Summer Camp

🏕️ Episode 17: Summer Camp

Summer camp is supposed to be a place where memories are made.

Campfires. Canoes. First crushes. Late-night ghost stories.

But sometimes... the stories don't stay around the fire.

In Episode 17 of Echoes in the Dark, we're heading deep into the woods to uncover the terrifying side of summer camp. From eerie listener submissions and haunted campgrounds to real-life tragedies and the greatest summer camp horror films ever made, this episode is packed with chills from beginning to end.

This week's episode features:

👻 Three chilling listener stories from haunted camps and forgotten lakes

🌲 Real-world hauntings and infamous camp tragedies, including the Girl Scout Murders at Camp Scott, the Lady in White of Camp Comfort, the Jersey Devil legends surrounding Camp No-Be-Bo-Sco, the unsolved Lake Bodom Murders, and the eerie folklore surrounding Camp Crystal Lake.

🤣 Macabre Bob and John return with another wildly inappropriate conversation that proves they're far too immature to be left unsupervised.

🎬 Horror Genre Explored featuring six unforgettable summer camp horror films:

• The Final Girls (2015)
• Madman (1981)
• Sleepaway Camp (1983)
• The Burning (1981)
• Fear Street Part Two: 1978 (2021)
• Friday the 13th (1980)

Whether you grew up at summer camp or avoided the woods altogether, this episode will make you think twice before following a strange sound into the trees.

Turn down the lights.

Turn up the volume.

And remember...

If someone whistles from the woods...

Don't whistle back.

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:00

A campfire crackled, a child laughed somewhere in the dark. Then silent no bugs. No wind. No voices. Just the sound of something walking between the trees. Heavy. Slow. And then a voice. Do you hear that? Another kid whispers. Probably just a raccoon. But raccoons don't whistle. And they sure as hell don't call your name. Tonight we are heading back to summer camp, where the counselors are horny. The food sucks. Everybody's trying to hook up. And sometimes something follows you back to the cabin.

SPEAKER_12 0:44

Welcome back. To Echoes in the Dark. You know the story. You heard the scream. Now stay awake.

unknown 1:01

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

SPEAKER_16 1:18

First week, new name tag mud on the black top. Cabinet up packed tight, bunk beds, lamps out, lake water on my hands, cold like bad news. Hear that branch, tap tap, then the whole tent move. We got marshmallows, flashlights, kids with brave talk. The woods keep a receipt for every footstep. Old sign on the tree line, paint bomb, splintered. It's a turn back now. We did not listen when the fire gets low. And the owls go quiet. Something in the pond starts lining up. When the fire gets low, and the voices change shape, you can hear your own name coming back.

SPEAKER_15 2:00

Echoes in the dark, echoes in the dark. Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_03 2:07

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_15 2:09

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_03 2:11

If you hear that, oh do not go far.

SPEAKER_15 2:18

Do not go far. Do not go far.

SPEAKER_16 2:25

Do not go far. Dark at midnight, ripples on black black. There's one lone canoe drifting, no kid in the back. Counter law on the porch said count heads twice. But the head count moved when I blinked at the firelight. Bag drill full of footprints too small. Too many wedding leaves in a circle like they stood already. Found a note in the cabin folded in pine tar said I know where you sleep, signed in scratch mark. When the fire gets low and the owls go quiet, something in the pond starts lining up. When the fire gets low and the voices change shape, you can hear your own name coming back.

SPEAKER_03 3:11

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_16 3:13

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_03 3:14

I'm the turns of star.

SPEAKER_15 3:16

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_03 3:18

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_15 3:20

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_03 3:21

If you hear that, oh do not go far.

SPEAKER_15 3:27

The water's talking. Shh, the trees repeat it.

SPEAKER_04 3:30

Three knocks on the cabin wall. We all heard it. The water's talking.

unknown 3:35

Shh.

SPEAKER_04 3:36

The trees repeat it. If you make it to dawn, don't bring it with you.

SPEAKER_03 3:42

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_15 3:44

Eckles in the dawn.

SPEAKER_03 3:46

I'm the turns of start.

SPEAKER_15 3:48

Eckles in the dawn.

SPEAKER_03 3:50

Echoes in the dark.

SPEAKER_15 3:51

Echoes in the dog.

SPEAKER_03 3:53

If you hear that clock, do not go far.

SPEAKER_15 4:00

Echoes in the dog.

SPEAKER_12 4:08

Campfire dies faster than the woods.

SPEAKER_09 4:23

What up, my creeps? I'm John Kieser Jr., writer, insomniac, and horror exhibitionist. I don't sleep well, so neither should you. And this is Echoes in the Dark. Original Stories, True Hauntings, and Horror Genre Explored. The podcast where fiction bleeds in the folklore and horror lives in the dark. Tonight, we're grabbing our sleeping bags, bug spray, and emotional baggage because we're talking all things summer camp. We've got three listener stories that'll make you rethink sleeping in a cabin. Macab Bob digging into true camp hauntings and real world nightmares. Some inappropriate bullshit between Bob and me, and six horror movies that'll make you tell your kids they're going to basketball camp instead. So grab a flashlight, stay close to the fire, and whatever you do, don't go into the woods alone. Time for the disclaimer. This show contains strong language, dark humor, inappropriate commentary, disturbing stories, and spoilers. If you're offended by sarcasm, foul mouths, dead teenagers, creepy forests, or hearing macabre bob act like he would have been kicked out of camp for selling contraband monster energy drinks and zens to 12-year-olds, this probably ain't your campfire. Tonight we're talking haunted cabins, cursed lakes, and enough bad decisions to make every camp counselor in America lose their fucking job. Listener discretion is advised. Now throw another log on the fire because class is out for the summer and something in the woods is awake. Every camp has stories, not the ones printed on brochures, not the smiling kids roasting marshmallows and singing around the fire all kumbaya and shit. I'm talking about the stories that get whispered after lights are out, the ones counselors tell you aren't real. The ones older campers swear happened to a friend of a friend. And sometimes those stories don't stay sories. These experiences were sent in by listeners who spent years wondering what exactly happened. Maybe they imagined it. Maybe exhaustion played tricks on them. Or maybe something else was out there.

