Blue Wolfe and Friends presents: Camp Here and There.
Episode Fifty Two: You Only Have Yourself
[CLICK]
SYDNEY
Good… morning, campers!
[A CACOPHONY OF WHIPPOORWILLS MIMICS THE PHRASE, PITCHED AND TWISTED UNNERVINGLY]
SYDNEY
Okay, okay!
[OKAY! OKAY!]
[SIGH] Sydney October Sargent here, as always, live and un-murdered, and I am opening the breakfast channel at… uh, let’s see… The time is officially 8:64AM, according to the clock that lives, trembling and pulse-thumping, in the bottom drawer of the staff fridge. The sky is a deep sienna, like the pelt of a ruddy squirrel… or the modest feather of the Eastern whippoorwill mimic…
[EASTERN WHIPPOORWILL! EASTERN WHIPPOORWILL!]
So: in case the repetitive serenade bombarding your eardrums wasn’t a hint, the Great Whippoorwill Mimic flock is upon us. Each and every one of you is probably at this very moment… under surveillance.
Not the creepy government kind, no! And trust me the government has tried, but Lucille makes quick work of any nonsense like that. No. What I mean to say is: Camp Here & There has been overrun by a shrieking, chittering, echo-laden blizzard of whippoorwill mimics! And they are not content to perch quietly in the trees and eat grubs; oh, no, no, no.
These are mimic birds, campers. Evolution’s answer to the tape recorder. They’re funny little creatures that copy any noise, gesture, or devastating outburst. Sometimes, they even improve it! Ha. Science is… very impressive that way. And it seems that today, these avian mimics have chosen to take the form of the Eastern Whippoorwill!
To clarify for those of you less ornithologically inclined: the mimic bird is not a novel phenomenon. They are quite common in this region, actually, though often in a wider variety of species and more… reasonable numbers. Why, just last spring, a single chorus was enough to drive all the bullfrogs out of the sanitorium, but I digress! Typically, they settle for repeating the cries of crickets or the gentle gossip of camp rumors. Not today, though!
And that brings us to my next bad news: you might recall that today was supposed to be LAKE DAY! A day to bask in the caffeinated sunlight, shrivel up your toes, and fill your ears with gentle wave-lapping and the endless crooning of aquatic insects.
Well… that can’t happen today. You see, kids, in all the commotion yesterday, a large portion of Soren’s shattered stained quartz window was swept into the lake. And that means we have to postpone Lake Day until further notice, because the water’s currently full of magically charged quartz shards. Juno and Mila are out there skimming the surface, but until they’re sure it won’t flay you alive or necrotize your ankles, swimming is—regrettably—cancelled. We’re aiming to move it to next Tuesday.
Perhaps that’s why the birds are here, come to think of it…? A mimic loves a good shiny object, and the way they circle and swoop upon the lake feels almost ceremonial; hundreds of them flying slow spirals over the glittering water, dipping low whenever the sunlight refracts just right.
But! But, but, but—we triumph regardless! Instead of wallowing in misfortune, today we channel our frustration into music.
Campers! Welcome to Music Day!
That’s right, camp body. Today we harmonize with our bird-friends and embrace the scream!
Our goal: intrigue the little copycat chorus by making more noise than they do, or, failing that, impress them with our musical prowess until they tire themselves out and go harass some other summer camp! And no, we don’t mean Camp Over Where, who has been similarly plagued by the same avian uproar—though word from across the lake says their whippoorwills have taken to harmonizing with Natsume’s devil-worship lullabies, occasionally breaking into what sounds suspiciously like Gregorian chant. Mavis insists it’s transplanar resonance, Marie Ann’s been conducting the birds with her exposed ulna, and the Deer With No Face has been standing knee-deep in the lake shallows for hours, just… listening. We can’t exactly kick her out.
…but frankly, okay let’s talk about it. I’M talking about it. I’m more concerned by what I’ve heard the Deer With No Face is up to in terms of tax management. Apparently, she’s been exploiting a loophole in the small-business code by reclassifying herself as both a non-profit conservation entity and a luxury venison exporter. On paper, that means she donates herself to the ecosystem each fiscal quarter, then immediately claims the charitable deduction.
She’s also been depreciating the same patch of forest twelve different times under twelve different LLCs—each one registered to a different spelling of “The Deer With No Face,” none of which match the name on her forestry permit.
