What’s up campers? Scoot here, glad you’re back for another epic week at Camp Razor. What legendary fun awaits you this week? I’ll give you a hint. It’s a summertime classic that involves gooey marshmallows, moonlight, and just a little pinch of fright. You got it, this week we’re gathering around to listen to an ol’fashioned spooky scooter story. So, park your Razor, grab a seat, and settle in for a hair razor-ingly good time.
So, here’s what you’ll need to create the perfect backdrop for a spooky tale.
Got everything you need? Great! Now dim those lights, pull your blanket tight, take a big bite of s’more and listen close as we take a trip back to the summer of 2010…..
It was a summer they would write songs about. No matter where you were, there was some kind of magic in the air. And Camp Razor was no exception. The rides were long, the nights were cool, it seemed like the fun would never end, or so they thought…
It was late July, and Camp Razor was buzzing with its usual excitement. Campers were polishing up tricks, gearing up for Razor’s Ed, and planning their route for the summer’s last ride. It seemed like everyone and everything was as rad as could be. Especially for camp counselor, Deckster “Decks” Cruz. A 9-time Crazor Race champ, Decks was a Camp Razor legend. The youngest camper to ever make Counselor; it seemed there was no race, no course, no Razor Decks couldn’t ride. And this summer, he would put his epic skills to the test and make history as he went for his 10th title as the fastest time ever ridden on the Crazor course. Everyone from rookie riders to seasoned vets were on the edge of their seat as race day grew closer and closer. Decks spent every day practicing the turns, clocking in hours and hours on his A5, making sure there was no doubt that this summer would be his year.
Then came the night before race day. A moon, much like tonight’s, cast a glow over the camp. All was quiet as every camper and counselor lay asleep, anxious for the events of tomorrow. Well, all but one. Decks couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure if it was the wind against the shutters outside his window or the promise of tomorrow’s victory that was keeping him up. As he laid awake in his cabin, he began to hear a noise, faint at first but growing louder and louder with every passing moment. He wondered if a restless camper had snuck out of their cabin, so he laced up his shoes, grabbed his flashlight, and opened the cabin door. Looking out onto the dark night, lines of parked scooters shined in the moonlight. But no wandering camper to be found. Flicking on his flashlight, Decks walked out into the darkness. The sound of the wind was met by the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs beneath his feet when suddenly, the noise returned. Clearer this time, as if right over his shoulder. “Decckkksstterr” the wind howled. Decks spun around, frantically searching for the prankster playing tricks on him. But no one was there. “Deckkkksstterrrrrr”. Again, he spun around, searching for anyone, anything, that could be making such a sound. Disappointed yet again to find nothing and no one near, Decks waited one last time, one last chance to reveal the source of the chills running down his spine. He waited and waited, beneath the moonlight. Seconds felt like hours, as finally, coming from the depths of the woods and creeping over his shoulder, it came. “DECCCCKKKSSTTERRR”. Jumping out of his skin, Decks spun around again, dropping his flashlight, letting the dark of the night take over…..
The next morning, campers awoke bright and early, unable to wait any longer for the moment of truth, the day no camper would soon forget, the day Decks became a 10-time champ. But as the morning sun illuminated the summer dew, a flood of worry fell over the camp. Decks and his Razor were gone. Campers and counselors flew into action, taking to the woods, searching for any sign that could tell them where he had gone. Maybe he was out for a final practice ride, some thought, maybe the pressure was all too much, said others. As search parties gathered, the only clue to be found was his flashlight, laying on the ground, casting light out into nothing.
The next few summers came and went as they always do. The rides felt just as long, the nights just as cool. But something had changed, and Camp Razor was never quite the same. No matter how many riders tried, no one could beat the legendary 9-time streak. Stop watches would malfunction, scooter wheels would get tangled on branches, there was once even a black snake on the course. Few have come close, but it seems the curse of the Deckster “Decks” Cruz and the Crazor cannot be broken. Some say, when the moon is just right, and the night is quiet, you can still hear the sound of his Razor, riding through the woods. In fact, I bet if we listen close, we might just hear him. They say it starts off soft, in the distance. Then it grows louder. And gets closer, and closer, and closer until HE’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU!
So, how’s that for a legendary tale? Hope we didn’t spook you too bad! We at Camp Razor love a good spooky story and we want to hear yours! Create your own spooky scooter tale with our fill in the blank story or write your very own and share it with us for a chance to have your scary tale featured! Don’t forget to keep sharing all your summer fun by tagging #CampRazor on social @razorworldwide or sending me an email! Stay Spooky! Later, Razors!
