The Hooligan

by austin

This chapter was hard to write. We’ve reached the turning point in the story. The true purpose behind this story now becomes the focus for the remaining chapters. I tried to write this chapter with as much realism as possible, and as a result, it may bother some of you. In fact, I hope it bothers most of you. Feel free to let me know your feelings regarding a tough subject matter. This will be the only time in the story where such a subject matter is addressed in such detail. As always, I want to know what you think of it. Please let me know by sending your comments to Austin(dot)db(at)gmail(dot)com.

Part 6

Night came quickly at Camp Skitchataw. Ray was nowhere to be seen after the diaper incident and Simon’s heart rate eventually slowed down to semi-normal. He knew retribution would come, and perhaps the most frightening aspect of the situation: Ray was gone. Simon would have felt a lot more comfortable had Ray been in sight. With him hidden, plotting, scheming the early demise of his young tormentors, Simon nerves were on end. But night came, and nothing happened, just camp as usual.

There was a campfire again that evening. The campfires were great. In a clearing just on the edge of the lake, four sets of bleachers, donated from some now defunct little league field, were gathered in a circle. In the center there was a large fire pit surrounded by railroad ties, rotted and crumbling. The fires were magnificent, huge, towering affairs that filled the night sky with crackles and showering sparks.

And in the background, all the sounds that accompanied a forest night. The loud hoots of owls and the incessant chirping of sleepless crickets drifted across the now calm lake; their presence amplified by the still water. After the fire died down and the counselor who played classic American folk tunes had put away his weathered six-string guitar, all that was left was the hooting and the chirping. It created an eerie aura that reminded Simon of Halloween. The full moon that reflected brightly off Lake Skitchataw wasn’t helping. Simon hurried along down the trail, Alex and John close in tow.

“What’s the hurry?” Alex called after Simon.

Simon didn’t reply, but did slow down. Two shafts of light pierced the dark as his two friends turned on their flashlights when they entered the forest

“If we had these off, it’d be pitch black in here,” John said quietly.

“Let’s turn them off, then,” Alex said.

“No,” Simon replied roughly.

“Ohh, a little scared, are we?” Alex replied in a sing song voice.

“Shut up,” Simon said.

Alex flipped off his flashlight anyways, making ghost sounds to add to the effect.

None too soon, the three boys reached the cabins. John branched off after saying goodnight, leaving Alex and Simon by themselves. No one else had arrived at the cabin yet, so it was still dark inside. They were about to go inside when someone called out Simon’s name. Simon jumped and turned, staring wide eyed as out of the shadows, a dark figure appeared. The figure was wearing dark, flowing robes, and a dark hat. A white clerical collar glimmered in the filtered moonlight. Alex flashed his light on the figure and revealed the face of Father O’Malley.

“Jeez, Father,” Simon breathed, “You scared us.”

“I’m sorry boys,” The Father said softly.

“How come you’re all dressed up?” Alex asked.

“It’s a holy night, boys, a holy night.”

Simon stared up at Father O’Malley. He presented a truly frightening figure. His black cloak and wide-brimmed, old-style Jesuit hat blended into the black night. “I need to talk with you, Simon,” the Father said, still with that soft voice.

Simon shivered uncontrollably. It must be related to Ray. He was going to get in trouble, he was sure of it. Simon glanced at Alex, who was staring at the ground.

“Come, come with me,” Father O’Malley said. He grabbed Simon’s hand and started walking into the darkness. Simon had no choice but to follow, into the night. A towering man, long flowing robes billowing out behind him, leading the boy by the hand, into the dark.

They turned into shadows when they left the glow of Alex’s flashlight. Simon could barely see, just the fleeting shadows of the trees, dancing in the shifting light of the moon. He allowed himself to be led by Father O’Malley’s marching pace, down the rocky, winding trail. A slight feeling of relief washed over Simon as, out of the shadows, the outline of buildings formed, and he saw they were fast approaching the administrative compound.

“Where are we going?” Simon asked, finally. The first words he had said since they started walking.

“My office,” came the reply.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Relax, son. We’ll talk when we get there.”

So Simon fell into silence. They reached the door and Simon followed the Father inside. The inside of the building was dimly lit. Like the rest of the camp, the administrative building was deep into the process of decay. The compound had been built sometime in the twenties, and had been only slightly remodeled since. Inside, the hallways resembled more an underground bunker than a building at a children’s camp. Bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling by frayed electrical wires. The walls were cement. The doors a thick steel, painted long ago a pale green, now chipped, revealing the cold gray metal underneath. There was no one else in sight and silenced hung heavily on the empty building.

