Chapter I: Part 1

A STRANGE INNOCENCE

It began at the summer camp, when Peggy Matthews and Lilian
Parker met in the counselors’ cabin. After that, curiosity and
desire had their way, but Peggy had no idea of what she was
getting into....

DR. HERBERT GREENE says:

“The SUMMER CAMP is the unforgettable story of an
eighteen-year-old girl losing control of her emotions. Her
affairs with men as victim, then aggressor ... her affairs with
women, tentative, then greedy and unashamed ... are delineated
with valid insights. This is nothing less than a classic case
history of modern lesbianism.”

Dozens and dozens of fresh-faced kids. Eager young counselors. A
friendly nurse and a couple of earnest directors. All are
gathered at the swank girls’ camp for a summer of fun.

... And then into the cabins and the tents creeps horror.

The horror of twisted desire, of desperate and sickening
cravings.

First the nurse and the directors, then the girl counselors, are
victimized by that horror. Finally its fingers reach out brazenly
to touch one of the children....

SUMMER
CAMP

Anne Herbert

SOFTCOVER LIBRARY, INC.
New York, New York

DEPOSITED WITH THE
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 1966

All persons
named in this work
are fictional, and
any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 1963 by
Softcover Library, Inc.
All rights reserved.

First printing, 1963
Second printing, 1966

This book is
published simultaneously
in Canada

Manufactured in the
United States of America

SOFTCOVER LIBRARY, INC.
New York, N. Y. 10017

TO PHIL—because it was promised....

ONE

A whistle shrilled, echoing across the crystal-clear lake.

Fifty young girls splashed and squealed their way out of the water.

As the last wet little swimmer ran into the bathhouse, counselor Peggy Matthews climbed to the diving platform and moved gracefully along the board, her tanned limbs gleaming in the July sunlight.

She stood statue-still, arms stretched behind her, chin held high, feet together. The kelly-green suit clung to her pert, young body, molding every curve. Peggy sucked in a deep breath, then took two steps and jackknifed into the water.

Seconds later she emerged, shook her blond ponytail, and with smooth, rhythmic strokes headed for a rowboat some thirty yards away.

Noticing her approach, the girl in the boat oared to meet Peggy, who surface-dived just before she reached the craft and frog-kicked under it.

“Mind if I join you?” she spluttered from the other side.

The girl laughed huskily. “No, come on. I’ll give you a lift.” She dragged oars while Peggy clambered aboard. “For a campcraft counselor,” she said when Peggy was seated, “you do an okay crawl.”

“What do you expect from a seasoned camper like me?” Peggy asked, leaning over the side to wring out her soggy ponytail. She straightened. “Hm. That sun feels delicious. Let’s not go in yet.” She loosened the strap of her suit, lifted her face to the warmth of Sol. “I love the hot sun beating down on my skin. Feels as though it’s going right through me.”

“If you’d been sitting here for the last hour,” Mike told her, “you’d be glad to get out of this firebox.”

Peggy opened her hazel eyes and sat gazing speculatively at the other counselor in the boat. Karen Michaels, more commonly known as Mike, was a big girl—not tall, but husky and broad-shouldered. Her voice was husky too, soft but rather hoarse. She had piercing steel-gray eyes, and auburn hair combed into what the girls called a “D.A.” She was wearing a man’s short-sleeved sport shirt over her dark swim suit.

Peggy watched the muscular arms push and pull, working the boat into a smooth, rolling motion. The girl was an excellent oarsman, Peggy thought; probably an excellent all-around athlete, by the look of her.

Peggy’s eyes traveled down the hefty legs to the broad feet planted on the bottom of the boat. Then her gaze returned to Mike’s face. It was the first time Peggy had really studied Mike, and she was surprised at the softness of the features. On close examination the face contrasted rather sharply with the near-masculinity of the girl’s body and mannerisms.

Peggy smiled at this girl, this Mike, suddenly embarrassed upon realizing that while she had been scrutinizing, so had Mike. Her eyes had come to rest on the white line above Peggy’s green suit where it had begun to slip, exposing the delectable fullness underneath. For a moment Peggy was flustered, but Mike seemed quite at ease.

“Are you really an old pro at camping?” she asked easily. The husky tone made it sound as if she were whispering.

Peggy nodded.

“Camper or counselor?”

“Both—three years at Girl Scout Camp, then I worked at Green Peak for two years. Junior counselor and all that jazz. I’ve been through the whole bit.”

“So why the hell are you here? This place is nowhere, compared to Green Peak.”

Peggy hesitated. “None of those co-ed outfits appeal to me. I wanted to get away from the male race for a while.”

“What are you—some kind of nut?”

“On the contrary,” Peggy said, lifting her face to the sun again. “It makes sense.”

Mike stilled the oars. She frowned. “You have some kind of grudge against men?”

“You might say that,” Peggy answered, eyes closed.

Mike did not prod. Silently, but with a thoughtful expression, she resumed rowing. Just before they banked, Mike said, “If you ever want to talk about it—”

Peggy frowned. “About what?”

“Your grudge.”

Peggy laughed. “It’s no deep, dark secret,” she said, scrambling out of the boat. “It’s just that....”

“Well! Did you girls enjoy your excursion?”

Peggy turned. “Hi, Lil.”

Lilian Parker stood facing the two counselors, arms akimbo, sandaled feet planted far apart. Her jet-black hair hung in a long braid down her back. Her eyes looked like burning coals. One delicate brow arched as she said, “It’s really a shame our esteemed Director Duncan wasn’t able to witness that exhibition.”

Mike glared at the dark-haired girl, asked coldly, “Which exhibition?”

Lilian seemed not to hear the question. “But perhaps one of our impressionable youngsters noticed it—and will follow suit. After all,” she continued, “if the waterfront director can let friends climb into a rowboat in the middle of the lake, why not a camper? And if one of them drowns in the process, so what? Why, everyone knows camping has its dangers—”

Mike stepped out of the boat. “Knock it off, Lilian.”

