob’s older brother Clay came back from a friend’s house that afternoon. Clay was a strapping lad of Fifteen, and Jacob looked up to him as though he were a god. Clay was a starter on the JV football team for Akin’s High, and was one of the few boys Jacob knew who actually had a steady girlfriend. It lent a sort of credence to his coolness that legitimate ability could never do. She was tall and blonde and had something that girls Jacob’s age didn’t have, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, no matter how much he tried. She treated him like a little kid, and he ate it up. Even though they weren’t that much older than him, they always took him places and treated him to movies and ice cream. Sure, neither of them actually worked for the money they spent on him, but it was nice that they thought of him anyway.
Clay had his hardship license since their dad was always traveling on business and his mom needed her car for her work as well. He wasn’t the only fifteen year old at school with a car, and it wasn’t even the nicest one—Leon Metzner had a new Mustang—but it still put Clay ahead of most of the kids his age, and was one more way in which he was the coolest older brother ever.
Currently, they were just playing a game of Super Smash Brothers, and Jacob was getting squarely beaten, which he usually did as soon as Clay decided to stop going easy and play as Lucario. “Mom says she sending you to some new camp this summer,” said Clay offhandedly.
“No,” said Jacob with amused aloofness, thinking the very notion ridiculous. “I’m not going to that. Did you see the flier?”
“Yeah, I think it looks pretty cool. I’d go if I weren’t too old. They got a rock climbing wall and a river for swimming…”
“Wait, wait, wait! You saw the flier?”
“Yeah.”
“But there was nothing on that flier!”
“What are you talking about? Sure it was a bit folksy, but it looked professionally done. Didn’t mom show you the picture of the ropes course?”
“Why would I want to go on a ropes course? What is a ropes course? Would you want to go on a ropes course?”
“Well, no,” said Clay, pondering the question to himself, “but I still think that you really oughtta go for some reason. I think you’d have fun.”
“Just play. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going. I want to stay here for the summer, not go to some crazy camp with a flier that isn’t even readible.”
“It was just the font they used.”
“It wasn’t the font,” muttered Jacob under his breath.

The last two weeks of school passed without Jacob hearing anything more about the bizarre summer camp with the unintelligible flier. The Cadillac man also seemed to have ceased stalking him, but that did not allay Jacob’s anxiety. Far from it. It seemed the more time that went by without seeing the creeper again the more afraid Jacob was that he might suddenly appear out of nowhere. Not a day went by that he didn’t hold his breath a little as he exited the school doors, expecting to see that crummy whiskery face with its crooked smile waiting for him where his mom should be. And when he was out and about with friends, he constantly looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being snuck up on. It got to the point where his friends kept asking him what he was looking for. Jacob would just shrug and mumble something.
On Tuesday he was supposed to take the bus home. He had wanted to just go over to Eric’s after school, but his mom had said she wanted him home right away because he needed to be clean and ready for some guests that were going to come over. His parents and the guests were going out to dinner, and Jacob and his brother were not invited, so he didn’t at all see the need to be clean and at home to greet anybody.
He never remembered what his bus number was, so he just walked along hoping that the kids on the bus or the bus driver looked familiar. One of the bus drivers did look familiar. He was sitting in a blue bus, smaller than the rest, and painted on the side it said “Jacob’s Bus.”
“Well hello there,” said the bus driver with a craggy smile.
“Trade in the Cadillac?” asked Jacob acidly.
“No, but usually I don’t want to take this one out for a joy ride. A bit hard to maneuver. Do have to take her out occasionally though, just to make sure the battery doesn’t die on me.”
“I don’t think this is my usual bus,” said Jacob as he turned to leave
“Wait, this bus only makes one stop. We’ll get there faster.” But Jacob had already left.
Another child came by. “Is this my bus? My name’s Jacob.”
But the man just waved the kid away impatiently.
Luckily for Jacob, he recognized the Giraffe; he had forgotten that they pasted the animal pictures on there for the younger kids from the elementary school, of which the bus was practically overflowing. He hadn’t remembered there being so many younger kids on his bus, and he hadn’t remembered that they smelled so bad either. He found a seat next to some boy with glasses; the kid was looking out the window and picking his nose. A hint of urine wafted from somewhere behind him. It seemed like ages passed. No more kids were getting on the bus, and yet there they waited in the stifling heat, with only the open windows and the tiny fans running to keep the inside of the bus cool, but it was practically buzzing with kids. Jacob recalled that the inside of a bee hive was considerably warmer than outside, though he didn’t remember the exact difference in degrees. He thought something similar must be happening here. If only he could dump some of the kids on the creepy man’s bus; he probably wouldn’t bother them. After all, it was Jacob’s name on the side of the bus.
After an interminable period of fetid moisture stagnating in the still bus, they were finally away. Coughs of diesel exhaust from the busses ahead sifted through the child clotted windows and packed innards of the bus.
They passed the blue bus; the man just waved and smiled as they drove by. A lot of the kids waved back. “He’ll be in an ice cream truck next,” thought Jacob.