SPEAKER_14 6:44

Don't go too deep.

SPEAKER_16 7:05

Mud on the boots and the chill in the back. Names in the dark get bent and warp one kids warty saw a face by the dock. Lantern swing when the wind says stop. Old pine groans like a goat in the fox. Every tart tail got a little bit real. When the woods lean and then the silence kills. Keep it close. Don't say your name.

SPEAKER_14 7:28

Three knocks on the wood.

SPEAKER_16 7:29

When the flames turn strain.

SPEAKER_14 7:33

Tell it by the fire. Tell it, tell it, low. Tell it by the fire. The black trees know. Tell it by the fire. You hear that sound? Hear that sound. Don't look around. Don't look around.

SPEAKER_02 7:48

Don't don't don't don't don't look around.

SPEAKER_13 7:55

Cabin nine at the scratch on the door. All the marks and then one more. Head counts off when the bell gets rung.

SPEAKER_14 8:03

Somebody's missing when the story's done. I've got four in the creek band sets. And the fear in the paper cup mess.

SPEAKER_16 8:11

We laugh too loud, but we all know why the dog gets closer when the spark fly high.

SPEAKER_14 8:18

Keep it close. Don't say a name. Three knocks on the wood. And the flames turn straight. Tell it by the fire. Tell it, tell it low. Tell me about the fire. The black trees low. Tell me about the fire. If you hear that sound, don't go for the floor-round. Ain't no more, just split back eyes. If you ain't no answer fight, sometimes people are bad eye. Tell about the fire. Tell about the fire. I love the by the fire. Don't look around. Don't look around. Tell about the fire.

SPEAKER_06 9:30

Our story begins here. Our shadows stretch a little longer, and every whisper might be something reaching back. It's time for the story.

SPEAKER_09 9:59

Ashley was 13 years old when she attended Camp Cedar Pines in the summer of 2008. It was her first time away from home. At first, the camp was exactly what she imagined: campfire, swimming, archery, and awkward teenage crushes that lasted all three days. But by the end of the first week, something strange began happening. Around 2 in the morning, the girls in her cabin would wake up to the sound of whistling outside. Not random notes. Not birds. An actual tune. Soft. Slow. Always coming from the woods behind the cabin. The first couple nights, everyone assumed it was another camper playing a prank. But no matter who checked, nobody was ever outside. Counselors brushed it off. One even joked that it was probably birds. Which Ashley thought was a strange explanation considering birds generally don't whistle melodies in the middle of the damn night. By the fourth night, nobody was laughing anymore. The whistling had become louder, closer. One girl started crying and begged the counselors to let her sleep somewhere else. Ashley finally decided she had enough. She climbed down from the top bunk and slowly moved toward the window. Moonlight illuminated the trees. And standing between two pines was a man. Tall, thin, perfectly still. He wasn't hiding. He wasn't walking. He was simply standing there, watching the cabin. Ashley said she couldn't make out facial features, but she distinctly remembered the hat. An old-fashioned groundskeeper hat. Then the figure raised its head slightly and whistled. The camp song. The exact same song Camper sang every evening around the fire. Ashley stumbled backward and screamed. By the time counselors arrived, the figure was gone. The grounds were searched. Nothing. No footprints, no signs of anyone. Years later, Ashley attended a camp reunion and spoke with the former employee. He told her a groundskeeper named Harold had died from a heart attack while repairing fences behind that very cabin in the 1970s. His habit, according to staff and newham, was whistling the camp song while he worked. Ashley said she still gets chills whenever she hears someone whistle. Reflection. You know, every adult's response to paranormal activity seems to be the fucking same. It's probably your imagination. Or my fucking favorite. It's probably birds. Apparently birds have become musical geniuses with the working knowledge of camp traditions. Meanwhile, if I look out the window at 2 in the morning and see some six-footed fucktard standing in the woods serenading me with Kumbaya, I'm selling my belongings and moving to Arizona. My belongings belong to the camp. Now, story number two. Cabin 7. Submitted by Marcus from Pennsylvania. When Marcus attended Camp Timber Falls in Pennsylvania, everybody knew about Cabin 7. Nobody stayed there. Nobody played near it. And nobody talked about it. Whenever younger campers asked why, counselor simply changed the subject. So naturally, that made Cabin 7 irresistible. One rainy evening, Marcus and three friends decided to investigate. The cabin sat isolated near the edge of the woods. Its windows were boarded up. Weeds had grow around the steps, and the old wooden sign hanging over the door barely remained attached. Inside, the air smelled damp and rotten. Dust coated everything. Old bunks lined the walls. Names had been carved into the wood. Dates stretching back decades. Most were harmless, but others felt different. One message read, Don't answer the knocking. Another said, He comes after lights out. The boys laughed because teenage boys are fucking idiots. And fear becomes comedy when your friends are watching. That night, they returned to their own cabin and eventually fell asleep. Around one in the morning, knock. Knock. The same came from outside the wall. Not the door, the wall. Marcus sat upright. Everyone else had heard it too. Three knocks. Perfectly spaced. Then silence. One friend whispered that maybe it was a counselor. Then knock. Knock. Knock. Again. Marcus grabbed a flashlight and peeked outside. Nothing. No campers, no counselors, no animals. Nothing but rain and darkness. The boys didn't sleep another minute. The following morning, they admitted what they'd done. The camp director's face reportedly turned white. He demanded to know exactly what they had touched inside cabin 7. Marcus told him about the carvings. The director refused to elaborate, but an older maintenance worker later shared that a counselor had suffered a fatal heart attack inside the cabin in the 1980s. Campers staying there afterward complained about knocking noises. After several incidents, the building was permanently closed. Marcus is 41 now, and to this day he still remembers how terrified the camp director looked. Not angry. Terrified. Reflection. Look, if you've got a Honda Cabin, maybe put up a sign. Something simple. Pull hours, 10 to 6. Arts and Crafts in the rec hall. Please do not feed the squirrels. And absolutely under no circumstances, investigate the cabin where Satan apparently rents an Airbnb. Communication, people. Story number 3. The boy in the lake. Submitted by Danielle from Minnesota. Danielle attended Camp Evergreen when she was 14. The camp sat beside a beautiful lake. During the day, it was peaceful. Kids swam. Counselors taught canoeing. Everyone gathered on the dock to watch sunsets. But after dark, campers were forbidden to approach the water. No exceptions. One evening, Danielle woke up around three in the morning. Moonlight streamed through the cabin windows. She happened to glance toward the lake and froze. Standing waist deep in the water was a boy. He appeared to be around ten years old. He wore old-fashioned swim trunks, his arms hung on his sides. He wasn't moving. Danielle assumed he was sleepwalking, but something felt wrong. He never blinked, never shifted, never splashed. For nearly 20 minutes he remained perfectly still, just staring toward the cabins. Eventually, fear overtook curiosity. Danielle climbed back into bed and hid beneath her blanket. The next morning she asked everyone if somebody had gone swimming during the night. Nobody had. One of the older counselors overheard the conversation. His smile disappeared instantly. He quietly told her not to worry about it. Years later, Danielle learned that a ten-year-old camper had drowned in the lake during the 1960s. Storms delayed rescue efforts. His body wasn't found for three days. Former employees have reported strange sightings for years. Most describe seeing a boy standing silently in the water, always at night, always motionless, always facing the cabins. Danielle has never returned to the camp, and she still refuses to swim in lakes. Reflection. See, this is why I prefer showers, bro. Because sharks are one thing. Ghost children standing in lakes like they're auditioning for a Japanese horror movie. Nope, fuck that. I'm out. I'll happily sit on shore with my monster energy drinks, my zen pouches, and my crippling anxiety. At least those things have never stared at me from waist deep water. Final reflection. Summer camp is supposed to be about growing up, making memories, finding friends, experiencing freedom. But memories have a strange way of lingering, and maybe places do too. Cabins, trails, campfires, old lakes. Maybe they remember everyone who laughed there, everyone who loved there, and everyone who fucking died there. Because sometimes when the campfire burns out, not everyone goes home.