And the worst part? She won’t shut up about it. Every conversation turns into a lecture about “pass-through taxation” and “asset-light scalability,” like she’s the first ungulate to discover QuickBooks. She keeps saying things like, “It’s not fraud if you say ‘per my last email…”.” God! Like, we get it! You can use excel!
HUFF!
For today’s breakfast, Matthew has prepared hummingbread with melody melon, cricket drumsticks, and—because the birds keep stealing anything shiny—paper cups of orange juice instead of glass.
And remember, kids! Survival is about all about [BREATHING IN] [YELLING] AUDITORY DOMINANCE!
[CHIRPING]
[CLICK]
[CLICK]
SYDNEY
You told me once to ask for help.
ADAM
You should always ask for help.
SYDNEY
I’m making a… decision, just like you said. Help me.
ADAM
Excellent—
SYDNEY
I don’t care what it takes.
ADAM
Excellent, Sydney. As I’ve previously explained to you, there is a divination method in your fluids.
SYDNEY
Ew…?
ADAM
Blood, my dear. Life. You can use it to learn—no, feel—a great deal of information. We’ve done it before, remember?
SYDNEY
Hmmmm…
ADAM
Mm. But… in order to use your blood, I’ll need you to sign a contract.
SYDNEY
Stating…?
ADAM
Your consent to remember.
WHIPPOORWILL MIMIC
Remember… remember…
ADAM
It’s a demon’s restriction. Magically tapping your mortal nerve-endings is off limits to us without explicit permission. So, I cannot guide you through the process unless you ask me.
SYDNEY
I am asking you.
ADAM
[HE SUCKS IN] Right. The written contract is a human formality, but—considering I am practicing humanism as of late—it is my preference.
WHIPPOORWILL MIMIC
[CALLS] In. Out. Hold.
SYDNEY
You really should let that bird out.
[CLICK]
[CLICK]
SYDNEY
Good afternoon, campers! Broadcasting live to the Camp Here & There dining hall, where we have reached the halfway mark of Music Day. The whippoorwills show no sign of fatigue. If anything, their enthusiasm has… diversified.
You might’ve noticed that the whippoorwills have stopped echoing our voices and started… quoting us. Not just what we say now, but what we’ve said before. Whole conversations fluttering back through the air like… forgotten dreams.
Earlier this morning, I stood by the storage shed and heard one bird speak in a small, serious voice, “I can fix it if it stops moving.”
I froze. I knew that voice. Didn’t at first, but it lodged in my ear like a seed, and hours later I realized: it was Jedidiah’s—only younger, and softer around the edges.
I remember. We couldn’t have been older than fourteen. He’d found a field mouse caught in the rain gutter, trembling itself apart, and crouched over it like a doctor from a picture book. I remember him saying that line while pressing a thumb against its downy side, trying to keep it still.
Now, this is no reason for alarm. They’re not psychic, nor are they spying for anyone—that we know of. As far as we can tell, they’re simply excellent listeners.
[WHIPPOORWILL CHIRPS: “EXCELLENT LISTENERS! EXCELLENT LISTENERS!”]
Exactly! And I, for one, respect that. Remarkable recall for something with a brain the size of a walnut!
Still, it’s interesting, isn’t it? How they pluck moments from the past like ripe fruit. Mavis claims it’s an “acoustic bleed-through between parallel temporal strata.” I tried to ask her to elaborate, but she quickly mumbled that she had to get back to watching the Over Where kids, then scribbled something into a textbook labeled: “Odyssean Engineering: How to Get Home when Stranded (20th Edition).” Which must be some real heavy reading!
I asked if she could offer me any information, then she sighed, opened her backpack, and handed me a textbook called “Kiwis and Blueberries: Birds that are Also Fruits!”
… So, I have that now!
Speaking of! Word from across the lake. It seems Camp Over Where has taken rather well to the musical mayhem. Their director, that demonic charmer Adam, reportedly organized a full orchestral jam session. The birds over there are echoing basslines, horn sections, and full sonnets! They’re treating it like an avian karaoke. Rumor says they’re calling it Whippoor-Palooza. Even the lake is vibrating like a tuning fork! Natsume says that “music is good for demon summoning,” and that they are “practicing,” …
Hm.
Us, on the other hand… not quite the same success story. Our so-called symphony currently sounds like a toolbox being shaken over a garbage fire. The birds aren’t impressed. Every time we strike up a tune, they just shout it back—louder, sharper, slightly off-key—as if they’re mocking our efforts.
