I don't know jack about computers.

This becomes increasingly obvious as Jasper works on the Director's keyboard, muttering what sounds like a bunch of technological nonsense under his breath. His expression is calm and focused, but I can see his fingers shaking as he types, and he keeps glancing over at the Director's door to check that it's still closed. He must be terrified right now, which makes his concentration even more impressive. 

A white box pops up on the screen. "It's asking for a password," Jasper says. "Should we try and guess it?"

"Maybe it's 'Hecate'," I suggest. 

"Or 'I hate campers six-six-six'," says Ronan. 

I shoot him a look. He shoots me one back.

"Stop that," Jasper says. His eyes are still fixed on the computer, but his mouth has twisted into a displeased frown, one that says quit goofing off before you get us kicked out of camp. "I'm just going to try to hack my way in."

"Can you really do that?" I ask. 

"Of course. You see, this is an Apple II computer, so it functions on a Unix operating system. If I'm able to use some of the Unix basic commands, I can open up the Director's private files and— bam!" A flurry of white screens explodes across the face of the computer monitor. "Piece of cake."

I let out a low whistle. "Damn, that was quick. How'd you get so good at this stuff?"

Jasper leans away from the computer, allowing the briefest of smiles to curve across his cheeks. "I've always loved computers. My dad took me to a convention when I was eight, and after that, I saved up some money to buy my first kit."

"So you built your own computer?"

"Yeah. I started checking out books on computer programming and practicing code every night. Then I joined my school's AV club. Last year, I was elected as president."

Ronan coughs the word nerd not so subtly into his elbow.

"Don't be a jerk," I tell him. "Also, don't be so loud. You'll wake up the Director."

"Fascist."

I roll my eyes. "That's really cool, Jasper. You've got some serious skills."

"Thanks, man! Have you ever heard of the Legion of Doom? They're this super talented, exclusive hacker group, and their leader is called 'Lex Luthor'— you know, like the comic supervillain. I want to be like him someday. Well, not as evil, of course, but—"

"We're getting off-topic," Ronan interrupts. "Jasper, can you do a search for the word 'monster'?"

"Why?"

"I'll explain later. Just do it."

Jasper types the word into the computer. Nothing pops up.

Ronan frowns, displeased by this dead-end. "Search for anything suspicious, then."

"Don't forget that this is the Director's computer," I point out. "I bet half the stuff on it is some kind of weird shit. I mean, just look at this one— 'Background Profiles of Camp Counselors 1980-84'. Everything here could count as suspicious."

"Then this is going to take a while. Finn, how about you look into that filing cabinet while Jasper and I search the computer?"

I shrug and maneuver my way over to the filing cabinets. The largest drawer is labeled as Camper Profiles, but I wouldn't put it past the Director to mislead us. I've watched enough action movies to know that the bad guys always like to hide their secret files under innocuous names.

I pick the lock with the paper clip Ronan gave me and slip open the first drawer. To my disappointment, it holds nothing more than a row of neatly organized manila folders. The Director wasn't lying. The filing cabinet really is full of the campers' documentation— which is as boring and useless as it sounds.

One name in particular catches my eye: Lockwood. It's written in heavy black marker on the protruding edge of one folder. I'm curious, but not curious enough to risk Ronan's wrath by peeking at it, so I skim downwards until I find my last name.

My folder is surprisingly empty. There are only a few papers in it, probably because I've got a track record about as long as my pinky finger. Sure, I tend to get on my teacher's nerves, and I've gotten detention more times than I can count, but I doubt that information would make it onto an official profile. The only serious crime I've committed is breaking into the school, and it's not like Indiana is brimming with opportunities to be a teenage criminal.

I flip forward until my hand rests upon a folder bearing yet another recognizable last name: Fisher. Unlike my folder, this one is stuffed with paper— almost half an inch thick. There are so many secrets captured in these files that Becca will never tell me, no matter how many secrets I tell her in exchange. My heart starts to thrum in my chest.

I don't think. I just sneak the folder out of the cabinet and tuck it in the waistband of my pants. Then I pull my shirt down over the folder, obscuring it from sight.

I wander back over to the desk. "Nothing useful in the filing cabinets."

Ronan curses softly. He doesn't bring up Becca's file— he must not have seen me take it. "Damn. Well, it's probably for the best— we've got enough crap to deal with here."