“Oh, of course. The waterfront director is somebody special here. It’s no secret that—”

“I said knock it off.”

Ignoring Mike completely, Lilian now flashed a friendly smile at Peggy. “How would you like a coke before craft hour?”

Peggy wondered why Lilian’s animosity was confined to Mike. After all, she, Peggy, had been equally guilty. She smiled brightly, however, and said, “Sounds good. I’ll be with you in a second.” She turned toward the boat and lifted the anchor rope.

“Don’t bother with that,” Lilian said, taking Peggy’s hand. “I’m sure Mike can manage. She’s so muscular, you know.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” Mike said gruffily, tugging at the boat to drag it higher on the sand.

Peggy stepped away. “Thanks, Mike.”

“Sure. Hey, Peg—” she began, but when Peggy looked at her, Mike hesitated, glanced at Lilian, then said, “Oh, forget it. See you later.”

“Sure thing,” Peggy agreed, walking off with Lilian.

Trudging uphill from the waterfront, Lilian said, “I think we had better change first, we’re both sopping.”

Lilian was wearing a two-piece suit the color of her raven hair. The contrast between the ivory of Lilian’s skin and the bits of midnight—her hair and eyes and suit—the way in which she carried herself, the tilt of her nose, the proud head—all these served to give her an air of exotic sophistication.

Halfway to the cabin area, Lilian turned to Peggy. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything down there,” she said. “I was anxious to talk to you. I realize,” she continued after a short pause, “it is none of my concern, Peggy, but I’d like to suggest that you stay clear of Mike.”

Peggy was visibly perplexed. “Why?”

“No particular reason,” Lilian told her. “I just think it would be best.”

“But—”

“It’s only a suggestion,” Lilian said in a crisp tone.

They had climbed the stone steps leading to the cabins and were now walking among the units spread across the slope of a grassy hill. Just before they neared Lilian’s cabin, she said, “You might as well come in. I won’t be long.”

Peggy followed her, letting the screen door bang shut behind them. Unlike most counselors, Lilian bunked with staff, not kids; but all the units were the same, consisting of a square interior lined with six beds, a small table at the side of each, an extra blanket at the foot, and a window at the head. There was room for two or three wooden chairs. A dressing alcove held washbowls, water closet, and additional closet space. Showers were located in a different building.

As Peggy lowered herself into one of the chairs, her eyes fell on a colorful splash in the center of Lilian’s dark blanket. Peggy rose and walked to the bed.

“What’s this?” she asked, stretching in front of her what looked like a multicolored ribbon.

A slow smile crossed Lilian’s face. “A bikini,” she said matter-of-factly, taking the scanty garment from Peggy and holding it against the top of the suit she was wearing. “It’s not very appropriate camp apparel,” she admitted.

“Oh, it’s daring!” Peggy said. “I’d love to see it on you.”

“Would you?” Lilian laughed, snatched the other half of the outfit from the bed, and stepped into the alcove. Thinking the move was an act of modesty, Peggy moved to a window and gazed out.

Seconds later she heard Lilian’s step.

“Peggy.”

She turned.

Lilian was leaning against the wall, one leg a little in front of the other, both hands behind her back, in a dramatic pose.

Peggy caught her breath at the sight.

Now Lilian walked to the center of the room, her subtly rounded and half-exposed buttocks swaying beneath their scant patch of color. The top of the suit was fastened with not much more than a string across Lilian’s back, and there was little more to the front. It seemed to Peggy that only the nipples of Lilian’s ample breasts were covered by the bra strip; she wondered why they too were not peeping out.

Peggy’s eyes traveled down the satiny skin, past the nipped waist, to the triangular splash of color below Lilian’s navel. Peggy could not deny that the other girl looked exquisite.

Lilian sucked in a breath. The heavy breasts swelled with the action, threatening to burst the confining ribbon.

“Like it?”

Peggy nodded. “It’s stunning,” was all she could think to say.

That slow smile crossed Lilian’s face again, and her coal-like eyes sparked. “Thank you,” she murmured, reaching behind her for that vital string.

Abruptly the colors flashed to the floor. Before Peggy could comprehend what had happened, Lilian’s hands moved to the small ties at either side of the triangle. Another flash of color fell to the floor, and Lilian stood nude.

Peggy’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped, her breath caught in her throat. She could not help staring at the girl in front of her.

Lilian was standing Indian-straight. Her jutting breasts were mounds of rose-tipped perfection. Her stomach was flat and silky, punctuated by a navel like a mischievous dimple. Her legs were slim and long. Her entire body, Peggy thought, was model-perfect, from the top of her glossy hair to the tips of her orange-painted toes.

Lilian bent to retrieve the scanty suit from the floor. Peggy watched the graceful lines of the ivory body as one long arm stretched, one breast moved, one foot went forward.

Lilian straightened. Peggy tore her eyes away and glanced around the barren room, contrasting its homespun, rough-hewn aspect with Lilian’s sleek elegance.

“Peggy—”

She whirled just in time to catch the flying mass of color.

“Try it on,” Lilian said. “Excepting our height, we’re about the same size.”

Peggy glanced at a travel clock on one of the bed stands. “No time. If we want that coke we’ll have to hurry,” she said. “I still have to change. Maybe I’d better run over to my place now.”

They met minutes later and walked down the hill, then up another, arriving quickly at the main lodge. This was a large, rustic building surrounded by singing pines, and, at night, whistling winds. It sat in the middle of the campsite atop the highest rise.

The lodge was the center of camp activity. On the ground floor was a large central room with paneled walls and a huge stone fireplace. The ceiling was cluttered with sprawling beams and rafters, the oak floor bare. The furniture included three leather couches, a few identical Adirondack chairs scattered around, a couple of tables, and several lamps. This main room was surrounded on three sides by an exceptionally broad screened porch, part of which was partitioned into game rooms. The remainder served as a dining area. Directly behind the main room was the counselors’ lounge.

