Blue Banshee: The English Bristle Murders

Comedy Short: The hunt continues at Camp Shikawa.

Inside the counselor cabin, the thunk of a dart board carried through the open windows on a balmy summer night.

“Yo, Tripp. You see what Crystal was wearing at the pool?” Reggie threw a dart, hitting a twenty.

“Did I see? I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Pretty sure I lost one of the campers downstream.” Tripp threw a dart, missing wide.

“Eh, they’ll turn up.”

Tripp threw again. “Yes. Fifteen.”

“That’s a five,” Reggie said.

“No chance,” Tripp said, walking up to the board and grabbing the darts. “It’s in the wire.”

“You hit the wire. So you deduct points. English Bristle rules.”

“English Bristle. You made that up.”

“Bro, my dad’s got an official dart board in his den. We play all the time.”

“This is what I think of your dad’s den.” Tripp flung a dart through the open window.

“Owww. Hoot.”

They both froze.

“Dude,” Reggie said. “I think you hit an owl.”

“No way.”

“Do it again.”

Tripp launched another dart.

“Owwww! Hoot!”

“Oh, crap. What do we do?”

“Just shut the window. We don’t want it flying in here, and worse yet, you could lose your whistle over animal abuse.”

“That’s all I need. I’m already on thin ice with my folks for putting laxative in the slushy machine at school.”

Outside, a bush rustled. Blue Banshee crawled out, a dart sticking from his shoe. “English Bristle.” He got to his feet and limped away. “I knew I should’ve gone with the steel-toe boots.”

*****

A few hours later, Blue Banshee scrunched flat against the roof of a boathouse. Going after the bros playing darts was a questionable idea. But this would be it. He knew her routine. She’d come, just as she had the last three nights. A female counselor sneaking away from her bunk for a smoke break. Her little secret, and soon he’d be the last one to know.

He waited.

A mosquito landed on the tip of his nose. Not a problem with his mask on. It started to crawl into the nose hole. He swatted at it, taking his hand off his axe. The weapon began sliding down the metal roof. “No. No. No. No. No.”

Sploop. Right into the water.

Blue Banshee exhaled. The mosquito flew away.

Just then, she arrived, bobbing to her headphones. She got to the corner of the boathouse, looked around, and retrieved a pack of smokes from behind a flower pot.

Blue Banshee peered over the edge, sweat building on his forehead. Losing his axe would mean he’d have to get a little more creative. No problem. His first victim was worth it.

She danced in place as she smoked. He wondered her name. Though, it didn’t really matter. She wasn’t long for this world.

Blue Banshee slowly rose.

Footsteps clinked down the metal dock. “Hey, Becky.”

Blue Banshee ducked back down.

Becky panicked, spun around, and flicked her cigarette into the air. “God, Jess. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” said the other counselor, stepping into view. She sniffed. “Hey were you smoking?”

Becky rubbed her foot on the ground. Caught.

Jess held out her hand. “Got another?”

They both busted out laughing. Becky grabbed the pack from the flowerpot again.

Above them, Blue Banshee remained perfectly still. The mosquito came buzzing by. He shook his head as it attempted to find the earhole.

The two counselors smoked beneath the stars, enjoying the quiet.

Blue Banshee sniffed. Something smelled strange. He looked over his shoulder. A small flame glowed on his shirt. His eyes widened.

Jess dropped her cigarette into the water. “Should we get back?”

“Yeah.”

They both disappeared back toward the cabins.

Blue Banshee rolled wildly on the roof, slapping at his back. “Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot.” His grip slipped on the metal and he began to slide. “No. No. No. No. No.”

Sploop.

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—Ricky C.

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