So, congratulations to our rivals for embracing art with such reckless abandon. Let’s see if we can match that creative fervor without inviting another strongly worded letter from Lucille’s insurance provider.
Now, to the logistical matters of lunch. Matthew has once again prevailed in providing a balanced meal. Today’s menu: Blueberries and kiwis! But… he says he’s still too depressed over his pot to provide a vegan option. Sorry, vegans!
The whippoorwills, by the way, seem particularly drawn to the dining pavilion outside. They perch on the rafters and join the conversation like little stenographers. One camper swore a bird repeated a joke she told two summers ago—word for word with the same pause before the punchline. Marvelous creatures! I could listen for some time.
[SOFTER] In fact, I have. I’ve been experimenting. If you sing a song the birds have never heard before, they try to fill in the gaps with fragments they already know—little scraps of sound scavenged from your own camp history. And when they chorus together, the fragments overlap, forming a kind of… echo tapestry.
Imagine, campers: a living library of every noise ever made here. Every laugh, every door slam, every scream…
Now, I’ve been asked to remind everyone that while the mimic chorus is technically harmless, please refrain from teaching them swear words. They learn fast, and I don’t want to explain the meaning of… that to Lucille again.
The lake continues to glitter, but Juno reports the surface layer of magical glass has been reduced by twenty percent, thanks to a borrowed quartz magnet from Jedidiah. Mila’s ankle situation is, I am told, “under control.” So perhaps by next week, the water will be safe for recreational immersion. Soren’s no doubt began rebuilding his window with the gathered shards…
Until then, let’s focus on harmony. Make music, not panic. If you hear the birds saying something you recognize, don’t worry. That’s just the sound of the camp. We are, after all, very interesting company.
Anyway. Enjoy your lunch, campers. And remember: memory is only dangerous when you stop listening.
[CHORUS OF BIRDS REPEATS: “STOP LISTENING. STOP LISTENING. STOP LISTENING.”]
[CLICK]
[CLICK]
ADAM
[PAPER RUSTLING] Here you are, as writ by the devil himself.
SYDNEY
One formal devil… So with this, you’ll help me learn what happened to me?
ADAM
Indeed, though you must sign first.
SYDNEY
That’s it?
ADAM
That’s it.
[WHIPPOORWILL CALLS]
SYDNEY
I need a pen.
ADAM
Mm. You already have one. If I may… Lend me your hand.
[SYDNEY DOES, ADAM BITES IT]
SYDNEY
[WINCES]
ADAM
[SLURPING SOUND, AS IF LICKING HIS LIPS] There.
SYDNEY
Okay… signed.
[SHUFFLING]
SYDNEY
Er… is it still effective if you lick it off?
ADAM
[LAUGHS] Indeed! Indeed!
WHIPPOORWILL MIMIC
Indeed! Indeed!
SYDNEY
[NOISE OF FRUSTRATION] I’m serious… that poor thing is trapped in here.
ADAM
Nonsense. This little stenographer is helping us on our research. Watch this… Where were you when it happened?
WHIPPOORWILL MIMIC
[DISTORTED JEDIDIAH’S VOICE] —Out. In the woods…
[SYDNEY GASPS]
ADAM
Where?
WHIPPOORWILL MIMIC
[DISTORTED JEDIDIAH’S VOICE] Where the river forks. [BIRD CALL] Where the river forks. Where the river forks.
[CLICK]
[CLICK]
SYDNEY
Hello again, campers! The bonfire smoke reads 19:07PM, and I bring you the most extraordinary news.
Listen!
And there it is: silence, resounding and pure as a bell. Not a single echo ricocheting off the night. Only the honest sounds of evening remain: crickets warbling in the grass, the lake restless and licking at the shore, and somewhere in the shadows, poor Matthew mourning softly at his soup pot funeral, as heartfelt and dramatic as ever. I’m sure after a few more weepy sign of the crosses, he’ll be feeling good as new!
Now, you’re likely burning with curiosity as to how we conquered this particular avian siege. All day long we tried to outhowl, outbang, and outbugle them (Grasshopper’s performance, by the way, was possibly a new low in interpretive music), but did it help? Absolutely not. The whippoorwills took it as a challenge, doubling down until their voices tangled so fiercely with ours it was impossible to tell who was haunting whom.