Inside this smaller room, Lilian pulled two cokes out of the icy depths of the cooler, uncapped them and joined Peggy who was staring through an oak-framed window. Through the tall green pines Peggy could see patches of shimmering blue water below, tinged with the golden sunlight of late afternoon.

When Lilian handed her the drink, Peggy sank into a cane rocking chair. “This is a beautiful place.” She sighed.

“Oh, it is,” Lilian agreed. “A shame that it’s wasted on a lot of squealing, snot-nosed kids.”

That stunned Peggy into silence. But she recovered quickly. “If you don’t like children, why in the world are you at a camp? Surely you could—”

“It has its advantages,” Lilian interrupted. “But tell me—why are you here? I heard that you worked at Green Peak for a while. That’s tops. Why the change?”

Peggy rocked back and forth in the groaning old chair. “For the sake of variety, I guess. After counseling a couple of years there, I decided I’d like something different.”

“There must have been spots open at the other co-ed camps. I mean, you weren’t forced to come here.”

Peggy grinned. “Well, it’s different, anyway.”

“I’m sure you had more of a reason than that,” Lilian said.

Peggy tipped the chair closer to Lilian and, cupping a hand to the girl’s ear, said in a stage whisper, “It has to do with a deep psychological problem. But please,” she cautioned, “don’t let anyone know.” She lowered her hand.

Lilian laid a palm on Peggy’s bare knee. “You are a sweet girl, Peggy. I like you. Just do me a favor—don’t try to be cute with me. I don’t appreciate such humor.”

“I’m sorry,” Peggy said in a cool tone. Then, softening, added, “I didn’t mean anything by it, Lilian. I simply—”

“Never mind,” Lilian said, and smiled to indicate all was forgiven.

Peggy shrugged. “What time do the crafts start?”

Lilian, looking at her own watch, said, “Ten minutes.” She was about to say something more when the door clicked open, admitting a petite but rather busty woman in her early thirties. In spite of her starched white nurse’s costume, hers was a delicately feminine look—upswept brown hair, smooth skin, smiling red lips, twinkling eyes of a peculiar periwinkle blue.

“Hello, campcrafters,” she said, closing the door behind her. She glanced quickly at the empty mail shelf in the corner, then joined Peggy and Lilian at the other end of the room.

Peggy greeted her pleasantly. Lilian said hello as though it were an obligation.

The camp nurse, Beth Williamson, seated herself next to Peggy. “How’s the first day going?” she asked. The corners of her mouth seemed curved into a permanent smile.

“Great—so far,” Peggy answered.

The nurse studied Peggy for a moment, then said, “You’re Peggy Matthews, aren’t you?”

Peggy nodded.

“Welcome to our fair camp, Miss Peggy.”

“I thank you,” Peggy said, with mock formality.

Beth’s smile widened. “Seriously, I hope you’ll enjoy the summer, Peggy. I watched you at the waterfront. You seem to have a sparkle and spontaneity much needed here.” Beth glanced past Peggy at Lilian, compressed her lips and said no more.

Peggy, too, turned toward Lilian, who immediately forced a smile. “Shall we be on our way, kid?”

Beth glanced at her watch. “Oh, you have plenty of time,” she said placidly, then lifted her deep blue eyes to Peggy. “Which cabin are you in charge of?”

“Hillcrest.”

“Ah, yes. Ten- and eleven-year-olds, right?”

Peggy nodded.

“Susie Edison is in that cabin, isn’t she?” the nurse wanted to know.

Peggy thought a moment. “That little blond one. Sure.”

“Susie is a cute girl—full of vim and vigor. But she has problems, you know. She inordinately craves love and affection—although she tries not to let it be known.”

“I hope I can handle her.”

“Oh, I doubt if you’ll have any trouble. She’s an ideal camper, otherwise, and will be a good influence on the rest of your girls. By the way, have you ever supervised a cabin group before?”

Peggy nodded. “Last year.”

“Good. Then you should have nothing to worry about. However, if something does come up, let me know. I might be able to help you. You can usually find me rattling around the Pillbox.”

“Pillbox?”

“That’s what we call the infirmary. I guess because I’m so often administering ‘happy pills’ to homesick campers. You’re welcome any time.”

“I’ll remember that.” Peggy glanced at Lilian, who was restlessly dragging on a cigarette.

Other counselors were drifting into the room, most with hair still damp from the swim session, one or two clad in dripping suits, some wrapped in towels or terry robes, most clad in simple denims or shorts. The chattering, laughing girls, ranging from sixteen to nineteen or twenty, were of all shapes and varieties: tall, short, slim, plump; blond, brunette and in between. Generous glimpses of pert, bobbing breasts, of skin freckled, fair or sun-browned, lent an air of intimacy to the assembly. As the room filled, the odor of fresh young femininity was everywhere.

Peggy was gazing curiously at her fellow counselors when Mike walked in carrying three or four letters and said, “Letter for you, Peg.”

Peggy jumped up. “Already? I can’t believe it.”

Mike handed the letter to her. “Must be nice to be thought of,” Mike said, turning to deposit the other letters on the mail shelf. “Hell, I’m lucky if I get one postcard all summer.”

Examining the handwriting, Peggy sat down with a scowl. She tore open the envelope and read silently.

“Men!” she exploded, when she had finished. Heads turned toward her. “They’re a pain in the neck,” Peggy announced. She ripped the letter in two and threw it into a nearby basket. “It’s time, isn’t it, Lilian?” she asked.

Lilian nodded. Rising gracefully, she glanced at Beth and said, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Beth said nothing.

Peggy dropped her empty bottle into a case near the cooler and strode to the door, “See you,” she said to Beth and Mike.

Smiling as usual, Beth said, “Good luck.” But Mike, slouched in a corner chair, was staring after Lilian’s departing back.