He gestures to the dismaying amount of information clouding the computer screen, then jabs a finger at the computer for added emphasis. "We can't play hide and seek all night long. This was supposed to be an in-out job, not an hour-long one. If we stay any longer, we risk getting caught by the Director. My spidey sense tells me she's not a sound sleeper."

"Let's not give up yet," Jasper urges, swatting Ronan's accusing finger to the side. "Is there a specific time frame you want to look at? The Director has most of her information sorted by date. Maybe we could start in the sixties and work our way up."

"No way," I say. "That's more than twenty years of material. It'll take forever."

Then, Ronan stands up a little straighter. "No, it won't. Jasper, pull up any files from the summer of '69."

"Isn't that a Bryan Adams song?"

"No, idiot, it's the year I want to look at. I'm pretty sure something sketchy went down then."

"But why—?"

"Listen. On the first day of camp, Wolseley mentioned the summer of '69. He said something bad happened that year and he got fired from his lifeguard gig because of it. I forgot about it until now— I just brushed it off as Wolseley being strange— but maybe it means something more. Maybe something bad did happen during that summer."

"Now that you mention it...." Jasper trails off into a thoughtful silence. Then, his face turns bright red. "Okay. This is going to sound insane, but... one time, in the woods, I heard Karen and Owen talking about the summer of '69 together. They were...." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Kissing."

"Huh," I say.

"C'mon, guys," Ronan groans. "It's obvious that they've been smashing all summer. The way they look at each other is, like, basically PDA."

Jasper's face falls at the realization that his juicy secret wasn't so juicy at all. "Was it really that obvious?" he asks in dismay. "I thought...."

"Yes, it really was that obvious. As obvious as your huge crush on Giselle."

He nearly chokes. "I— do— not!"

"Can we please focus?" I demand. "We don't have to gossip. Jasper, search for any files from the year of '69."

Jasper types a few more lines into the computer.

The computer goes blank.

"There's nothing here," he says, frowning. He types more aggressively into the computer. Still, the screen remains empty. "Weird. I could have sworn I heard one of the counselors mention the summer of '69 before...."

"Look harder."

"I am looking. There's nothing here."

"How?"

"1969 literally doesn't exist. The Director didn't upload any files for that year."

"Seriously?" Ronan shoves Jasper out of the way to get a better look at the computer screen. "No way! I don't believe it. The camp was open in '69, there has to be something."

"I did a search for all documents from the year 1969. There aren't any."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that, logically, we can assume the camp wasn't open in the summer of '69. There are absolutely no documents from that time— which is an anomaly, because the Director uploaded files from '68 and '67. The only reason that I can think of why she wouldn't upload files for '69 is that she deleted them."

Ronan shakes his head staunchly. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would the Director delete her own files? Or close Lightlake for one summer?"

"Thing is, I don't think it was for just one summer. There aren't any files from '70, or '71. I think she closed it down for three years."

"That 'something' Wolseley was talking about must have been really bad if it made the Director close down the camp for such a long time," I say. "Isn't Lightlake her life's work or something cheesy like that?"

Ronan glares at the computer screen like it personally wronged him. I can even see his right eye starting to twitch— and it only does that when he's really worked up. "I've never heard of Lightlake being closed for three years. Never."

"Neither have I," Jasper says. "Maybe the Director wanted to keep it a secret."

"But why? What could have happened that was so bad, the Director shut down the camp and never spoke of it again?"

"Maybe somebody died," I offer.

Both campers turn to stare at me as if I'd suggested an alien invasion instead.

"If I were the Director, I would definitely close down Lightlake if a kid died," I say, feeling a tad defensive. "It's the logical thing to do: shut down the camp to avoid a scandal."

"Yes, but how exactly would a kid end up dying, here of all places?" Ronan presses. His voice is as taut as a stretched-out rubber band. I can tell that this is going to drive him crazy. He hates letting mysteries go unsolved, and this— well, this is the biggest mystery of all. "None of this makes any sense. We're going to have to talk to Wolseley."

"Wolseley?" Jasper and I exclaim in unison.

"Wolseley is the one that told me about the summer of '69. He's got to know something."

"Or he could know nothing, and go tell the Director that you've been snooping in her computer," I say. 

"We won't tell him about the computer, moron. All we'll say is that we know he knows something about the summer of '69, and that we want to know, too."

I shake my head vigorously. Ronan must really be grasping at straws if he's resorting to interrogating the groundskeeper. "No. Wolseley will never talk. He's too weepy— he'd probably just end up breaking down in tears."