Father O’Malley opened one door, revealing a set of stairs. The stairwell smelled heavily of mildew and mold lined every crack. The dank, suffocating air nearly made Simon gag. The Father walked quickly up the stairs, and Simon had to be careful not to trip on the Father’s robe. They reached the top of the stairs and entered into a hallway identical to its twin below. A few more short steps and Father O’Malley ushered Simon into his office.

It was like night and day, the difference. The Father’s office was comfortable. Darkly stained wood veneer lined the walls. The floor was hardwood and on a big Persian rug sat a desk and leather chair. Facing the desk were two folding chair. Across the room from the desk was a television, an easy chair, a couch, and the arcade games Alex had mentioned. Beyond a glass sliding door, Simon could see the hot tub, steam rising from it into the cool summer night.

“My home away from home,” Father O’Malley said. Simon jumped at the sound of his voice. There was absolute silence in the room and the Father’s voice cut through the office, out of place and awkward. “Sit,” Father O’Malley said, motioning toward one of the folding chairs. Simon quickly obeyed. He watched as the Father removed his robe and hat, placing carefully on a coat rack near the door.

“Do you know why you’re in here?” He asked as he went to his desk and sat down.

Simon couldn’t seem to find his voice, so he just shook his head. He had several ideas why he might find himself in this particular situation, but none he felt like voicing. No sense in incriminating oneself before needed.

“Ray went home today.”

Not exactly bad news, Simon thought. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

“Pretty funny today, huh? Seeing Ray in those diapers?”

Simon wasn’t sure what the proper answer to that question was. Obviously it was funny, everyone in the mess hall had laughed, including the counselors. Instead he shook his head. “No, Father,” he said softly.

The Father peered at him from behind his desk. He leaned back and put his feet on the desk. “I’ll be strait with you, Simon.”

Simon felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Here it comes, he thought.

“I think you had something to do with it. I’m not blind. I know you and your little friends have had a run in with Ray and his friends. Happens all the time at camp. Nothing new. But the diapers, that, I have to admit, I’ve never seen before. And it presents several problems.” Father O’Malley paused and stared at Simon for a second. Simon weathered the gaze for a moment, then looked away, suddenly finding interest in the shadowy view beyond the window.

“First, though, I want you to tell me, be honest now, God is watching, did you have anything to do with it?”

Simon stayed silent, wondering how much he should say. He nearly jumped a foot in the air when Father O’Malley slammed his fist down on the desk. “God! Is watching! He knows, little boy, he knows what you have done,” He yelled. Simon felt truly afraid. A lump formed in his throat and he felt tears gather in his eyes, preparing to make the trek down his cheeks. The Father stood up and started pacing around, staring down at Simon, who had started shaking.

“You stole from our camp, you stole from our campers who have…special needs, you exposed a fellow man to nakedness, and you humiliated a good boy,” the Father was yelling, walking back and forth across the room.

Simon had all sorts of things he wanted to say. He didn’t steal anything, it was John’s idea. He didn’t diaper Ray, John did. He didn’t make Ray run into the mess hall and humiliate himself, that was Ray’s own stupid fault. And what was this about Ray being a good boy? But Simon kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to get John in trouble, he didn’t want to involve Alex. No, he’d take the blame. Simon would take the fall for the group.

“I did it,” he said softly.

“What?” The Father stopped pacing, right in front of Simon, who felt minuscule sitting in the folding chair beneath Father O’Malley’s poisonous gaze.

“I did it,” Simon said, louder this time.

“Good,” Father O’Malley whispered. “Good.” He walked across the room to where the sliding door was and stared out into the night. “Ray was a…good boy. Different, mean at times, but good. Fragile.” Simon wanted to laugh. Was this the same boy they were talking about? “What you did was a terrible, terrible thing, Simon.”

Simon knew what was next. Just like in class at the Catholic school, when you got in trouble, you got spanked. Usually it was by the sisters, on the hand, and it only hurt for a bit. But Simon had a suspicion the Father would be a whole lot worse. He watched as the man went to his desk and removed a ruler like stick and turned to face Simon. The tears started to flow in earnest now. Simon sniffed and blubbered as fear took over, and felt like a very much like a small, helpless boy.