SPEAKER_08 18:37

Thank you, John. Good evening, campers. You know, summer camp always sounded great when I was a kid. Swimming, bonfires, first kisses, and enough mosquito bites to make you look like a connect the dots puzzle. But my parents couldn't afford camp. Hell. My dad's idea of summer camp was throwing me outside after breakfast and yelling, don't die. Different times, folks. Different times. I would have been a terrible camp counselor anyway. Can you imagine? Kids asking me how to start a fire while I'm ripping a Zin pouch and double-fisting monster energy drinks like some kind of nicotine-fueled raccoon. I would have been kicked out by lunchtime. Plus, summer camp movies lied to us. Apparently, every camp had gorgeous counselors hooking up in the woods. Meanwhile, if 40-year-old me goes camping, the hottest thing around is the heating pad I bring for my lower back. And don't even get me started on communal showers. At my age, I don't want to see strangers naked. Hell. I don't even want to see myself naked. I caught my reflection getting out of the shower last week and nearly called a priest. And you know what's really terrifying? Not serial killers. Not ghosts. Not demon children. Dicks. That's what scares me. Because if I survive being murdered by Jason Vorhys only to die from a dick bite, I'm haunting somebody. But while most campfire stories are bullshit, some aren't. Some involve real tragedies, real deaths, and places where people swear something never left. So gather around the fire. Because things are about to get a lot darker. Welcome back.

SPEAKER_15 20:44

To true hauntings. This one started down by the lake.

SPEAKER_16 21:02

We pitched our tents by the pine. Just left the coolers in the row. Old trail map in the dirt. Nobody wanted to go. Cabin seven at the crack in the window by the bed. We left it off till the marsh. Send a buzzin' through our head. Counselor said, keep count with the kids when the moon gets high. Had the line scratched through the side. I heard boards in the dark, then the knock with the screen didn't do. Three soft taps, then the paws like getting through the room before. Something's here, counting free.

SPEAKER_04 21:49

Hold your breath, don't look back. We heard footsteps on the track. Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 21:56

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 21:57

Don't trust the woods at night. Can fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 22:01

Can fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 22:02

Something once inside.

SPEAKER_10 22:05

Inside.

SPEAKER_04 22:06

Can fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 22:07

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_16 22:08

We came to sleep, we came to screen. Can fire evidence. Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 22:13

Now the lake knows what we sing.

SPEAKER_16 22:18

Move, like a kid still on the run. A raincoat hung from the branch. Even though there'd been no sun. We found Tiny Muddy Brexit leading straight to the dock. Then they stopped at the waterline. Waterline, like the earth, just made them stop. There was left of on the static from the radio in the shed. And every campus wall, they heard their own voice call the name instead. Beneath the pierce of the spam with the pale face on its way. When the flashlights crossed the reeds, it was gone before the shade. Something's here, counting free. Hold your breath. Don't look back. We heard footsteps on the track.

SPEAKER_04 23:05

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 23:07

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 23:08

Don't trust the woods tonight. Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 23:12

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 23:14

Something lumps inside.

SPEAKER_10 23:16

Inside.

SPEAKER_04 23:17

Can fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 23:18

Can't fire evidence. We can decle, we can just scream.

SPEAKER_04 23:22

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 23:23

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 23:24

Now the late knows what we sing. If you hear the whistle, don't answer it. If the cabin door cracks, don't challenge it. Makes him banish by the swing set. With his lantern still in hand. And the ashes in the firing made a circle in the stand.

SPEAKER_16 23:43

We ran past the ranger sign. Past the hill with the dead pine. But the path cab looping back like a mountain once the spot.

SPEAKER_04 23:53

Campfire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 23:54

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 23:56

Don't trust the woods and I can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 24:00

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 24:01

Something wants inside Canfire Evidence.

SPEAKER_10 24:06

Can't fire evidence. We came to sleep, we came to spring.

SPEAKER_04 24:09

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_10 24:11

Can't fire evidence.

SPEAKER_04 24:12

Our lake knows what we sing. Welcome back to true hauntings. This case is still open. At camp by the lake.

