Phil and the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca by John Luke Robertson

Author:John Luke Robertson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781496400048
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2014-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S BUTTER

A BREEZE WAKES YOU UP. It takes you a minute to remember you’re at the camp, sleeping on a bunk bed. As your eyes adjust, you notice that the front door to the cabin is open. Then you turn your head and realize John Luke’s bed is empty.

He must have gone outside for some reason.

He’s sleepwalking.

This is a truth about John Luke that nobody knows except his family. Yes, he sleepwalks. But it’s not normal sleepwalking. Sometimes the sleepwalking lasts for days. His entire sophomore year of high school was spent in one big sleepwalk. It took well-paid professionals to revive him that time.

Now he only awakens to the phrase Butter on a biscuit.

But he obviously has to be within hearing range for this phrase to work.

“John Luke?” You search the cabin in case he’s still here. “Butter on a biscuit.”

But he’s nowhere.

You sigh, putting on some clothes and trudging outside.

“Butter on a biscuit!” you shout. No need to keep it down—there’s not a soul around to hear you. Surely you’d sound like a crazy person screaming about biscuits, but then again John Luke probably looks like a crazy person walking around in his pajamas in the middle of the night.

“Butter on a biscuit!”

You listen carefully. Nothing.

You better head to the lake just to make sure he’s not swimming while asleep. You’re not sure how sleepwalking works exactly, but it might be dangerous to go sleepswimming. Who knows.

One time John Luke went out on a sleepwalking date with a girl from school. Every time she spoke, he just nodded and said funny things like “I love bacon.” She assumed he was being goofy. But when he dropped her off and she said good-bye, he said, “I’ll miss you, Clarise.” That wasn’t the girl’s name, so she got upset. John Luke later had to explain he was sleepwalking the whole time.

For some reason, she didn’t believe him.

As you make your way down the hill toward the water, you hear someone singing. It takes you a minute to register that it’s John Luke.

He’s dancing on the dock and acting like he’s holding a microphone.

What in the world? This is a new symptom.

John Luke doesn’t notice you walking toward the “stage.”

“‘Oh, oh,’” he shouts. “‘That’s what makes you beautiful.’”

You smile. “Thank you, John Luke. I feel beautiful.”

He keeps singing and dancing, and you can’t help but watch for a moment. Then you call out, “Butter on a biscuit,” and he snaps to.

“Papaw Phil,” he says, looking around him in confusion. “Was I . . . ?”

“Yep.”

John Luke steps off the dock, stumbling a bit. “Was I singing and . . . ?”

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