And Camp Over Where, on the other hand, had done what we couldn’t! They had their musical act together, and I mean—they had real coordination. It was a whole show, with teamwork so shiny I almost couldn’t look. Adam could conduct with one hand and play a tambourine with the other, somehow… and honestly, it looked incredible.
But then, the whippoorwills… They must have loved the performance too much, because halfway through, every last one in the woods decided to fly in and see what the fuss was about. The whole flock migrated mid-song, clustering around Camp Over Where like critics at a premiere, singing along in perfect harmony. By dusk, the birds were perched on their cabins, trilling duets, and refusing to leave.
And then we weren’t quite sure what to do…
Enter Mavis: visionary, slightly batty from insomnia, but still sharp enough to see what everyone else had missed. While the rest of us were spooning pudding into our ears, she was watching.
“They’ll follow shiny things,” she said, peering up at the birds through the bottom of a mason jar. And just like that, the solution hit us dumb as rocks. Music was never the answer! So, we staged a raid on the arts and crafts cabin, which Warren was particularly unhappy with. Every mirror, foil scrap, and gleaming doodad was fair game—including, with some protest, Joshua’s infamous hand mirror (the one he uses for daily affirmations and hair gel styling). You’d think we asked him to surrender a limb. He kept shouting, “It’s a family heirloom, bro!” while flexing at his reflection…
We hoisted our harvest into the bordering trees, adjusting and tilting each surface to catch every stray flicker of late afternoon sun. Then we worked in shifts, slowly rotating the mirrors and foils—a rolling, shimmering highway leading away from camp, over the forest, towards the horizon.
The birds noticed instantly. You could almost hear the collective breath of realization as one whippoorwill, then ten, then the whole feathery legion lifted and traced the trail of glimmer. Sunbeams like breadcrumbs, gliding into the growing dark with a determination that bordered on hypnotized.
At precisely 19:00PM, the last whippoorwill stood on the dining hall roof. It glared down at us, uncannily articulate, and repeated back in my own voice:
“Memory is only dangerous when you stop listening.”
Then it vanished, gone after its kind, chasing the phantom glitter that we engineered for them.
And that’s that! Tonight’s dinner is Funeral Stew. Matthew’s still sniffling over the stove, but the food’s decent. He says, “He would’ve wanted this.”
There’s a plan, too: tomorrow’s going to be Quiet Day, so, uh, no music, no campfire harmonies, and definitely no bugle horns. Sort of a rest for the whole camp, you know? If all goes well, the whippoorwills will find the lack of material terribly boring and keep their talents elsewhere.
Eat well, campers!
[CLICK]
[CLICK]
[NATURE NIGHTTIME OUTDOOR AMBIENCE]
[SYDNEY WHEEZING]
ADAM
Are you alright? The trek appears to have taken its toll.
SYDNEY
[WHEEZING] Yeah it’s… a bit far…
ADAM
Please learn to adapt. This won’t be the last time we visit the area.
[WALKING]
ADAM
Here. Why don’t you slow your pace, then? We’ve no need to rush.
SYDNEY
Yeah, okay.
[WALKING]
ADAM
Tell me, has Jedidiah talked to you?
SYDNEY
Yes.
ADAM
And?
SYDNEY
He apologized to me. He looked just awful. He stood in the door and wouldn’t come inside, then he said you were dangerous.
[WALKING]
… He said you like messing with people, that you “pushed”… but— Well, then he told me not to see you again.
ADAM
Mm.
SYDNEY
Then he said he was trying to protect me, but he wouldn’t look at me. He just… kept rubbing his neck.
ADAM
And what do you think, Sydney?
SYDNEY
[BITTER] I think that bird made it pretty clear…
ADAM
He is protecting you, isn’t he?
SYDNEY
Fat lotta good that does, right?
ADAM
From my understanding, this isn’t the first time you’ve sought… information. To his discontentment.
SYDNEY
… No. It’s not.
ADAM
Is it not inviting destruction? This process could kill you, after all.
SYDNEY
[NOISE OF DISCONTENT] It’s my choice.
ADAM
Very true.
SYDNEY
Maybe that’s what I want.
ADAM
Is it what you want, Sydney?
SYDNEY
… I don’t know.
[WALKING]
ADAM
Ah! We’re here!