SPEAKER_07 24:37

From fiction to the real echoes that haunt the world around us. Every legend has a birthplace. Every ghost a story that was once alive. Let's go there.

SPEAKER_08 24:53

Most campfire stories are bullshit. Urban legends. Stories older kids tell the younger kids because they're bored and enjoy emotional terrorism. But every once in a while, real life becomes far more terrifying than fiction. Because unlike masked killers and hockey masks, the stories you're about to hear actually happened. Real people. Real tragedies. Real locations. And according to many who have visited these places, something may still remain. Camp Scott and the Girl Scout murders. Locust Grove, Oklahoma, June 13th, 1977. Three Girl Scouts, Lori Farmer, Michelle Hughes, and Doris Milner, arrived at Camp Scott looking forward to swimming, horseback riding, arts and crafts, and a week away from home. Instead, before the first full day of camp even began, a tragedy struck. During the early morning hours, counselors discovered the bodies of the three girls outside their tent. They had been brutally murdered. The crime horrified the nation. Even more disturbing were the strange events leading up to the murders. A counselor had previously discovered a threatening note inside a donut box. The message hinted that three girls would be killed. The threat wasn't taken seriously. Authorities eventually focused on escaped convict Jean Leroy Hart. Though evidence pointed toward him, Hart was acquitted. Many investigators still believe he committed the murders. Others disagree. The case officially remains unsolved. After the camp closed, paranormal investigators and visitors reported hearing children laughing among the trees. Others claimed to hear crying. Shadow figures, voices, and overwhelming feelings of sadness and dread. Electronic voice phenomena. Recordings allegedly captured children's voices and whispers. Whether paranormal or simply the emotional weight of a horrific tragedy, one thing remains undeniable. Something evil happened there. And perhaps some scars never heal. Camp Comfort and the Lady in White Texas. Camp Comfort sits near the site of a bloody tragedy dating back to 1865. According to legend, following a violent attack that claimed multiple lives, a grieving mother searched desperately for her missing children. She never found them. Years later, strange stories began circulating around the area. Campers reported seeing a woman dressed entirely in white, wandering between trees. Some described hearing crying. Others claimed they heard a woman's voice calling names during the early morning hours. Several counsellors over the decades reported waking up to find a female figure standing near cabin windows. Children occasionally described dreaming about a sad woman who seemed lost. Photographs taken around the camp have reportedly captured strange white shapes and unexplained figures. Some believe the spirit continues searching for the children she lost over a century ago. Others believe grief itself stained the land. Whatever the explanation, the stories have persisted for generations. Camp Nobeboscu and the Jersey Devil, New Jersey. Hidden within the Pine Barrens lies Camp Nobebosco, one of America's oldest Boy Scout camps. But long before the camp existed, locals spoke of something far stranger. The Jersey Devil. For nearly 300 years, witnesses have described encounters with a creature possessing that like wings, hooves, claws, a horse-shaped head, and screams that sound like something straight out of hell. Campers and scouts have reported hearing terrifying cries in the woods, large shadows flying overhead, heavy footsteps circling cabins, and glowing eyes peering from the darkness. Experienced outdoorsmen insisted the sounds didn't resemble bears or known wildlife. The camp later gained fame as the filming location for Friday the 13th, which somehow feels entirely appropriate. Because apparently these woods wanted to corner the market on nightmares. Lake Bodham Murders, Espoo, Finland, 1960. Four teenagers spent the night camping near Lake Bodham. By sunrise, only one remained alive. Three young people had been brutally murdered. The surviving victim suffered severe injuries and remembered little of the attack. The case shocked Finland. Investigators pursued suspects for decades. Arrests were made. Accusations surfaced, but no one was ever convicted. The murders remain one of Europe's most infamous, unsolved mysteries. Over the years, visitors reported strange lights above the lake, voices carried on the wind, feelings of intense dread, and shadow figures standing near the shoreline. Some claimed they heard screams echoing across the water, despite being completely alone. More than sixty years later, nobody knows who committed the murders. And perhaps that's the most frightening part. The monster responsible may have died peacefully. Or perhaps history simply forgot them. Camp Crystal Lake Legends, New Jersey. Long before Jason Vohees became a horror icon, stories involving lakes and camps named Crystal Lake already existed. Former campers and staff have described hearing footsteps outside empty cabins, children laughing after curfew, voices calling names from the woods, and figures standing motionless in the water. One counselor reportedly quit after hearing children playing outside her cabin around two in the morning. Assuming Campus had snuck out, she went to investigate. Nobody was there. Yet the laughter continued. Only now it seemed to be coming from the lake. Others reported seeing human shapes standing waist deep in the water before disappearing entirely. Objects moved, doors opened, strange knocks echoed in empty cabins. Over time, stories spread. And perhaps they helped inspire some of the greatest horror stories ever put to film. Reflection. You know, after reading all these stories over the years, I've come to one conclusion. Ghosts don't scare me nearly as much as people. Because every haunted place starts with a tragedy. Every tragedy starts with human beings. Maybe the dead linger, maybe they don't. But Pain leaves marks. And history has a way of echoing. Sometimes through stories, sometimes through memories, and sometimes through places that simply refuse to let go. So if you ever find yourself sitting around a campfire and somebody tells you not to whistle into the woods, maybe don't be the dumb bastard who does. Because if something whistles back, you might not like who's answering.

SPEAKER_09 34:12

Well, uh, thanks for ruining summer camp forever, Bob. Nothing says childhood memories like unsall murders and demon horses. But before we spoil some movies, let's do what we do best. Act like two grown-ass men who somehow still have the sense of humor are 13-year-olds. You know, Bob, Summer Camp was the first time I realized girls didn't have cooties. I spent half the week trying to act cool and the other half trying to hide random boners. Puberty was a bitch back then.

SPEAKER_08 34:42

Hell, puberty hit me like a freight train. I went from collecting baseball cards to wondering why the sports illustrated swimsuit issue suddenly felt educational.

SPEAKER_09 35:07

Then Friday morning she'd leave and you'd act like you just got a fucking divorce.

SPEAKER_08 35:13

Meanwhile, the camp counselors acted like they were filming a skin flick. Every horror movie was right. Those bastards were disappearing into the woods more than Bigfoot.