* * * * *

Peggy and Lilian walked side by side down the worn slate steps leading from the lodge.

Peggy was wearing a red plaid blouse and cut-down Levis that revealed her supple thighs and smooth young legs. She had twisted her damp hair into a corn-yellow knot on the back of her head.

Lilian, too, had combed her hair into a twist. But her outfit bore no resemblance to Peggy’s. Lilian had donned orange denim bermudas and a white boat-neck blouse splashed with dots the color of the pants. Her toes and fingers were tipped with the same bright orange. Again, Peggy could not help feel Lilian’s elaborate elegance out of place in these surroundings.

“Am I right in presuming,” Lilian asked suddenly, “that your being at a girls’ camp has something to do with your idea that the male sex is I quote—a pain in the neck?”

“You might say that.”

“Then you’re here because of a man?”

“Anyone for Twenty Questions?” Peggy was irritated. “I told you before, it’s a deep psychological secret.”

“And I told you before, I don’t appreciate your humor.”

“All right,” Peggy said, annoyed, but not wanting to offend the counselor who was her direct superior. “I’m here because I’m sick and tired of men—singular or plural. I’m sick of their bull bodies and their one-track minds. Right now I don’t care if I never see another man.”

Lilian eyed her with fascination. “Gosh. Why?”

They had reached the bottom of the hill. Peggy faced Lilian. “I’ll tell you later,” she said. “If I ever feel like talking about it.”

Peggy crossed the gravel service drive, making for a clearing shaded by stately pines. Lilian followed close behind. The two girls had picked this spot for the campcraft talks because it was a good setting in which to demonstrate fire-building, at the same time was not too far from the shed where the camping equipment was stored.

Already a cluster of giggling campers was assembled around the thick logs they would use as seats. As the counselors neared the site, one of the girls disengaged herself from the group and ran toward them, her blond tresses flying.

“Hi, Miss Peggy,” she called.

“Hi ya, Susie.”

The girl took Peggy’s hand in hers. “Are we really going to sleep outside all night, Miss Peggy? Without blankets or anything?” She clung to Peggy’s hand, wide blue eyes staring at the counselor.

Peggy laughed. “I’ll tell you all about it as soon as the rest of the girls get here,” she said.

Susie seemed to consider a moment, then consented: “Okay.” After another moment of deep concentration, she asked, “Isn’t it awfully scary in the woods at night?”

Peggy smiled once more and ran her finger along the edge of the girl’s straight bangs. “Not unless you’re afraid of the dark—and good campers aren’t afraid of the dark,” she told the child.

At the circle of logs, Peggy greeted the other girls, glanced at her watch and said, “We’ll wait a couple of more minutes. Some kids seem to be missing.” She moved to one side with Lilian while the youngsters—twenty or thirty of them, comprising “Junior” and “Intermediate” groups—stood chattering and giggling among themselves. They were an odd conglomeration, Peggy thought. There were leggy youngsters and squat ones, some pudgy and others thin, a few bold and saucy, many shy. She looked over the heads adorned by tresses ranging from inky black to the sunny gold of Susie’s locks, from short bobs to waist-length braids, and she could not help grinning at the neatly starched blouses, creased with lines from being folded in suitcases. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the girls would be wearing either wrinkled blouses or camp T-shirts, grubby with wear. From day to day, each face would grow a little darker from the sun, each sturdy, rounded body a little heavier with food and exercise.

When the stragglers finally showed up, Lilian made a harsh remark about getting started on time. Then she stepped to the background, letting Peggy take over the discussion as they had previously planned. Sitting on a stump surrounded on three sides by a couple of dozen wide-eyed, open-mouthed campers, Peggy explained that their first two weeks in campcraft would be climaxed by an overnight hike and a sleepout. She detailed what they were expected to learn if they hoped to go on the overnight trip, and devoted the rest of the period to general discussion and answering questions.

An hour later, when the bugle sounded, Peggy said, “Chow time. See you tomorrow.” The girls scurried from their logs and tore up the hill. “Walk,” Peggy yelled, but no one heeded.

“You did a good job,” Lilian told her, when they were alone. “You seem to have a way with children.”

“I like them, that’s all. Come on, before we’re late to dinner.”

* * * * *

Later, as Peggy scooted the last of her cabin group down to the lodge for the evening program, one of the girls—a towheaded youngster with big brown eyes—turned back. Sticking her head in the door, she piped, “Miss Peggy, aren’t you coming with us?”

“I’ll be there, Mary. In a few minutes,” Peggy told her.

Satisfied, the girl slammed the door and went scampering down the hill with her cabin mates.

Peggy glanced at her watch. She had forty-five minutes off, not being obliged to report for the lodge activities this night. She took a moment, then rummaged through some pockets for a pack of cigarettes to take with her to the counselors’ lounge.

At the foot of the hill, Peggy stopped, savoring the fresh pine-scented air. Shouts of laughter echoed from the lodge, then died away, leaving only the whispers of the trees and the lapping of the nearby water against the shore. From where she stood, Peggy could see the moon reflected on the inky ripples. After minutes of gazing at the silver glow, she moved slowly toward the lake as though drawn by magic.

At the waterfront, Peggy was tempted to jump the fence that protected the campers from the dangers of the lake, but unwilling to suffer the consequences if she were discovered—for even counselors had been instructed to keep away from the water’s edge unaccompanied—she walked toward the bathhouse. There she lowered herself to the sand, and sat leaning against the building.

Peggy closed her eyes, taking in the sounds of the whistling pines and singing crickets. How pleasant, she thought, was the cool breeze caressing the water, and—

Peggy’s eyes flashed open. She was sure she had heard whispers. She strained her ears, trying to detect their source.

“You filthy bitch,” came a muffled voice from the bathhouse. “You’re disgusting.”

There was an indecipherable reply.