“Stand.”

Simon did. Father O’Malley placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder and led him to the edge of the desk. “Drop your pants,” the Father said softly. Simon struggled to unbutton his jeans. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely complete the task. The tears blurring his vision didn’t help. Eventually, he got them unbuttoned and let them drop too his ankles. “Underwear, too,” came the order. Simon complied and stood there, exposed in front of the camp administrator. Father O’Malley directed him to lean against the desk. Simon did and closed his eyes shut tight.

It was over fairly quickly, but was still one of the most painful experiences Simon could think of in his young lie. With each hit, pain shot through his body and he howled and howled. He was sure his cries could be heard across the camp. When the Father finally stopped hitting Simon, the boy was crying hysterically.

Simon felt a soft hand on his shoulder and allowed himself to be led across the room to the couch. It was an awkward walk, more of a shuffle, as the pain, coupled with the fact that his pants were still around his ankles, made walking a difficult undertaking for Simon. Father O’Malley gently pushed him onto the couch. When his raw bottom came into contact with the rough material of the couch, Simon let out another cry. He sat there, his chest rising with each heavy sob. The Father sat down next to him and started to rub his back. “You know why I had to do that, right?” He asked in a soft, almost apologetic voice.

Simon’s mind was numb, having shut down to some degree to block out the pain, and a response didn’t even come in his thoughts. He sat there crying and staring straight ahead.

Eventually, his sobs slowed and subsided. The Father began to speak. Simon wasn’t really listening, barely comprehending the words, but enough of it made sense that a fear so deep, a dread so dark, swept over his entire being. For the first time in his life, a serious doubt of God entered his conscious. If God were real, he would not allow this to happen.

“Ray was special, my special friend,” The Father said. His words seemed to echo in Simon’s head. “And now he’s gone.” The Father gazed at Simon, a different look in his eyes. “And that’s a problem. Since you made him go, you are going to be the answer to that problem. Ok?” Father was speaking in a sort of sing-song voice, and his hand had drifted up to Simon’s head. His fingers were caressing Simon’s face. Simon felt himself go into a kind of daze. He started thinking of home. He saw his parents. They were in the family room, their mouths were moving, but Simon couldn’t hear what they were saying. His mom was laughing. His dad telling some sort of joke. They disappeared, replaced a scene from his youth. It was his birthday. Simon saw himself sitting at the kitchen table. He looked to be about six. His mom walked into the room with a birthday cake, the candles lit. She was singing. His father was sitting next to Simon at the table, grinning. Simon watched as he mouthed happy birthday and gave his six-year-old self a hug.

Father O’Malley was taking off Simon’s shirt. Simon didn’t resist. He was smiling, watching his sixth birthday again. Father O’Malley smiled back. “You like this?” he asked, again his voice soft and childish. Simon smiled. He watched himself take a messy bite of the cake, grinning with his mouth wide open. A bit of cake fell out, his antics made his father and mother laugh. Simon giggled.

Once he was naked, the Father stripped down, revealing a swimming suit under his clerical garb. He took Simon by the hand, leading the naked boy out the sliding door and into the hot tub. The birthday cake vanished, taking his parents with it, and Simon felt a momentary flash of fear. Where had they gone? The he saw his dad again. He was outside, waving, beckoning Simon to hurry up. They were hiking. His dad was standing on a huge rock which jutted out over a cliff. It was at the state park near their house. They lived right on the edge of town, right near the river. The view was breathtaking. Simon watched as he, looked to be about eight, joined his dad on the rock. His dad put his arm around young Simon and pulled him in close, giving him a kiss on his head. Simon watched as his dad began pointing out different things in the valley below.

Father O’Malley was doing something under the water. He was mumbling nonsense into Simon’s ear while his hands explored the boy’s body under the water. Simon was staring off into the darkness, still smiling. Smiling…

Simon wasn’t at breakfast the next day. John was worried. He asked Alex what was wrong, but Alex didn’t know. He told John that Father O’Malley had taken him away last night and the next morning, Simon had been asleep in his bed.

“You didn’t talk to him?”

“No, I was hungry. Didn’t want to wait for him to get out of bed.”

“God, you’re so selfish,” John spat.

“Oh, come on,” Alex said, taking a bite of pancake.

