Running in the Dark

Written with great attention to detail, putting the reader solidly in John’s shoes. Cleverly Written, Dynamic Story Telling John survived Vietnam, but first, he survived Detroit This collection of short-stories depicts growing up in 1960s Detroit, capturing the author's childhood adventures—alone or with friends—often marked by both fear and excitement. Vivid descriptions bring his experiences to life, revealing the innocence of boys who chase adventure despite the consequences. Readers may recall their own childhood moments, especially those spent running from danger in the dark.

The camp counselors (college students) must have taken a class on how to intimidate kids. They usually told stories about werewolves, evil elves, deformed witches, and deranged killers, who all resided within the deep ravines running along the two sides of our camp. These evil creatures were said to be highly intelligent and knew how to hide during the day. At night, they prowled the earth looking for kids to enslave and eat. In fact, some counselors testified that they’d seen these monsters wandering the campgrounds in the dead of night, watching them from behind trees and bushes until the coast was clear. Afterward, these college kids - entrusted to watch over us - prepared for their nightly antics. For many, it was our first indoctrination to terror – there were many sleepless nights to follow! Campers were divided by age and assigned to their respective housing. As that was my first year there, I shared my cabin with nineteen other eight-year-old boys. Our parents were a hundred miles away, and the camp counselor’s residences were across camp near the dining hall, leaving us all alone on that side of the property. Even though counselors took turns checking cabins twice each night, we were basically on our own to fend for ourselves… future third graders against the monsters of the night. We would soon become a Band of Brothers. Once the lights went out on that first night, spooky sounds and howling erupted from the far side of the camp; it was nothing like Halloween night, but just as chilling to us first-time campers. Grunts, cackling laughter, and dragging feet moved about through the darkness, calling out to the campers. One of them even walked the length of our porch, growling, banging on the wall, and pulling something heavy across the wood planks. (Note to self: “Check for damage and scratch marks in the morning.”) Twenty pairs of large white ovals shone in the darkness of the cabin, as eyes darted left to right, up and down, and followed the path of scary noises outside. Everyone remained perfectly still in their bunks, afraid to make the slightest noise that might alert the monsters to their whereabouts. We stayed on high alert for another twenty minutes until the sounds outside faded and then ceased. Unsure of our safety, we remained statue-like for several more minutes before getting the courage to lie back down. Whispers began in earnest, questions circulating through the small cabin. I remember “hell” and “damn” were the only curse words of choice at the time. None of us had any idea what was happening outside and didn’t care to find out. Some kids turned over on their sides and pulled blankets over their heads, confident in their invisibility and security within the woolen cocoons. The rest of us lay on our backs - some trying to sleep and others deep in thought - contemplating our fate for the remainder of the night.