SYDNEY
I… Hm. Oh. [HE BREATHES]
ADAM
What is it?
SYDNEY
My head hurts.
ADAM
Stay with me now. Here. Sit with me.
[CRUNCHING]
ADAM
Give me your arm. Now roll up your sleeve.
[SHIFTING]
ADAM
[HE CLICKS HIS TONGUE] Such paper thin skin. Your veins are such a clear blue, like the riverside. What a dreadful body…
SYDNEY
Just…
ADAM
You must feel awful.
SYDNEY
Just do it.
ADAM
Oh, no no no. It must be your choice, Sydney.
SYDNEY
My choice…
[BLADE NOISE]
ADAM
Right here. Slice along the blue line, not too deep. We’re not trying to open an artery…
[SILENCE]
ADAM
[SCARY VOICE] Do it, Sydney.
[SYDNEY WINCES AND BREATHES]
ADAM
Shh, shhhhh. Let it flow. [SOUND OF DRIPPING] That’s it. Watch how it pools in my palm.
SYDNEY
It’s warm.
ADAM
Your blood is particularly eloquent, Sydney. Close your eyes, and hold my hand.
SYDNEY
I… something’s wrong. My chest—
ADAM
Don’t fight it. What’s happening?
SYDNEY
[VOICE GROWING DISTANT] Cold. Everything’s cold—growing inside. Ice crawling through my veins, pulling the muscle inward. My lungs are… are they moving? I can’t tell if they’re moving.
ADAM
Tell me what you feel.
SYDNEY
Weight. Everything has weight. My tongue is in my mouth. My teeth feel loose—no, they feel like they’re sinking into my jaw. Everything tastes like copper.
[WHEEZING]
There’s a pressure in my ears. My heart—it’s stuttering. S-stuttering.
ADAM
Yes. Continue.
SYDNEY
[VOICE HOLLOW] The numbness starts at the edges. Fingertips first. Then it crawls up. No pain. It’s worse than pain. It’s… an absence. Nothing consumes the something. It’s all… weight.
[PAUSE]
I can feel my blood slowing. Each pulse takes longer than the last. Like syrup under my skin.
ADAM
And then?
SYDNEY
Then the quiet. Everything muffled and wrapped in wool. My thoughts scatter—can’t pull them. They slip around like fish. I try to breathe but my chest won’t move. The urge gets lost between my brain and lungs. I’m sinking into myself. All the spaces in my body closing.
[GASPING]
[SYDNEY’S BREATHING BECOMES RAPID]
ADAM
Open your eyes.
[SYDNEY GASPS, COUGHING]
SYDNEY
[RETCH] I felt it! I felt dead! I was—I was dead! [AUDIO CORRUPTS]
[RETCHING]
ADAM
Easy. Breathe normally now.
SYDNEY
[VOICE SHAKING] How long? How long was I gone!?
ADAM
In the memory? Or here?
SYDNEY
Both. Either. I don’t—my arm—
ADAM
Ah, ah, ah! [SLURP] Waste not, want not! [SLURP]
SYDNEY
[BREATHING RAGGED]
ADAM
[LICKING] Mm. You’re sure you want to continue? You look in quite the rough shape,
SYDNEY
[COUGHS] Are you kidding…? [TAKES A MOMENT TO STEADY HIS BREATH] I’ve never felt so alive!
[CLICK]
Today’s episode of Camp Here & There was written and directed by Blue Wolfe.
The role of Sydney Sargent was performed by Blue Wolfe.
The role of Up and Adam was performed by Dio Garner.
With original music composed by Will Wood and produced by Jonathon Maisto.
Additional music composed by Mollie Maxwell, Kyle Gabler, and Another You.
Dialogue editing by Emily Safko.
Audio engineering by The Leo!
Sound design by Blue Wolfe and Another You.
And a special thanks to Patrons for making this possible!
Special thanks to MaeMae, Aria’s Clueless, Fen Marlborough, and Willow.
To join them, and to get behind-the-scenes content like bloopers, development notes, early access to episodes, interactive events, and more, visit the Patreon at patreon.com/bluewolfe.
You can also join the official Discord server to connect with fellow listeners and discuss the latest episode—find the link in the description of today’s episode.
And finally, if you’d like to support the show and ensure we can keep going, the most meaningful thing you can do is to help spread the word!
Thank you for listening to Camp Here & There! And remember: Give me your eye.