“He probably got spanked silly last night and you didn’t even check on him!” John pushed away his food and stood up from the table. “I’ll be back,” he said, glaring at Alex. John walked quickly to the boys’ cabin and walked in through the door. He saw there was still someone in Simon’s bunk.

“Hey,” John said as he approached. He prodded Simon through his sleeping bag, but the boy didn’t stir. John rolled Simon over. Simon was still fast asleep, but he didn’t look healthy. His face was pale, and his lips seemed to be quivering. John gave him a rough shake and Simon slowly opened his eyes. They seemed dull and empty.

“Hey, buddy, you gonna get up?” John asked softly.

Simon just stared at his friend. He slowly shook his head.

“You ok?” John asked, now worried.

“Yeah,” Simon mumbled. “Just don’t feel too well.”

“Heard you had to go to Father O’Malley’s office last night,” John said.

Simon looked blankly at John, not showing any recognition for a moment. “Oh, yeah, got in trouble for diapering Ray.”

John was silent for a second. “Did you…mention, ah, me?”

“No,” Simon said. “Listen, I don’t feel so well.”

“You don’t look to well. Did you get spanked.”

Simon thought for a second. “Yeah, I guess so. I don’t remember too much, actually.”

A peculiar look came across John’s face as he stared down at his friend. “How do you not remember?”

Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. One moment I was there, in his office, the next I’m here. I think I’m…” Simon staggered out of bed. He was just in his briefs and a t-shirt. John quickly got out of his way. “You ok? Can I…” John trailed off as he watched Simon stumble out of the cabin. The sounds of vomiting filled the air and John quickly rushed to Simon’s side, putting his hand on Simon’s heaving back. “It’s ok, buddy, get it out,” John said softly. After Simon finished emptying out his mostly void stomach, he sat down on the dirt.

“We’re going to the nurse,” John said. Simon didn’t reply. John struggled to lift up his friend. After some pulling and prodding, John got Simon on his feet. Deciding it would be too much of an effort to try and get pants on his friend, he helped the staggering and weak boy down the trail. It took a good half hour to reach the nurses office.

Once inside, the nurse had Simon lay down on the couch, which was an orange, disgusting piece of furniture. Simon didn’t seem to care. He was staring blankly, mumbling one word answers to the nurse’s inquiries. Finally, John stepped in and told the nurse about how Simon had been in trouble and had been spanked. The nurse gently pulled down Simon’s briefs and grimaced at the large red welts that covered Simon’s bottom.

“You really got it, honey,” the nurse said. John felt bad that his friend had gotten the punishment for actions that were his responsibility too. “But,” the nurse continued, “That doesn’t explain why you’re all sick this morning. Don’t think its food poisoning, ‘cause no other boy is sick.” She turned her attention to John, “Thanks for bringing him in. You run along now and go enjoy yourself. Your friend will be just fine. You can come and check on him later if you want.”

Hesitantly, John left, looking behind him several times. He saw the nurse cover Simon with a blanket and bring him some water. John went back to the mess hall to finish is breakfast, which was still sitting at the table untouched. Alex was gone, as were most of the other boys. He finished up his plate and was taking it to the dishwashers when he saw Father O’Malley enter the cafeteria. The Father was back in his back-country outfit. Plaid button up, jeans, and cowboy boots. John felt a knot of fear in his stomach. Was he next to get spanked. John tried to sneak past the Father, avoiding eye contact, but just as walked passed him, John felt a hand come down roughly on his shoulder. He froze.

“Good morning, Father,” he said quietly.

“Good morning. Where is your friend?”

John looked up at Father O’Malley. “Which one?”

“Simon.”

“Oh,” John said. “He was, ah, sick. He’s at the nurses.”

Father O’Malley squinted his eyes, looking questioningly down at John. “Sick? How so?”

John shrugged. “Puking. Dunno what was wrong.”

“Hmm,” the Father said thoughtfully. “Sick. Well, I’d better go check on him.” The Father quickly walked away, leaving the mess hall and heading towards the nurse’s station. John felt relieved. Looked like he was going to avoid the wrath of Father O’Malley after all.

Simon was nearly asleep on the disgusting orange couch. He felt numb, empty. He didn’t really feel sick anymore. The puking had taken care of that. His bottom hurt something terrible, a pulsing aching that traveled to every part of his body. There was this sense of dread, of something terrible, but Simon couldn’t put his finger on it. Something bad had happened. It was like someone had died, but Simon didn’t know who. He laid on the orange couch thinking about it. Who had died?

