To whom it may concern,

We'd arrived at our destination. You already know cause you've been there, but I'm gonna try my hand at a tourist-friendly introduction:

Quaint, swathed in trees. There's a gathering hall, gazebos, a beautiful pond inhabited by angry ducks, and a long web of trails for hikers. A murderer guards the compound against would-be thieves, so don't worry – unless he thinks you stole something, in which case: run.

Well, that hadn't happened yet, so I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. When it comes to trails, though, I've always been more of a blazer. Where paths beg for beginning, my feet trample, daring history to forget my contribution. (That's in case they make these letters into a movie about my death! Gotta give the people what they want.) Slavoljub and Dooce accused me of farting, but it was probably just the horses in their pens. The air had definitely changed... it was dry and musty at the same time. My skin felt like it was shriveling, and it was itchy. My nailbeds were splitting, which for the record, should be a form of punishment in Hell. Probably is. I swigged my last from my canteen, and noted that my personal hecklers were acting different... their eyes were quick and wandering, and their hands ached for a surface to grab onto; preferably one that could be climbed.

We poured out of the bus, into the gravel driveway. A pair of attendants greeted us. You know these bozos: Bogdan Mulic, and Doctor Aćim Bašić. What you didn't know was, as I learned from watching Slavjub and Dooce run up to them for big cuddly hugs, was that they were my bullies' fathers. Bogdan was wearing (what I was immediately told was) his usual white pleather cowboy getup that day, adorned with his Sheriff's badge. He's tall enough that I could see his magnum revolver sitting in his holster above the heads of everybody in front of me. Aćim had on a lab coat and sandals. The sight of them sent a shock down my spine, like I was gonna shit right there and then – the man in white had a gun. I beat his son in a fight, that I had started. He was definitely gonna kill me. Worse, the man next to him was gonna do my autopsy. I tried to stay hidden.
They introduced themselves as the local sheriff, and the medical examiner and head of fossil research. Said the usual crap, "try not to see us too often, hyuck hyuck", blah blah blah. Dr. Bašić had been fired from working as a health inspector, for trying to start a union. He asked that we call him 'Dr. Basic', instead of saying it the Serbian way. Mr. Mulic was a big hero, apparently: he'd once captured and killed the infamous bandit Two-Neck. Probably used one hand per neck when he snapped them, I thought, but it turned out to just be a nickname.
I realized it was too hot outside, and the wind was like a convection oven. So I tried to take off my sweater, but... I gotta know. Does this ever happen to you? Basically, I tried to hold in my sweat, but some of my grademates got a whiff, and they got all red in the face and weird, started shifting around. Some of them even had dilated pupils and started, like, vibrating and humming warmly. It felt gross, like they were trying to pull me in and melt me into their bodies. I'm not a fucking crayon! Boys, girls, didn't matter – everybody seemed to want a piece of me, one way or another. So I put my hoodie back on, and zipped it up tight. I was pretty disgusted by the whole thing. It was nice to have you there once you showed up, honestly, even if I sort of acted like you were in the way. Better to have a family member that embarrasses you sometimes than a bunch of romantic threats.
Bogdan and Aćim noticed the disturbance, and zeroed in on me.
He said, "Nice hat, little misssss."
I wasn't sure if I imagined the hissing, or if this was another ghost thing. I guess he was a snake in a past life or whatever? Creepy.
In my lowest voice, I responded: "Thanks."
He called me 'sir' and apologized, but I didn't care what he called me, as long as it wasn't 'target practice'. He stared at me, like everyone does when they're looking over a difficult puzzle, and moved on. I stopped holding my breath, and they led us into the rest of the camp for a tour. I felt like I was wrapped in tin foil under that hot sun. I knew right then it was gonna be a long two weeks.

* * *

We went to the cafeteria next, and a big lady was there cleaning tables.
We knew she wasn't a housemaid already, cause she bellowed out: "WELCOME TO CAAAAMP KILLERDROOOP!!" We were too surprised to say anything back. Then she said, "I'm your hostess!! Mirjana Mulic. But you can call me Mirja, or Mrs. Mulic!"
I was ready to cry. Everyone there is related to my bullies in some way, like I'd wandered into their house wearing a kick-me sign. She probably spat in my food so much. Then, she gave us the speech on why she doesn't eat animals. Apparently, her whole family got sick from an old pack of bacon, and she was really pissed off about it.
I put my hand up, and said, "I don't eat animals either!"
She said, "Nobody likes a show-off, kid."
I... I don't even know what I said?? I don't think she likes me very much, probably because I punched her son. Yeah, that's... probably it.

* * *

They took us to the cabins next, and I'm glad it was boys and girls in separate ones, cause at least I knew what to expect. One bunk per person was a nice treat, too. Then we saw the bathrooms, where I saw a fair-haired janitor cleaning the toilets. She was of average height, early twenties, amber and green eyes, big stupid grin, and oh yeah! It was you! How could I forget? You waved hi to me, if you'll recall, wearing filthy rubber gloves. Your greeting echoed off the empty walls, and my classmates had basically no choice but to laugh. If something funny happens in a bathroom, it's automatically hilarious. Them's the breaks!
So I was thinking, when Bogdan asked how you knew 'Rusty', maybe you shouldn't have pointed me out. Because up until then, he didn't know that I, personally, was the very "twerp" who'd thrashed his son in fisticuffs without throwing a single punch (only a backpack). And a headache-maker for his friend. And some side-swipes. You see, when the rage climbed up his face and neck as he towered over me, that was when I realized that he hadn't known. Dooce whined, of course, that I tripped him and it wasn't a fair fight, but I don't think it mattered. That's probably why he made you scrub those toilets until they "sparkled as white as his grandmother's ass". In case you were wondering. Me, I was wondering if the nearby Killerdrop Chasm was a misnomer, or if I could really throw myself in at lethal velocity.

* * *

I just wanted to take a moment before I stopped writing to thank you for what you said to me that night, after everyone had fallen asleep. That's where I heard the girls from the other cabin giggling, having a pillow fight or whatever, and your long remorseful sigh. Not gonna lie, it spooked me, because up until that moment I wasn't aware that you were standing right next to me.
You told me why you were there, "because a job's a job", and of course I had to clarify that I meant RIGHT there, watching the girls play. I still laugh when I remember you saying, "Do I look repressed?"
Up until then, I didn't know that you never used to do that kind of thing. That you felt (your words, not mine!) "fat, ugly, manly, and full of steak." That you cared too much what people thought... I guess because you always seem so invincible.

Anyway, I was wondering again, and you told me that my parents being missing was par for the course for heroes. I don't feel like a hero... more like a villain. Everywhere I go, people hate me for doing what I feel like is objectively the right thing, even with my own needs removed. I used to hate Slavjub and Dušan, but now I'm just scared of them and their parents. That they'll eliminate me and everything I care about from this world and take it over when I'm gone. The thought makes me feel... cold.
You said "that's life", and that most bad people had followers who just wanted in on the stolen pie before it went rotten. You also said I should try to show people I can cooperate and meet them half-way, so they could join my side... you always make everything sound like a battle.

Life is war, love is rebellion.
Be the hero, smite the villion.

Yeah, that's my corny poetry. Get over it. Consider it my payback for what you did next – left me alone, under those bare stars, with a thick cloud of methane around me. I asked you, wherever you disappeared to, if it was swamp gas, and I heard you giggling in the distance. What a wise mentor I have. So mystical. So composed.