SPEAKER_09 35:28

At 14, sneaking out after lights out was exciting. Now at 41, getting out of bed after midnight means my acid reflux, prostate, and bad decisions are having a fucking three-way cage match.

SPEAKER_08 35:44

And don't forget sleep apnea. Nothing says romance like sounding like a chainsaw trying to start underwater. Hell, my CPAP machine gets more action than I do.

SPEAKER_09 36:04

Back then, camping meant staying up all night and trying to impress girls. Now camping means making sure I packed enough antacids and enough ibuprofen to tranquilize a fucking horse.

SPEAKER_08 36:17

No shit. 20-year-old me packed condoms, 40-year-old me packs blood pressure medicine and a heating pad. Nothing screams masculinity like asking your woman to rub icy hot on your lower back.

SPEAKER_09 36:35

Yeah, and let's be honest, no normal person investigates noises in the woods either. Every horror movie has that one fuck tard saying, I'll go check it out. Not me, bro. If I hear something outside my cabin, I'm locking the fucking door and wishing Cheryl the best. Have fun, bitch.

SPEAKER_08 36:58

Damn right. The horny couple dies, the athlete dies, the asshole dies. But me, I'm surviving. Because my fat ass is staying inside with six Zen pouches, two monster energy drinks, and enough anxiety to make the killer uncomfortable.

SPEAKER_09 37:19

You know, we talk about Zen and Monster a lot. Shout out to Zen and Monster. You know, I feel a sponsorship coming on, hint hint. Besides, if Jason Voorhees catches me naked, he ain't fucking killing me. He's gonna throw a towel over me and apologize. Obviously, you got bigger problems than me, bro.

SPEAKER_08 37:40

Hell, if Jason sees 40-year-old balls hanging lower than the stock market, he's putting the hockey mask back on out of self-defense.

SPEAKER_09 37:53

And can we talk about communal showers for a second? Nothing humbles a man faster than accidentally making eye contact with some naked old dude who acts like pants or government oppression. Yeah. I remember being at camp one time and they had the toilets on the wall, lining the wall, and then they had a little armway, and then they had like a stone, concrete, brick, and half wall, and there were the showers, and they had like five shower heads. So you can see people in the shower from the shitter. And I remember washing one time and being all lathered up in the shower, like in my own zone and shit. I look out, and a dude is sitting on the shitter taking a dump, and as I'm scrubbing my body, we made eye contact. Most awkward fucking thing ever.

SPEAKER_08 38:41

Old guys in locker rooms have no shame. Their balls are hanging down like grandfather clocks, and they're blow-drying their ass crack like it's completely normal. Meanwhile, I'm trying to get dressed like Batman changing in public.

SPEAKER_09 39:03

Alright, alright, enough fucking off, because now it's time to spoil some movies, motherfuckers. Alright, listen up, creeps. This is your warning. We're about to spoil the absolute shit out of six summer camp horror movies. If you haven't seen these films and don't want your mind thoroughly fucked, pause the episode, watch the movies, then come back. Because we're about to fuck your mind with spoilers. Tonight's lineup, number six, The Final Girls, released in 2015. Number five, Madman, released in 1981. Number four, Slepaway Camp, released in 1983. Number 3, The Burning, released in 1981. Number 2, Fear Street Part 2, 1978, released in 2021. And our number one summer camp horror movie, Friday the 13th, released in 1980. So grab your sleeping bag, keep your dick out of the woods, and let's ruin summer camp one movie at a time.

SPEAKER_02 40:12

Check the gate, yep, yep, yep, yep, the cabins. Lock the cabin doors. This one starts at dusk.

SPEAKER_16 40:36

Blood on the margins. Campfire gone, though somebody missing that dawn. Put frames in the mud, whether that move dawn. Break down the stream, break down the stair, break up for the tree line. Who was already there? Old past in the lake. Wet wood that gone. Everyone is dying.

SPEAKER_12 40:58

Dominic boost up eyes, tummy who dies.

SPEAKER_16 41:00

When the cabin goes quiet and the moon dies.

SPEAKER_12 41:03

Tummy boost the eyes, don't you cry?

SPEAKER_16 41:06

When the screen goes black and eye, I'll take that.

SPEAKER_13 41:31

Stuck in that twist, got the whole place taken. I write the kills by the sound they make. One foot that one foot, no I break. With you on the flash, as I know the face when the kill smart is.

SPEAKER_16 41:54

Tummy who the eyes, dumb it all the eyes. When the cabin goes quiet in the means all the time. When the screen goes black and the eyes feel done.

SPEAKER_00 43:44

From the silver screen to the last page, this is where horror becomes legend.

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Coming in at number six tonight is a movie that surprised the hell out of me. Released in 2015. The Final Girls takes the summer camp slasher formula and turns it completely on its head. Directed by Todd Strauss Schulson and starring Tyser Farmiga, Marlon Aukerman, Adam Devine, Thomas Middledch, and Aliyah Shockart, this movie looked like it was going to be another goofy horror comedy. And don't get me wrong, it absolutely is. But underneath all the jokes, Camp Counselor's stupidity, and slasher cliches lies something I wasn't expecting. Heart. Which is weird. Because I wasn't expecting to get emotional while watching people get butchered by a guy named Billy Murphy. But somehow, this movie manages to balance laughs, blood, and grief in a way that really works.