Suddenly, the door burst open and Simon felt a wave of fear grip his body. Father O’Malley rushed in, saw Simon, and quickly knelt by the boy. Simon stared at the Father and started shaking.

“My boy,” Father O’Malley said softly, “you’re sick.”

The nurse, hearing the commotion, came into the room from her office. “Father,” she said.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Maybe the flu, it’s hard to tell right now.”

The Father nodded. Then he looked up at the nurse. “Can you leave us for a moment? Outside. I want to pray for Simon, in private. ”

The nurse looked curiously at the Father, but didn’t question him. She walked out into the sunlight, gently closing the door behind her.

“Simon,” the Father said, strained, through clinched teeth. “Not a word of last night, my boy. Understand?”

Simon just stared. Memories were forming. Suddenly he knew bad had happened last night. He knew more had happened that just a spanking. He knew there was a reason why he had been “dreaming” of his birthday, of hiking with his dad. Why else would the Father be here now. He stared at Father O’Malley with a look of pure hatred and fear, more fear than hatred. The Father put his hand on Simon’s shoulder and the boy tried to pull away, but found he was stuck, held in place by the ugly orange couch.

“What did you do to me last night?” Simon asked, his voice horse, nothing more than a whisper.

“Nothing. You don’t remember?”

“I remember,” Simon whispered, even though he didn’t. He was putting two and two together. “You sick, sick man,” Simon whispered fiercely.

“Hold your tongue, boy,” Father O’Malley said roughly. “What I did you deserved. Punishment, an act of God.”

Simon was shaking, a deep, deep rage taking hold of his body.

“What is your father’s job, Simon, my boy?” Father O’Malley asked, quietly, soothingly.

Simon stared blankly at him for a second, then mumbled, “Janitor, for the school.”

“And how would you like for your daddy to be out of a job? Because of you? Because you were a bad…little boy? You keep your mouth shut or your daddy loses his job. Do you think he’ll love you then?” Father O’Malley patted Simon on the shoulder. There were tears in Simon’s eyes now; cold, forlorn tears. He felt helpless. It was too much. Realizing what had happened last night, what must have happened last night, at the same time as Father O’Malley here, now, threatening him. All Simon could do was cry. He felt a warm wetness spreading out from his middle and he knew he was wetting himself. “You be a good little boy, Simon. You’ll feel better in a while, the nurse will help, and you’ll have fun today. And,” Father O’Malley smiled softly, “We’ll be the best of friends, you and me, Simon, the best of friends.”

The Father stood up and walked to the door. He took one more glance at Simon, who was watching him blankly, curiously, silent tears dripping down his face. Father O’Malley winked, then opened the door and walked out.

The nurse quickly came back in. She came over to Simon and knelt down by his side. “Are you ok, honey?” She asked. Simon took a deep breath. He was stuck. He was young, but he was smart. He knew Father O’Malley was a powerful man. No one would believe Simon if he told the truth, and his dad would lose his job. Simon knew what he had to do. A cold determination settled on his consciousness. “No, I’m fine,” he replied.

“Well, ok then. You can tell me anything, I want you to know that,” she said. “That was nice of Father O’Malley to come and check on you, huh?”

Simon nodded.

“Hey, I want to get you into some clothes, ok?” The nurse said. Simon thought about stopping her, knowing she’d find him soaked, but didn’t have the energy. He lay still as she pulled back the blanket covering. “Oh dear, honey,” she said. The nurse pointed towards his middle. “Looks like you had an accident. Don’t worry, happens all the time when you boys get sick.” Simon looked down, nonchalantly investigating the nurse’s claim, even though he knew it to be true, and sure enough, a large wet spot now graced the ugly orange couch, its source obviously Simon.

“I’m sorry,” Simon mumbled. It’d been ages since he’d wet the bed, let alone a couch. “Oh,” the nurse clucked and patted Simon. “Don’t worry. Like I said, nothing unusual for it to happen when you’re sick.” She helped Simon out of bed and into the examining room. “Up on the table honey, let me clean you up.” Simon climbed up on the leather, padded table. It was cool to the touch and he shivered as he lay down. The nurse cleaned him off with a warm towel and dressed him in some shorts and a new t-shirt.

“Should I clean the couch?” Simon asked.

“Oh no, of course not. Do you feel well enough to go eat, now?”

