Can you spot the difference?

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

10 days earlier

"These things are a bit creepy," Seth said, pointing to one of the Sparta kids, Greek style little paintings surrounding the inside of Cabin 11.

"They're a little old fashioned, but I think they give the camp a little something special." I said.

We both spent the better part of that afternoon on the inside of the little cabin. We swept and mopped floors, wiped windows, and crushed the occasional palmetto bug (a cockroach on steroids). The cabin might've been abandoned for years, but it still had good bones, and nothing a good scrub couldn't fix.

If you like the idea of hundreds of rambunctious kids and teenagers running around every summer, then Camp Sparta was a dream come true. Seth and I loved the idea so much that we pooled our savings together to buy the place.

When we first bought our little Sparta it was brimming with potential. That is to say, it was a dump. But, one cabin at a time, we remodeled, cleaned, and fixed the place up, making it a 'quaint' dump.

"80 kids per wall, 240 per cabin, and somehow they all have a layer of dirt on them." Seth said. Always calculating and counting, his brain was good at it. My brain couldn't see the harm in one extra shot of espresso or the fifty cents extra for guac. To him, though those things were - 'acts of treason upon our budget, Lacey!'

"You missed a spot." I slapped him lightly with the sponge, and we proceeded to make the cabin our own in a different way. We did that with every cabin because, well, why wouldn't we?

-------

After we finished beating the mattresses the place was coated in another fine layer of dust that took us well into the evening to clean.

The electricity didn't work out in that cabin or in number three, so we used candles to keep working that midnight oil.

I took a moment to admire the little cabin, with all its little paintings. Each little figure was portrayed a little differently. There was an archer, a boxer, one riding a canoe. Each and every one was doing some little activity that made them a "Sparta Kid".

I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but there was something different about the ones in this cabin.

7 days earlier.

Only two days until the official start of summer camp, and I could hardly wait. Cabin 11 took a little longer than I had wanted to clean, but it finally looked like all of the other ones. Minus something.

Have you ever played one of those games that asks, "Which one is different?"

I played that over and over again with the Sparta Kids from Number 11 and the other cabins, and it took me a couple of trips, but I figured it out.

The Sparta Kids in Cabin 11 had smiles painted on them!

Thin lines in an upward curving arc. When I pointed this out to Seth he laughed, and then asked why the other ones didn't. At the time I just shrugged, not knowing at all.

The smiles made them seem a little less menacing than the other cabins.

I had half a mind to paint the other ones so as to match, but then I'd have to go the store, match that specific shade of black, (yes there are multiple) and then go paint each and every one. There were way too many, and there were other things to do around camp besides make little smiles.

Still, maybe there was some paint in the old work shed. I thought I'd give it a look that night.

Evening had crept up on us yet again, and I asked Seth to go with me to the work shed. Not that I was afraid, of course, but it was an old building with lots of dust, cobwebs, and slimy things, and... okay, I was a little afraid.

The lights flickered with an unnatural yellow hue. "I just don't see how one black is different from another." Seth said helping me look for the paint that might've been used for the kids. My bet was Charcoal.

"You wouldn't, but then again you also think there's only one shade of white." I said. There was an old boat in the middle of the work shed, a plethora of tools that had been left behind by the previous owner. A saw, a few drills, some nails scattered about the floor.

"What's this?" Seth asked, making his way over to the back corner of the shed.

We had been meaning to make it a priority to organize the work shed, label things, and take inventory, but we ended too busy with other various camp maintenance tasks, like beating the mattresses.

He was over by a large work chest covered in a thick layer of grime and rust. I'm glad I had decided to bring Seth with me. I didn't want to touch it.

It took some effort and eventually a crowbar, as well, but we managed to get the thing opened, and the smell was, actually, not that bad. It didn't smell like anything at all.

I smiled a little at the contents.

Tubs and tubs of paint! It was as if I had put vibes out into the universe and they answered. I didn't really believe any of that stuff, but it did mean that I wouldn't have to go searching through piles of color swatches.

My smile faded gradually as I combed through them. On the lids was a little label printed: For covering.

Every. Single. One. The off-white used to paint the skin of the Sparta Kids. It would be helpful if I ever wanted to paint more. Which I didn't. 240 kids per cabin was plenty.

5 days earlier.