"He's our only option," Ronan insists.

"He's a dead end," I fire back.

The computer abruptly glows brighter, the back-lit screen flooding the interior of the cabin with a dull warmth. All three of us flinch in alarm at the sudden brightness.

"Jasper, turn that down," Ronan snaps. "You'll wake up the Director."

"It's not me," Jasper says, his expression turning fearful. "I didn't touch anything—"

And that's when I realize— the light isn't coming from the computer. It's coming from the crack underneath the Director's door. "She's awake!"

"The dog?"

"No, the Director!"

The sound of her name acts as a catalyst. "Shit!" Jasper exclaims, jerking away from the computer as if it burned him. I look at him in surprise— I've never heard him curse before. Even Ronan inhales sharply, as close to fear as I've ever seen him. Before I flick off the flashlight, I see his pupils dilate into a sea of black.

"We've got to get out of here," I whisper, glancing frantically around the cabin to make sure we haven't left any damning evidence behind. If the Director finds out we were here... "There's no telling if she'll hear us now. Or if she's heard us already."

Jasper flinches away from the computer and darts towards the door. "C'mon!" he hisses at us. "Do you two have a death wish?"

Whirling around, I see that Ronan's taken over Jasper's spot by the computer, and is locked in an intense staring contest with the screen, while simultaneously tapping his fingers against the keyboard in a determined manner that lets me know he's not going anywhere soon.

Panic spikes in my chest. "What are you doing?" I say softly. "We need to leave, now!"

"I'm still looking," he replies stubbornly.

"Did you not hear me? The Director is awake!"

"She doesn't know we're here yet. We have time."

"Time for what? There's nothing there, Ronan! Jasper said there weren't any files—"

On the opposite side of the cabin, Jasper lets out a soft moan and covers his face with his hands. "I can't do this. I can't get caught again. You guys are welcome to come with me, but... I'm not staying behind."

And he dashes out of the cabin.

I don't bother watching him. A sickening feeling of pure, undiluted panic is beginning to build up in my chest, and I can't seem to tear my eyes away from the train-wreck about to happen right in front of me. "Damn it, Ronan, we need to go!" Even though I know he hates being touched, I resort to tugging on his sleeve to get his attention. "Come on!"

"Just one more second!"

"No more seconds— we need to leave now!"

Ronan shakes my hand off his arm, typing rapid-fire into the computer. "Go then. If you're so afraid of getting caught."

"I'm not leaving you behind."

"Don't give me any of that heroic bullshit. Get out of here— I'm almost done."

"I'm not leaving without you!"

Footsteps creak towards the Director's closed door. My heart sinks like a stone in my chest.

"Please, Ronan," I beg. "She's coming."

"Just one more—"

A new file pops up. Ronan's eyes dart frantically across the black words on the screen, desperately trying to absorb every last one of them.

I can't stand it anymore. I reach over and slam my finger into the power button, and the screen goes black.

"Finn!" Ronan exclaims, scandalized. "What the fuck—"

I grab him forcibly by the arm. "We're leaving. Now!"

As I pull him towards the exit, two things happen very suddenly:

First, the Director's door swings open.

And second, the window in the Director's bedroom explodes.

I don't actually see the window explode, but I can hear the ensuing sound of glass shattering, as well as the Director swearing loudly and creatively. She stumbles away from the doorway, her head whipping back towards the bedroom in shock. Hecate rises from under the desk and trots over to assist her owner.

If the Director been leaning an inch forward, she'd be at the perfect angle to see Ronan and me standing frozen in fear at the center of the cabin. The only reason she didn't was because of the perfectly-timed explosion.

"What the hell was that?" I whisper.

Ronan's wide, black eyes threaten to swallow me whole. "Our distraction."

"Then let's get the hell out of here."

Without any further discussion, we exit the cabin as quickly and soundlessly as possible. Jasper greets us by the front door, emerging from the shadows like a haunting spirit. A look of abject horror has darkened across his face.

"I threw a rock through the Director's window," he stammers, practically catatonic with shock. "I'm so fucking dead."

"You saved our guts," I tell him. Then I grab him by the arm and slam the door shut behind us. "Let's go!"

I don't need to say anything else. Jasper springs into action, and Ronan and I follow, all three of us bounding off down the path and sprinting, half-crazed, towards the treeline. Soon, the shadows overcome us.

Meanwhile, in the distance, I can hear the Director shouting— shouting for a camper she'll never catch.