“I won’t be quiet. And the answer is no. Of all the revolting.... Why, you should be reported!”

A harsh laugh sounded, followed by a terse remark, in too soft a tone for Peggy to make out.

Then came a thud, and the scrape of feet on the board flooring.

“Don’t you dare push me.”

More muted words, then:

“I said I won’t help you—”

With a gasp, Peggy recognized the voice as Beth’s.

“I tell you I’m not going to debauch an innocent girl,” the nurse continued. “I refuse to turn her into the kind of twisted person you are.”

A barely audible declamation—followed by a hissing sound, or snarl.

“Nothing can change my mind. Don’t you realize—you’re perverted! That’s what society tags you. A pervert.” The nurse paused. “I can understand your abnormality, forgive it. But this—what you’re asking me to do—” Her voice trembled. “You’re shameless. I’ve never heard of anything so vile, so vulgar, so—”

An interrupting undertone. An ominous pause, and Beth spoke again:

“I’ll do everything in my power to stop you, so help me.”

A gasp and pause, then:

“You can’t do that,” Beth protested. “Don’t you realize what that would mean? Not only would I lose my job here, but at the hospital back home.” A pleading tone now: “My whole career, my lifework—out the window....”

Once more the laugh, husky and wicked and unrelenting.

“You bitch,” snarled Beth. “You low-down, loathsome bitch. You don’t care. You would warp one person’s thinking, ruin another’s career just to satisfy your leching.” The voice rose. “Well, I can’t stop you, but I don’t have to help you.”

The noise of moving feet. More motion, shuffling. Then no sound but the hoarse whisper. And Beth replying:

“What do you have to offer me? Just what could induce me to help corrupt an unsuspecting child?” Then: “No! Don’t. Don’t touch me. Please—” It was as though Beth were begging. “It’s been a long time—too long. I—” Beth gasped. “No. I don’t want you!”

Under the bathhouse window, Peggy cringed. She closed her eyes, trying to blot out the horror. But she could not. Beth’s words, the pleas and moans tearing from her, brought back torturing memories to Peggy.

They were the very sounds that had come from Peggy herself not too long ago. The scene flashed into her mind. She could see herself—with Ted in that motel room....

And suddenly she was struck by the reality of what was happening on the board floor of the bathhouse. But—girls?

Peggy shivered in the warm night. She wanted to run from the sounds, the implications, but she could not move.

Inside, Beth continued to plead. And then: “All right, take me. Do what you will—but leave Peggy alone.”

TWO

The world seemed to stop. All sounds and sights and smells were blocked out of Peggy Matthews’ spinning senses. Her heart was pounding, her stomach turning. She was sure she was going to be sick. She wanted to scream but she had no voice, wanted to cry but her eyes were dry. No voice, no tears, no feeling; Peggy was numb.

After an eternity, she lifted her eyes to see Beth, a white reflection in the moonlight, rushing like a wraith toward the hill. Minutes later, Peggy pulled herself to her feet and started in the same direction as the nurse. She glanced back once to see if the person of the mysterious voice was behind her, but she saw no one.

Shouts and laughter from the children inside the lodge brought Peggy out of her daze. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. Climbing the grassy slope of the main hill, she tried to match her mood to the gaiety of the campers but it was impossible. She dragged herself through the lodge doorway, shutting the screen quietly behind her.

Seconds later, she was slouched in a large lounge chair, holding a coke in one hand, a cigarette in the other, uncertain how either she or the cigarette and coke got where they were. Peggy sat in a far corner of the room away from the other counselors, alternately sipping her drink and smoking, and oblivious to the other girls.

“Meditating?”

Peggy looked up, startled. “Oh! I didn’t see you,” she stammered to Lilian who was standing in front of her.

“I realize that. You haven’t seemed to see anyone for the last ten minutes. You’re in a world of your own.”

Peggy tried to tear her mind from her thoughts and concentrate on what Lilian was saying but she found it difficult. After minutes of standing motionless, Lilian asked, “Would you rather I leave?”

“I’m sorry, Lilian. No, don’t leave. I’d like to talk to you.” If only she could keep her mind on something else, until she was able to think straight....

But then Lilian asked, “What would you like to talk about?”

And reflexively Peggy blurted: “Lesbians.”

Lilian regarded her coldly. “Why are you interested in lesbianism?”

At the realization of what she had said, Peggy became flustered. “I mean—well, are they common around these places?” she stammered.

“How should I know?” Lilian snapped. “I suppose they are. A girls’ camp would be as good a breeding place as any, I imagine. Why did you ask?”

“I was just wondering,” Peggy explained.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t wonder in front of too many people.” After a pause she added, “You’re not looking for someone to take your boy friend’s place, are you?”

Peggy’s head spun toward the other girl. For a long while she stared at her silently. Before she could answer, one of the counselors called from the open door, “It’s that time.”

Both Peggy and Lilian rose and walked unspeaking to their assignments.

Afterward, lying in bed, Peggy could remember nothing she had done previously. She knew she must have gone through the motions of directing games at the lodge, distributing lemonade. After she had escorted her group to the cabin, seen that they were all properly washed, she had sat on her bed surrounded by five happy girls who cheerfully discussed their first day at camp.

Scant minutes before taps, she had shooed them into their individual beds and when she had rounded the room, covering her charges with lightweight blankets, one of the girls stopped her and said, “I wished for a good counselor, and I got one.”

“I was afraid to leave my mother,” another confided, “but you’re almost as nice as she is.”

Now, long after midnight, as she tossed and turned on her cot, trying to reconstruct the day’s events, Peggy knew she should be pleased with her first day at camp. The kids liked her. The counselors, on the whole, seemed to like her, too. But the day had been completely marred by the horrifying dialogue in the bathhouse. She fell asleep wondering if perhaps it would mar her whole summer.

* * * * *

Peggy awoke before dawn the next morning, still profoundly disturbed. Waiting for reveille to sound, she lay staring at the log beams of the cabin.