Hundreds of kids poured into the camp. All of them lovable little miscreants. Seth and I had wanted kids of our own at one point, but complications kept coming up and eventually we decided that we'd just stick to having kids for the summer. I took notes of the possible trouble makers, as well as those prone to getting bullied. It looked like I would have to keep my eye on a few campers this year.

The first day is usually the roughest. I have to deal with all of the calls from concerned parents. All the kids who have never spent the night anywhere but their own house need some type of comforting. And of course, there's the kids that get spooked a little too easy.

"The Sparta Kids are staring" is pretty common. That was our second summer running things and it was still the number one complaint. Seth believed we should have just painted over the little things. Once again I thought to go buy some paint, because adding thin smiles on every one of them would be easier than painting the whole cabin. With all the money we would save, I could definitely afford the extra shots of espresso.

Cabin 11 didn't complain though, meaning the smiles must've made all the difference. And in my head I made a mental note to try and figure out which shade of black to buy. I still thought Charcoal.

I made another mental note to remember the faces of a few campers. Two older boys who looked a little rough around the edges and a small redhead boy. Runt of the litter type, easy to be picked on. Josh, Clark, and Arty.

I would probably have to step in at some point, but perhaps I simply was judging prematurely.

4 days earlier

A few kids ended up calling their parents and calmed down. We only had two call their parents to come pick them up. I felt bad, but there really isn't anything you can do. Some kids just aren't ready for summer camp.

That morning Seth and I made pancakes for breakfast. The kitchen staff consisted of Seth, myself, and our friend from college Harriette - Ari for short.

The three of us whipped things up all summer. Pancakes with strawberries, Spaghetti with Garlic bread, and my personal favorite - Churros! (just for dessert, of course, as the main dish was tacos).

The one thing that running a summer camp has taught me is to make more than I think I'll need. The term 'bottomless stomach' and 'endless appetite' could easily be applied to just about every kid, including Josh and Clark, who I spotted stealing a little here and there from their small friend.

3 days earlier

Mosquitoes. Spiders. Ants - oh my. Those replace the normal horrors of a camp in central Florida. Every year there seems to be a small plague of the things, but that year things were especially bad.

I almost ran out of my gallon and a half of Caladryl Clear - squishy juice, as the younger kids called it. It was so the bites would stop itching. For 4.99 a bottle it was what Seth called a true 'miracle potion'.

A couple of the children, Carlos and Stephen from Cabin 11, had allergic reactions to their bites and had to be taken to a slightly higher echelon of medical care. They left camp that night.

2 days earlier

Things in central Florida are never easy, and adjustments always need to be made. We had to stop a canoe race because of a few gator sightings, and then once more due to the thunderstorms that came seemingly out of nowhere.

We decided to move the camp fire to that night and tell scary stories.

Seth had a few good ones, and I had one about a lake monster that had been inspired by gators and it made a few of the younger girls gasp when I slapped my hands together to mimic a gator's chomp.

A few of the kids from each of the cabins ended up coming to the 'Home House' (where Seth and I lived during camp, definitely just a camper), because they were scared. We sent them back with some "you'll be alright's" and a few "there's nothing to be afraid of's".

Arty stayed behind, too. Visibly shaken.

"They keep laughing at me." His eyes blood shot.

"Who keeps laughing at you?" I asked. Josh and Clark, I already knew.

"The Sparta Kids." he said.

My mind immediately pictured Josh and Clark hiding behind his bed at night, or even under it, and laughing, or whispering horrible things. A nasty little prank that probably kept the poor kid up at night.

He did seem pretty spooked, though, so I looked around the Home House. I poured through drawers and cabinets until I found what I was looking for - a small charm from a bracelet my mom had given to me when I was his age. It was a little silver horse, not intricate in design, but pleasant in appearance.

Anything given to a child by an adult, when ascribed even a notion of importance can be a safeguard in their little world, magical or not. For adults we call it the "placebo effect".

I gave it to him and said, "Her name's Lucy, whenever you're scared, just squeeze her tight. She's a magical protection horse." His little hand white knuckled the charm, but he looked a little less pale.

I also put some Caladryl Clear on his bug bites, as it seemed everyone was going to suffer from some bites this year. Florida can be brutal sometimes.

That morning

"Hey Lacey, can I talk to you?" Jimmy asked. It was the camp counselor in charge of cabin Number 11. I was expecting a conversation about Arty. I guessed the other campers had kept up their ruse.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I can't find Arty, Clark, or Josh." I dropped the dish I was cleaning. The campers had just finished breakfast and were supposed to be on free time until that night's campfire.