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The story follows Max Cartwright, a teenager still struggling with the death of her mother, Amanda. Amanda had once been a scream queen actress in a cheesy 1980s slasher movie called Camp Bloodbath. Basically a Friday the 13th ripoff. But think bigger hair, smaller budgets, and enough cliches to make Jason Voorhees fucking blush. Years after Amanda's death, Max's friends convince her to attend a special screening of Camp Bloodbath. At first, she wants nothing to do with it. Watching her mother's old movie hurts. But eventually, she agrees. Joined by her friends Gertie, Duncan, Chris, and Vicky, they settle in for the screening. Everything is normal. Until the theater catches fire. Panic erupts. People scream. Smoke fills the room. In the chaos, Max and her friends somehow pass directly through the movie screen itself, and suddenly they're inside the fucking movie. Not watching it, living it. Immediately everything feels different. The sky seems too blue. The colors are brighter. The camp looks like an exaggerated version of every summer camp slasher movie ever made. And the people, they talk like they're trapped in the 80s. Duncan, being a hardcore horror nerd, quickly realizes what happened. They're inside Camp Bloodbath, which means they already know how the story plays out. At first, this seems like an advantage. They know who dies, they know when the serial killer strikes, and they know exactly who the killer is. Billy Murphy. Years earlier, Billy was a mentally challenged young man who was horribly burned after cruel camp counselors played a prank that went horribly wrong. Now he returns every summer seeking revenge, and he's bringing machetes and serious anger management issues with him. Soon, Max comes face to face with something she never expected. Her mother, or rather, Amanda's character inside the movie. Young, beautiful, funny, alive. Although this Amanda isn't technically her mother, Max can't help but connect with her. Yeah, it's fucking sad, dude. The two begin spending time together, sharing moments Max thought she'd lost forever, and that's really the emotional engine of the movie. Meanwhile, Duncan and the others discover something terrifying. The characters that can't bloodbath are prisoners of the script. They repeat dialogue, they dance whenever music plays, and they make every stupid fucking decision that horror fans scream about. No matter how many warnings they receive, the horny counselors still sneak off for sex. The dumb jock still acts like a fucking idiot, and every cliche remains firmly in place. Eventually Billy Murphy begins his killing spree. Bodies start dropping. Counselors are fucking hacked apart. Campers are chased through the woods. Chaos spreads across camp bloodbath. Hence the fucking title. And Max's group discovers an important difference between themselves and the movie characters. If the movie characters die, the story resets. If they die, they stay dead. Yeah, that's a dilemma. Suddenly the stakes become very real. As the body count rises, relationships deepen. Chris falls for Nancy, the movie's designated final girl. Gertie begins finding confidence. Duncan gets to live out his dream of existing inside an 80s horror movie, and Max struggles with letting Amanda go all over again. Eventually she reveals the truth. She tells Amanda that she's her daughter. Amanda initially struggles to comprehend what she's hearing, but the love between them remains undeniable. Soon Billy Murphy catches up with the survivors. The third act explodes into classic slasher chaos. Cabins burn, characters die heroically, weapons are improvised, and Billy relentlessly hunts everyone down. Then comes the movie's emotional knockout punch. Amanda sacrifices herself to save Max, and honestly, I wasn't prepared for that scene. Watching Max say goodbye to her mother for a second time hits surprisingly hard as fuck. Amanda tells Max that she has to move on, that she'll always be with her, and Max finally accepts the loss she's been carrying. Billy Murphy is ultimately defeated. The survivors escape, or so they think, because in true horror franchise fashion, they discover they've entered the sequel, and just like that, the nightmare isn't over. Atmosphere and cinematography. What really makes the final girl stand out is its obvious love for 80 slashers. Everything about Camp Bloodbath screams nostalgia, fog-covered woods, neon colors, campfires, wooden cabins, and enough synth music to make Stranger Things jealous. Director Todd Straw Scholsen gives the movie a dreamlike quality. Bright colors and soft lighting make the world feel almost magical, which creates an interesting contrast with all the murder. The camera work is surprisingly stylish, slow motion shots, creative transitions, and one absolutely gorgeous sequence involving floating lanterns that is honestly more beautiful than some dramas I've watched. The movie never mocks the genre, it celebrates it, and that's why it works. Budget Box Office of Ratings. Released in 2015. Director Todd Strauss Scholsen, approximately $4.5 million budget. Rotten Tomatoes critic score, 73%. Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score 76%. IMDB rating 6.5 out of 10. Although it wasn't a financial success, the movie has developed a strong cult following. And frankly, I think it deserved better. Reflection. The Final Girls proves that horror comedies don't have to choose between laughs and emotions. This movie is funny as fuck. It's self-aware. It's bloody. And somehow it manages to tell a genuinely touching story about grief and letting go, which is pretty impressive for a film featuring horny camp counselors getting murdered in the woods. The Final Girls understand something a lot of horror movies forget. You have to care about the people. Because when you care about the characters, the scares hit harder. And every once in a while, the tears do too. That's why The Final Girls 2015 earns our number six spot. Because sometimes horror isn't just about death. Sometimes it's about remembering the people we loved and learning how to say goodbye.

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Released in 1981, Mad Men is one of the forgotten gems of the golden age of slashers. Directed by Joe Giannone and starring Galen Ross, Tony Fish, and Paul Ehlers, this movie arrived right in the middle of the post-Friday the 13th slasher boom. And while it never reached the popularity of Jason O'Freddy, it carved out its own creepy little corner of horror history. This movie reminds us of one very important lesson. If some old dude around a campfire tells you not to say the killer's name out loud, maybe don't be the dumb asshole that says the killer's name out loud. Because apparently, bloody Mary rules apply in the woods.