She could not help wonder what lesbian love might be like. But trying to imagine it, she shuddered. A girl attempting the intimacies that only Ted had known? The mere idea made Peggy cringe. She shook off the thought, trying to keep her mind a blank until the camp day began.

At the first blast of the bugle, five girlish heads popped up. Five pairs of fists rubbed at five pairs of sleep-filled eyes, peering at unaccustomed surroundings.

Then all at once the girls came wide awake. In shortie gowns or pajamas, legs flashing, squealing and laughing, they tumbled out of their bunks and scrambled around looking for robes and slippers. After a quick good-morning to Peggy, who was still sitting on the edge of her bed, each young camper slammed out of the cabin and ran down to the wash house in the middle of the cabin area.

Alone, Peggy stretched her arms above her head and let out a yawn. Then she pulled the twisted rubber band from her ponytail and shook out her hair, running her fingers through the soft but snarled tresses.

Slipping into a pair of thongs, she stood up, stretched once more. She grabbed a towel from her rack, then followed the stream of campers down the hill.

Inside the wash house, Peggy worked her way through a throng of noisy youngsters to the large troughlike community sink, where she splashed her face with icy water. Her whole body tingled as the water hit her skin, but after the initial shock she felt fresh and clear-headed. She soaped and rinsed her face, brushed her teeth.

Ignoring the shrill, trilling children, she plowed her way into the open air. As she trudged up the slope, another counselor joined her. The girl was a petite sort—standing barely five feet high in her moccasins—with a short blond bob and twinkling blue eyes.

“Hi. I’m Ruth Harris. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. You’re Peggy, right?”

Peggy eyed her companion suspiciously. “Right,” she answered.

“You’re new here,” Ruth observed. “Hey—want to get together later? I’ll give you a counselor’s tour of the place. There are things you don’t get to see when Duncan escorts you around—like where to sneak in if you get back late on your night off.” She grinned. “Little things like that may come in handy.” Ruth stopped. “Well, see you around, Peggy. Don’t forget—as soon as we get a chance,” she said, turning toward the senior cabins.

“Sure,” Peggy promised. “And thanks.”

She walked on toward her own cabin, feet dragging, brow puckered. Vaguely Peggy remembered seeing the petite blonde running around the day before, but the memory was not too clear. How did Ruth know Peggy? And why, Peggy pondered, was Ruth so interested in being a good samaritan? Could she be the one? Could little Ruth Harris be the sinful creature in the bathhouse who had assaulted Beth, had threatened Peggy?

Immediately, Peggy felt acute shame. How could it be Ruth? The girl was much too cute, too obviously feminine, to be a lesbian. Why, everyone knew, Peggy told herself, that those horrid types were somber and masculine. Even kind of muscular. Peggy made a quick mental rundown of all the girls she had met at camp, searching for the proper image of a lesbian.

They had deep voices and short hair and broad shoulders like—like Mike, Peggy thought. She halted abruptly in front of the cabin.

Like Mike...?

A shiver ran through Peggy.

Still scowling, she went inside.

* * * * *

In front of the lodge the counselors were assembling their cabin groups in straight lines to form a spokelike formation around the flagpole.

All the while she had been dressing, Peggy had concentrated on hurrying her girls, forcing all thoughts of Mike out of her mind. But now, over the heads of her crew, Peggy eyed Mike carefully. The redhead was standing a few yards away, between another swimming counselor—her name was Donna Drew—and Lilian. Others nearby included the riding instructor, the assistant director known as Pam, and Miss Duncan herself. Beth was not in sight.

Once more questions filled Peggy’s mind. Could Mike really be the contaminated one? Peggy was almost convinced. But, she chided herself, this was no time to make snap decisions.

Carefully, painstakingly, she inspected the others. How awful an influence a twisted counselor could exert on these impressionable youngsters, she was thinking. That threat was worse even than the one directed at herself. Peggy shuddered.

There was no question in her mind: as soon as she found out who the culprit was, she would report what she knew to Miss Duncan. But not sooner. Without proof, Peggy might be disbelieved. Or the evil one, tipped off, would take steps to avoid identification. Certainly Peggy did not want to get Beth into trouble. The nurse, obviously, was more sinned against than sinning. And Peggy was fully aware that indicting the wrong girl would lead to the most serious consequences for all concerned.

Best to wait. Best to try and trap the lesbian bitch, whoever she was. Peggy would be sure before she spoke to anyone, she decided, as the opening strains of _America, the Beautiful_, to which the flag was raised, broke into her thoughts.

After the flag ceremony, the campers marched line by line through the chill morning air into the dining room. As the girls warmed up—physically and socially—chatter in the large porch expanse grew louder, noisy laughter mingling with the scrape and clatter of dishes.

Peggy forgot herself a little during breakfast, passing around pancakes, dispensing cereal, laughing with her girls. But afterward, when she wandered with the other counselors into the lounge, her misgivings returned.

Slouched in a large corner chair, Peggy studied the girls as they shuffled through the doorway. Was it her, or her—or her? That tall kid over there staring into space? Or one of those chatting gaily near the fireplace? Or that one leafing through a magazine? What about her—the heavyset girl, puffing like a madman on a cigarette?

How was Peggy to know? Time would tell, she decided, watching a tall, hollow-cheeked brunette approach her, sit down in the chair next to her.

Peggy remembered the girl from the first counselors’ meeting. Her name was Dorothy something-or-other. She was the riding instructor and slept in the staff cabin with Mike and Lilian.

“Hi. Cigarette?” asked Dorothy, offering the pack to Peggy.

“Thanks.” Peggy leaned closer to the brunette to accept a light.

After lighting her own cigarette, Dorothy snuffed out the flame with a quick shake of the match, sucked deeply, then pulled the cigarette from her lips, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.