Simon forced himself to smile and nod.

“Ok then, off you go. Come back if you feel sick again, ok?”

Simon thanked her then set out from the nurse’s office. He ate silently and alone in the empty mess hall, then went out walking. He had no particular destination. His mind was running wild, a crazed child in his head. Simon desperately wanted to remember what had happened the night before. But there was a block, like someone had taken an eraser and made a portion of his life disappear. He remembered the first part of the spanking, but that was it. The next he was in his sleeping bag. Simon remembered dreaming though. Dreaming about his sixth birthday, about hiking at the state park with his dad.

He knew Father O’Malley had done something. On one hand, Simon wanted to know what, but on the other, Simon was deathly afraid of the possibilities. Simon felt dirty. Everyone had heard the rumors. It was common knowledge at school that Father O’Malley liked boys. Simon had heard older boys joking about it, making fun of the boys who were summoned to Father O’Malley’s office. “Where’d he touch you?” They’d taunt. “You liked it, huh, you fag,” They’d laugh. And now, Simon was that boy.

Simon realized he was crying again. He didn’t try to stop. He just walked and cried. Simon felt so helpless. No one could touch the Father. He was a pillar in the community, well respected by all. It seemed that none of the parents knew the truth. It seemed that none of the other members of the church knew. It seemed that none of the other brothers or sisters knew. It seemed as if the nurse had no idea. But Simon wasn’t so sure. If all the boys knew about Father O’Malley’s deviant behavior, how could the adults be so blind? Simon knew he could do nothing. If he spoke up, not only would nothing happen, he would get made fun of and his father would lose his job. And yet, he knew it was so wrong. So he just cried, cried and walked.

After a couple of hours, Simon wiped away the last of his tears and made his way back to camp. Lunch was just beginning, and Simon silently fell in beside John in the food line.

John looked at Simon carefully. Simon didn’t look too much better. He looked different. A cold indifference had fallen on Simon’s face. Simon forced a smile at his friend. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hey,” replied John. “You feeling better?”

Simon shrugged. “I feel fine, thanks.”

John looked at Simon for a moment, searching for something more than Simon was saying. Finally, he shook his head. “Ok man, glad you’re ok. You scared me this morning.”

“Sorry,” Simon said.

The two ate in silence, letting Alex run the conversation. Simon could tell that John didn’t believe him, but there wasn’t much he could do. After lunch, John pulled Simon aside. “I want to talk,” he said fiercely. The two boys started to walk away.

“Hey, what about me?” Alex asked.

“We’ll be back in a second,” John said in a tone not even Alex wanted to question.

“Fine,” Alex replied, miffed.

John led Simon away from camp. After they were alone in the woods, John spoke his mind. He also was aware of the rumors.

“Simon, what happened last night?”

Simon shrugged uncomfortably.

“Those welts looked pretty nasty.”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, it hurt. The part I remember, anyways.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like I told you this morning, I don’t remember much. It’s weird.”

“Simon, you know what I’m thinking, I know you do,” John said quietly, avoiding eye contact. “Did the Father…you know?”

Simon shrugged again. “I don’t know, John. I don’t remember.”

“We need to report him,” John said, angry now.

Simon turned and faced John, a pleading look on his face. “No, John, don’t. Trust me, don’t say anything. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

The rest of the day was slow and painful. Simon, understandably, didn’t have much energy to play. Alex, oblivious to the pain of his friend, was bouncing around trying to get Simon and John to join his jovial foolery, but was having little success. The innocence of the camp had been stolen from the boys. Simon and John ended up spending most of the day playing round after round of checkers. John tried to get Simon to talk more, but to no avail. Simon seemed to turn into a recluse, hiding somewhere in the back of his consciousness.

Eventually, night fell and it was time to go to bed. Simon left John, thanking him for playing checkers, and crawled into his sleeping bag. He was eager to fall asleep and end the day. After the usual bedtime hyper frolicking, all the boys found their way to their bags. With relief, Simon closed his eyes as the counselor flipped out the lights to the cabin.

Just as Simon was about to fall asleep, the sound of approaching footsteps filled the cabin. A knock came from the entrance and the counselor got up to see what the trouble was. Simon tried to understand the quiet, muffled whispers. Simon started to tremble as his counselor came back into the cabin and walked his direction. The counselor leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Simon, Father O’Malley wants to see you.”