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The movie begins at North Sea Cottages, a summer camp where counselors and campers gather around a campfire for the traditional scary story. The storyteller, Max, recounts the legend of Madman Mars. Years earlier, Mars brutally murdered his wife and children before fleeing into the woods. Logos eventually tracked him down and supposedly hanged him. But according to legend, Mars didn't die. Instead, his spirit returned to the forest, and if anyone speaks his name above a whisper, he comes. Naturally, one of the young counselors, Richie, fucking douchebag, immediately decides this sounds like complete bullshit. Because horror movies require at least one person whose decision-making abilities resemble those of a drunk squirrel. Richie loudly shouts Madman Mars' name into the darkness and throws a rock into the woods. Everybody laughs. Everybody except Max. Because Max isn't fucking laughing. He's got that look very old guys get when he knows somebody just fucked up. Sure enough, strange things begin happening. Mars awakens, huge, bearded, covered in scars, looking like if Grizzly Adams got addicted to murder. Meanwhile, the counselors continue doing counselor things, flirting, drinking, singing songs, and making terrible life decisions. Betsy and TP begin a romance. Yeah, what a fucking nickname. TP, like you want to be nicknamed after something you wipe your ass with, dude. Others pair off. And because this is an early 80s slasher, everyone seems contractually obligated to get naked before dying. There was only one teddy scene, dude, and it wasn't even that great, man. The music was fucking cheesy as fuck. I couldn't get past it. Plus, it was the ugliest chick in the fucking movie. First victim soon falls. Mars kills the counselor in brutal fashion, establishing that he isn't some supernatural ghost. He's flesh and blood. And he's fucking pissed. As the night progresses, bodies begin piling up. Victims are strangled, axes are swung, people are thrown through windows. One unfortunate soul is decapitated. Another is crushed beneath the truck. Mars moves with an eerie calmness, never rushing, never panicking, simply stalking his prey with relentless determination. The atmosphere becomes increasingly tense. Nobody knows who will survive. Counselors attempt to protect the children while trying to escape the killer themselves. Toilet paper and Betsy emerge as the emotional center of the story. Their relationship gives the film a little more heart than many slashers of the error. Eventually, the survivors formulate a plan. Mars appears to be finally defeated when he catches fire. But this being horror, things are never that simple. And one final act of violence, the killer returns, because apparently getting burned alive is merely an inconvenience when you're fueled by pure hatred and mountain man strength. The film ends on a grim note, and audiences are left wondering whether the legend of Madman Bars will ever truly die. Atmosphere Cinematography. This is where Madman really shines. The film was shot largely at night, and unlike many slasher films that rely on quick cuts and loud music, Madman takes its time. The woods feel isolated. The darkness feels endless. Campfires cast eerie shadows. Cabins appear lonely and vulnerable. And the soundtrack, especially the haunting folk song The Legend of Madman Mars, creates an atmosphere that stays with you long after the credits roll. Joe Giano uses darkness effectively. You never quite know what's lurking behind the flashlight beams. And Paul Eller's performance as Mars is fantastic. He's imposing, silent, and somehow strangely human, which makes him even creepier because he doesn't feel supernatural. He feels possible. Budget, box office, and ratings. Released in 1981. Director Joe Giano. Budget approximately 350,000. Worldwide box office, limited theatrical release, Rotten Tomatoes audience score around 50%. IMDB rating 5.2 out of 10. While critics weren't exactly kind, Madman developed a devoted cult following over the years. And among hardcore slasher fans, it has become something of a hidden treasure. Reflection. Madman isn't trying to reinvent horror. It isn't flashy. It isn't revolutionary. And it certainly isn't subtle. But sometimes simple works. What Madman does better than most slashers is atmosphere. The woods feel dangerous. The camps feel isolated. And Mars feels like the kind of legend kids would genuinely whisper about around campfires. There's something timeless about stories warning us not to speak names, not to wander into the woods, and not to ignore old men with terrifying stories. Because sometimes they know what the hell they're talking about. And that's why Madman earns our number five spot. It may not be the most famous camp slasher, but damn it, it deserves to be remembered.

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Coming in at number four tonight is one of the strangest, most bizarre, and most unforgettable movies ever to emerge from the golden age of slashers. Released in 1983 and directed by Robert Hiltsick, sleepaway camp stars Phylissa Rose as Angela Baker, and somehow manages to be funny, disturbing, uncomfortable, and downright insane all at the same time. And let me tell you something. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, can prepare first-time viewers for the ending of this movie. I've been watching horror films for decades. I've seen demons. I've seen zombies. I've seen Nicolas Cage act. And somehow, the ending of Sleepaway Camp still manages to make me sit there and say, What in the Kentucky fried fuck did I just watch? This movie isn't just a summer camp slasher. It's a fever dream. And I mean that as a compliment.