She was an odd mixture of feminine charm and blunt, boyish manner, Peggy thought. Dorothy was wearing tight blue jeans tucked into riding boots. Her body was spare and rather lanky, but her breasts were lively under her chambray shirt. Her dark hair fell loosely almost to her shoulders. Her face, lean and bony, had pleasant planes, but her best feature was the pair of large, deep-set eyes the color of black olives.

“You in school?” she asked Peggy.

“Sophomore,” Peggy answered. “At West Arts. I’m going to transfer to State next year.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“They have a much better curriculum. I’m a psych major, and State is noted for its psychology department.”

“Good enough reason.”

“I think so.”

“Any lovers?”

Peggy flung up her head. “What!”

Dorothy laughed. “Lovers. I always ask that when I talk to folks the first time. Shocks ’em.” She grinned. “You don’t have to answer. I can read your pretty little face like a book.”

A frown wrinkled Peggy’s forehead.

“You’ve got one guy,” Dorothy continued. “Maybe you sleep with him, maybe you don’t. But he’s your one-and-only, right?”

Peggy opened her mouth to speak, but Dorothy went on:

“I know, because that’s the way it is with me. I see guys I could fall for, but I have my man and, baby, I know when I have a good thing.”

A cynical smile spread across Peggy’s face.

“Wasn’t I right? About you, I mean.”

“Partly.” Quickly Peggy explained that she had had a “steady” but they had broken up just before Peggy had left the campus in June.

Dorothy laid a lean hand on Peggy’s bare knee. “Honey, take it from me—don’t let him go. No matter what he’s done, if you love him, get him back. A good man is like a strawberry roan—hard to find.”

The subject did not fascinate Peggy. She attempted to change it. “Will you teach me to ride?”

“Glad to,” Dorothy said. “When you have some free time, come over to the stable.”

“I haven’t much money—”

“Don’t be a goose. Counselors get rides at half rate, anyway—and if you treat me right, you won’t even have to pay that.” Dorothy laughed.

Peggy’s eyes roamed the room. With a sharp intake of breath, she noticed that Beth had come in. The nurse was standing near the door, talking to one of the girls. She caught Peggy’s glance and smiled a greeting. The smile was friendly, warm. It helped make Peggy feel at home.

In the corner opposite Peggy, Mike was sitting alone, thoughtfully smoking. Noticing the hefty redhead, Dorothy called across the room, “Hey, Mike!”

Mike turned her head.

“I was just telling Peggy here that she shouldn’t be too quick to get rid of a good man. Don’t you agree?”

Seeming to notice Peggy and Dorothy for the first time, Mike stood up, walked across the room.

Dorothy continued in a lower voice, “Peggy says she just broke up with a guy. I told her she should make sure before she does anything drastic. Right, buddy?”

Mike shrugged her broad shoulders. “It’s hard to know. Besides that’s Peggy’s business.” She studied Peggy a moment. “I mean, who are we to say? If she wants to....”

Peggy had had about enough of Dorothy. She considered getting up and joining another cluster of girls, but she wanted this opportunity to observe Mike more closely. Leaning against the conference table which stretched the length of the room, facing the two girls, the stocky but by no means unattractive redhead focused her steely eyes first on one then the other of her companions.

Mike was well liked, Peggy knew. She was the only girl to whom virtually all the rest of the counselors had spoken as she had made her way through the narrow lounge. And the day before, Peggy remembered, the campers had clustered around her wherever she had gone. She also seemed to be on good terms with Miss Duncan, the director.

Could a girl so highly regarded be the guilty one? Peggy had suddenly become doubtful. Of course, Mike was the sister of Miss Duncan’s assistant. Maybe the popularity was not all genuine....

Dorothy nudged Peggy with an elbow. “Mike’s a great kid,” she said, grinning at the redhead. “All she needs is a hunk of man for herself.”

Mike shot a look at Dorothy that would have made a snake recoil, but the dark-haired girl seemed hardly to notice.

“Yep. A man is the best cure for anything that ails a girl.” She glanced toward the opening door. “Be right back,” she said, springing from her chair.

Peggy stared after the leggy girl in blue jeans then glanced away as Mike lowered herself into the chair Dorothy had left vacant.

“Sometimes that chick shoots off her mouth too much,” Mike said. Then she smiled. “After a while you get used to her, though. And I must say, she’s wonderful with the horses.”

The two girls smoked in silence for a while. Peggy caught Beth’s eye again. The nurse flashed a smile across the room, a smile so friendly and genuine that a warm glow spread through Peggy. She smiled in return. Beth seemed to wear no mark, no sear, as a legacy of the homosexual attack on her the night before. Peggy would have expected her to be glum or shamefaced, at the very least. On the contrary, Beth looked fresh and cheerful. This was the girl—the woman—who had gone to bat for Peggy the night before, who had given herself as a sacrifice to shield Peggy from degradation. Peggy shuddered at the remembrance of it. And suddenly, Peggy found herself wondering why she was not confiding in Beth. After all, it might well be the wisest thing to do. Beth knew who the horrid predator was. Beth, no doubt, knew the score about lesbianism and all that—she was a nurse, wasn’t she?—and could advise Peggy accordingly.

But to confess overhearing the conversation in the bathhouse would be to confess hearing what had followed.

How horribly embarrassing that would be to Beth, Peggy told herself. It would reveal Peggy’s knowledge of the perverse lust to which Beth had been obliged to yield in the bathhouse. Peggy just could not bring herself to speak. Not yet, anyway.

She would have to work this out by herself.

She was stabbing out her cigarette when Mike spoke again. “You’re majoring in psychology, I hear. Is that right?”

Peggy nodded. “I’m still swamped with basic courses,” she said, “but I’m gradually getting there. It’s fascinating.”

“This is a hell of a good place to practice.”

“How do you mean?”

“Using psychology on the kids.”

“Oh, I don’t know that much yet. We don’t really get into the stuff until our junior year.”