"Where have you looked?" I asked. A missing camper was bad news, three missing campers was a tragedy. And headline news.

"When I woke up this morning they were gone, so I assumed they had to go to the bathroom, but I didn't see them at breakfast either." he said, sweat dripping down his temples.

"So you haven't really looked anywhere else for them?" I asked.

I caught my breath, a little relieved. I remember thinking that it was just boys playing pranks, but depending on how rough Clark and Josh were, it could still end up terribly.

My stomach flipped a little thinking about stories where pranks had gone too far.

"I mean, no, but where should I start?" he asked. My mind raced for a few possibilities.

I didn't think Arty could swim well, and the swimming area had been off limits for a day and a half already. Images of a hungry gator flashed through my mind.

"Try the lake, and Seth and I will go through the woods today." He seemed a little relieved that I wasn't panicking. I was, of course, but I didn't show it.

I told Seth about the whole thing. Arty, Clark, and Josh.

"Kids can be cruel." he said.

I agreed, and we started combing the woods.

------

By lunch Jimmy hadn't come back from the lake, and Seth and I had hiked through most of the trails. There was a long trail leading to an old boat dock, but it would take us too long to get there before lunch.

The kids from Cabin 11 didn't show up for lunch either.

Panic crept into the back of my throat and stomach, like a spider coming for it's prey.

Thoughts of cruel kids and of violence, of pranks gone too far, and of blood all played out in my head. I thought I was going to be sick.

I tried my best to pretend that nothing was wrong while I made the spaghetti, but the blood red tomatoes and the skin-pale noodles made it hard to breathe.

-----

After lunch I tried calling Jimmy on his cell phone to see what was going on, but it went straight to voicemail. Phone signal was already pretty bad at the camp, the lake was pretty large, and he was using a canoe so it was to be expected, but it was still frustrating.

I debated calling some of the local authorities, but just their presence alone could mean a news story. We couldn't afford that.

"We'll look all over for them tonight. I've got a few ideas." Seth said. It gave me a small comfort to see that he didn't seem to be in the same panic I was starting to feel. Maybe he just wasn't showing it.

----

Dinner came and went. Breakfast for dinner, and a healthy dose of honest-to-goodness panic.

If we didn't find them by the end of the night I promised I would call the police, news story or no.

Still, Seth and I searched what we figured was the whole of camp.

The Home House, the skate park, the swimming area. No dice.

We checked a few of the other cabins, asking a few other counselors if they had seen anything.

Nothing.

We checked the old work shed, and the long trail that led to the boating ramp.

Jimmy still hadn't returned from the lake, and I was starting to worry about him, too.

---

There was one place we hadn't yet checked.

Cabin 11.

--

There was a candle lit in one of the windows, lending it an eerie glow that didn't belong to the surrounding woods.

The hair stood on the back of my neck, and Seth put his arm around me. I was glad he was there.

-

The cabin was truly dark, and smelled like we hadn't spent the better part of a day and a half cleaning it.

It smelled like boys. And something else. Iron? Blood? My imagination was playing tricks on me.

A felt a small prick on my leg and slapped at it. It seemed as if the ants wouldn't relent.

The slap pulled me out of my stupor, though, and Seth and I started going through the campers' belongings.

We looked under beds, on top of the bunked beds, and in small, dark corners.

"Lacey."

I turned around, and Seth was standing by one of the walls we had cleaned.

"You find something?" I asked.

"Did you paint more kids in here?" he asked.

"No." Weird question.

"80 on each wall, 240 together. Now there's 83 on this wall." he said.

"What?" A slow churning feeling took over my stomach. I thought I was going to be sick.

"Look." I examined the Sparta Kids, and he was right. A few of them out of place, but they looked newly painted on the walls. One of them, I had never seen before, riding a horse.

And that's when I heard it.

A child's laughter. Sick, and crunchy like leaves.

"What the hell?" he asked.

The candle went out. In that pitch black I tried reaching for Seth, but all I could find was the wall and floor.

Then I felt them. Tiny little bites all over. I tried to scream, but my throat was already being pierced by hundreds of sharp tiny teeth.

In that very moment, flashbacks of the paint in that chest came to my mind. Paint meant for covering.

"Can you spot the difference?" I remembered thinking.

Not smiles.

Mouths.