The small stone skipped across the lake, creating small ripples in the still lake water. Bucky grinned, and tossed a small rock up and down. “Bet you can’t get more than three skips, Wendy,” he said, aiming his next rock at the lake. It bounced across the water one more time, before sinking into the lake.
Wendy laughed. “I’m the best rock skipper in this camp!” She walked around the old boat shed, picking up the smoothest rock ever. She kicked aside a few others, watching the tiny pebbles roll into the lake water. Standing up tall, Wendy looked out onto the evening lake, and flicked her small smooth stone across the water. It skipped four times. Wendy turned around and grinned. “Can you get more than four, Bucky?”
“I totally can,” Bucky said, reaching down to pick up another stone. He pulled his hat down lower, wound up like a baseball pitcher, and sent his rock flying into the water. The rock only skipped once, before colliding with a log floating in the water. “Aw man.”
“Better luck next time,” Wendy said, patting his back. She giggled, and spotted another perfect stone, just underneath the boat shed door. Wendy reached for the handle, opening the door with a low and long creak. She pulled out her flashlight and shone it around the shed. Spider webs covered the walls like an old wallpaper, and a few old rusty tools leaned against the decaying wood. Empty paint cans and old sheets were stacked on top of each other, the sheets slowly falling apart. “Whoa.” Wendy stepped inside. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here.”
“Me either,” Bucky said, following her inside. He grabbed his flashlight. “Is that an old canoe?” He ran over to an object covered by an old sheet, and tore it off. The canoe was split in half, broken pieces strewn about on the ground. An axe, much newer than the other tools in the shed, leaned up against the other half of the canoe.
Wendy tiptoed to the back, pulling off more sheets. Each one had a broken canoe, either with huge holes at the bottom, missing seats, and huge chunks taken out of the boats. On the bottom of one boat was a scrap of paper. Wendy carefully made her way to the broken canoe, and grabbed the paper. As she read it, a gust of wind came through, slamming the shed door shut.
Dropping the paper in surprise, Wendy froze. Something crawled up the back of her arm and her hair stood up wildly on her arm. Bucky shivered too, and made his way toward the door, pushing it open with another loud creak. Moaning echoed from the lake, and something whispered in Wendy’s ear. Screaming, she jumped over the canoes, grabbed Bucky’s hand, and ran out of the shed. She ran as fast as she could, not giving a second look back.
Bucky wiggled free from her sweaty grasp. “Did you feel that too?” he asked, his brown eyes wide with fear.
Wendy nodded. “We weren’t alone in that old shed,” she whispered. She took a few deep breaths and laughed nervously. “I think we need to find a new stone skipping spot.”
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