Mike smiled. “If I recall my lessons rightly, half of general psych is common sense.”

“That’s not true,” Peggy objected. “I mean—”

“Look,” Mike interrupted, “suppose you wanted one of your gang to fetch something for you. Which would you do—choose a girl and order her to go, or ask for volunteers?”

“Well” Peggy was thoughtful—“I’d try to get a volunteer. But—”

“Is that psychology or common sense?”

“Common sense, of course.”

“But why? Why prefer a voluntary group from which to select?”

“So that the others won’t think I’m picking on any particular girl—or favoring her, for that matter.”

“So in a way you’re trying to control their thinking, right? Is that psych or sense?”

Peggy opened her mouth, then closed it. “I guess you have a point, counselor,” she said.

Mike grinned. “Think about it.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to get ready for the morning water program,” she said, jumping to her feet. “We start the canoe training today.” With a wink indicating some of the campers were in for a vigorous hour, Mike turned and walked away.

Other counselors were leaving for the morning assignments. Peggy had to get over to the tennis court. But she sat where she was for a few more moments, pondering the conversation with Mike. How much did the girl know about psychology? To what extent could she use it on people—control their thinking, as she herself had put it? Peggy was uneasy.

She knew enough about the science of psychology to be mystified by its powers. And at the same time a little frightened of them. Conditioning—suggestion—even hypnosis....

She was also mystified by this person, Mike. And she was frightened less by Mike’s possible powers than by the fact that she, Peggy, could not help liking the redhead. It would be difficult, Peggy knew, to stay on guard with so disarming a girl.

Peggy tamped out her cigarette and left the lounge. Maybe, she told herself as she took the path to the tennis courts, everything would work itself out.

Not that she believed it. For some reason, she now felt more confused than ever.

THREE

Days later, Peggy was still confused. She knew she should be doing something to unmask the perverted creature lurking somewhere in the cabins, ready to pounce on her and perhaps on others. But no clue had developed—no one had made advances, there had been no hint or implication of anything out of the ordinary. Camp activity proceeded normally. Counselors had become accustomed to duties, and campers had become accustomed to counselors.

Maybe she had somehow misconstrued the conversation in the bathhouse. Maybe it had been a couple of girls playing a trick on Peggy. Maybe she had just dreamed the whole thing. These were the doubts assailing Peggy one afternoon during rest period, as she lay pondering the situation once more. Could be she ought to give up suspecting everyone who talked to her, stop her silent accusations.

As she weighed and worried, a bugle echoed through the hills, signaling the end of the rest interval. Peggy managed her usual, “Okay, kids!” But the girls were already off their cots and scrambling into shoes.

“Hi, Miss Mike,” a number of voices chorused as a rap sounded at the screen door and the husky counselor stepped inside.

Mike gave the youngsters a wink and a wave, then joined Peggy. “Talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.”

Peggy swung her lovely bare legs over the edge of the cot, pulled the tangled rubber band from her snarled ponytail.

When the last camper had departed from the cabin, she said, “What’s up?”

“Grocery day, you know, and Duncan had to make an emergency trip to the hospital with Beth. So—”

“God! What happened, Mike?”

Mike shrugged. “Some kid tried to shinny up the tetherball pole and didn’t quite make it. They think she broke her arm in two places.”

“Oh, great.”

“Yeah. Now some damn fool parent is going to come bitching about our lack of supervision or something.” Mike sighed. “Anyway, with Duncan gone, Pam is in charge so she can’t leave the grounds. She told me to run into town and take someone with me.”

“And I’m elected.”

“Right.” Mike hesitated. “Look, you don’t have to go if—”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Peggy flared, but immediately wondered why she was the one chosen to accompany Mike.

Was this part of Mike’s psychological warfare?

Common sense warned Peggy not to jump to conclusions, either way, about Counselor Karen Michaels, commonly known as Mike.

The fact that Peggy had no good excuse not to go also crossed her mind. If this trip were engineered by Pam then it was like orders from headquarters.

Peggy stood up. “When do we leave?”

“Soon as you’re ready.”

Peggy snapped a fresh rubber band around her ponytail. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

Both girls were silent as they sped along the highway in the camp station wagon. Mike concentrated on the sunlit concrete. Peggy’s attention was focused on Mike.

As the redhead expertly maneuvered the spacious wagon around the curves, Peggy watched intently, noting particularly the hands on the steering wheel—not exactly dainty hands, but soft and surprisingly white. Were those the hands that had quelled Beth’s fervent spirit that night in the bathhouse, Peggy wondered, all her old suspicions revived.

Abruptly, aversion overwhelmed her.

The realization that she was alone with Mike midway between camp and town, in territory completely unknown to her yet familiar to the redhead, chilled Peggy to the core. Suppose this trip had been planned, as she had first suspected, simply to get her alone with Mike? What if Mike suddenly pulled into a side road—and parked?

Then, more sensibly, Peggy asked herself—so what if she does? Just what can one girl do to another? Certainly nothing that could harm either one, she reasoned, consigning some of her fear to the warm summer breeze.

But as she began to relax once more, her eyes grazing the interior of the car, stopping once more on Mike’s milky hands, another thought struck. Exactly how would it feel to be touched intimately by another woman? Peggy shivered. How awful. How disgusting it must be!

Being enclosed within the confines of a car with Mike now revolted Peggy. How had she let herself get trapped into this thing? She wished she had stayed at camp....

“Are you always so quiet?” Mike asked.

Peggy flushed.

“I was doing a little thinking, Mike.”

“Nothing serious, I hope. By that,” the redhead hastened to explain, “I mean I hope there’s nothing wrong.”

“Nothing at all,” Peggy assured her. Then, in an attempt at conversation, she asked, “How many summers have you spent up here?”

“Every one of my life, almost.” Mike grinned. “I started out as a camper—I was nine years old—and have been here every season since. I began way back before the days of Duncan, even.”

“You must hold some kind of record.”