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You fucking said it, Bob. This movie is the most fucked movie on this list, I promise you. Especially the fucking end. I had no fucking idea what was gonna happen at the end. Totally caught me off guard, dude. The film opens with a boating accident that immediately sets a tragic tone. John Baker and his children, Peter and Angela, are spending the day on the water when another boat crashes into them. The accident leaves only one survivor. Years later, Angela Baker is sent to camp Arawak when her overly eccentric aunt Martha, yeah, this bitch was off the hook, and her cousin Ricky. Right away, Angela seems shy, withdrawn, quiet. She barely speaks. And because children are little assholes, the other campers quickly begin making her life fucking miserable. They fuck with this girl hard. The mean girls ridicule her, the boys tease her, and Ricky spends most of the movie threatening bodily harm to anyone who messes with this cousin. Honestly, Ricky might be the most loyal psychopath in family history. Camp Arrowck itself is exactly what you'd expect. Teenage counselors are too busy flirting to do their jobs, kids are running wildly, and apparently nobody working there past the fucking background check. Especially the camp cook, Artie. Fucking creepy perv, dude. Artie is creepy from the start. And after making unwanted advances towards Angela, he becomes the movie's first victim. Locked inside the kickstin pantry, Artie suffers one of the most painful deaths imaginable when boiling water is dumped all over him, which honestly made me cross my legs. Soon after bizarre deaths begin piling up. A camper named Kenny is attacked while swimming. Something grabs him beneath the water and drags him under. His mutilated body is later discovered. As panic begins spreading through camp, nobody seems particularly concerned. Yeah, dude, like nobody gave a fuck. Because apparently Camp Arrowck's crisis management plan is just shrugging it off and hoping nobody fucking notices. Meanwhile, Angela continues enduring constant bullying. Judy, one of the nastiest girls in the camp, makes it her life's mission to torment her. Mel, the camp owner, becomes increasingly paranoid and starts suspecting Ricky. And honestly, Ricky's anger issues aren't helping his case. As the days pass, more campers die. One boy is attacked in the bathroom. Yeah, by a fucking bee's nest. That shit was brutal. Another is brutally murdered after a prank goes wrong. Then comes one of the movie's most infamous scenes, Judy. Sweet, hateful Judy. After spending the entire movie acting like Regina George or Summer Camp, she finally gets what's coming to her. Without showing the act directly, the film implies that she suffers a particularly gruesome death involving a curling iron. Yeah, dude, she shoved it up her fucking vagina. I'm just gonna say it. And somewhere in the audience, every bully kid in America probably stood up and applauded. As bodies continued piling up, Mel becomes convinced Ricky is responsible. He pursues Ricky into the woods. Unfortunately for Mel, he encounters the killer himself and suffers a brutal death. Eventually, only Angela and her boyfriend Paul remain. Paul genuinely seems to care for Angela. He's one of the few people at camp who treats her kindly. The two wander off together near the beach. And then ladies and gentlemen, comes one of the most famous endings in horror fucking history. Authorities discover Angela sitting naked besides Paul's severed head, frozen, expressionless, making the horrifying animal like growling noise. And then comes the fucking reveal. Flashbacks show that years earlier it was actually Peter who survived the boning accident. Raised by Aunt Martha as Angela, Peter grew up assuming his deceased sister's identity. The final image, Angela standing there, eyes wide, terrifying expression on her face, 80s fucking refro bush, fucking cock hanging out. This shit fucking traumatized me. And honestly, good because horror movies should occasionally leave you sitting in silence questioning your entire fucking existence. Atmosphere and cinematography. Sleepaway camp feels unlike any other slasher. The camp itself feels authentic. The cabins, the lakes, the awkward teenagers, the terrible counselors, everything feels strangely real, which somehow makes the weirdness even creepier. Robert Hiltsig shoots Camp Arawok with bright daylight and summer colors. Unlike darker slashers, much of the movie unfolds under sunny skies. That contrast between cheerful summer camp activities and horrifying murder creates a strange sense of unease. The movie almost feels innocent, until somebody dies. The score adds to the weirdness. Moments of silence are interrupted by bizarre musical cues that make everything feel slightly off. And then there's Phylissa Rose. Her performance as Angela is fucking haunted. She says very little, but her expressions communicate loneliness, confusion, sadness, and eventually terror. And that final image, pure nightmare fuel. Yeah, that chick's got a dick. Budget, box office, and ratings. Released in 1983. Director Robert Hiltzik. Budget approximately 350,000. Worldwide box office, approximately 11 million. Rotten Tomato score, 80%. Rotten Tomato audience score 74%. IMDB rating 7.2 out of 10. What started as a low budget slasher eventually became one of the most beloved cult horror films of all time. And rightfully so. Because nobody forgets their first viewing of Sleepaway Camp. Trust me. Reflection. Sleepaway Camp is weird as fuck. Really weird, but weird in all the right ways. It isn't trying to be Friday the 13th. It isn't trying to be Halloween. It proudly marches to the beat of its own psychotic drum. Beneath all the bizarre moments and creative kills lies a surprisingly tragic story about trauma, identity, loneliness, and childhood damage by beyond repair. And then just when you think you got everything figured out, the movie punches you in the face with a dick. Some movies scare you, some movies entertain you. And then there are movies like Slepaway Camp. Movies that leave you staring at the screen after the credits roll, wondering what the hell you just experienced. And that's why Sleepaway Camp earns our number four spot. Because 40 years later, people are still talking about that ending, and they probably always will.

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And directed by Tony Malam, the burning often gets overshadowed by Friday the 13th, which is a damn shame. Because this movie deserves far more love than it gets. Not only does it feature incredible practical effects by the legendary Tom Savini, but it also introduced audiences to a young Jason Alexander, Holly Hunter, and Fisher Stevens before they became famous. And perhaps most importantly, this movie gave us one of the most brutal and memorable massacre scenes in horror history. Seriously. If you've seen the Rough scene, you know exactly what I'm talking about. And if you haven't, well, buckle the hell up. Because Cropsey isn't interested in your feelings.

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The film begins at Camp Blackfoot. A group of campers decide to pull a prank on the camp caretaker, Cropsey. Because apparently children have always possessed the judgment of drunken squirrels. There's another drunken squirrel reference. Late at night, they sneak into Cropsy's room. Their plan is simple. Scare him. Nothing more, nothing less. Unfortunately, horror movies and bad ideas go together like tequila in regret. One of the boys places a skull with candles near Cropsy's bed, but the prank goes horribly fucking wrong. Cropsey awakens in terror. In his panic, he knocks over the candles. Flames erupt. Within seconds, his room is engulfed in fire. Cropsey desperately tries to escape, but by the time help arrives, he has suffered horrific burns over much of his body. The image of Cropsi running through the flames remains one of the most disturbing moments in the movie. Doctors do everything they can skin grafts, experimental treatments. Years pass. Nothing works. Eventually, Cropsi snaps. Fueled by pain, rage, and enough resentment to make an ex-wife proud, he escapes the hospital. And now, he wants revenge. Five years later, Camp Stonewater is in full swing. Teenagers are swimming, playing baseball, sneaking around, flirting, and behaving exactly like horny teenagers do in every slasher movie ever made. We're introduced to Alfred, an awkward as fuck socially isolated boy who quickly becomes one of the movie's most sympathetic characters. Alfred constantly senses something isn't right. But because this is a horror movie, nobody fucking listens to him. Meanwhile, counselors Todd and Michelle begin developing feelings for one another. Ooh, girl. The two become the emotional center of the film. Todd in particular has connections to Crosby's past and soon finds himself forced to confront old guilt. As the camp activities continue, Cropsey begins stalking the grounds. Unlike many slashers, Cropsey doesn't wear a mask. His scarred appearance is horrifying enough. Hidden beneath the trench coat, he moves through the woods like a predator. And his weapon of choice? Gigantic garden shears. Which, frankly, is one hell of a way to ruin somebody's day. The killings begin. One prostitute who encounters Cropsi suffers a gruesome death. Soon campers begin disappearing. Alfred catches a glimpse of the killer and desperately tries to warn everyone. Unfortunately, everyone assumes he's either imagining shit or being dramatic. Poor kid could have walked into camp carrying Crosby's driver's license and they'd still yell at him to calm down. Then comes the scene. The scene. A group of campers decide to take a raft trip across the lake. It wasn't across the lake, really, it was down a river, but anyways, what should be a peaceful excursion quickly turns into absolute carnage. Cropsey appears, trapping the raft. Panic erupts. The campers scream. There's nowhere to run. An armed guy with massive shears, Cropsy unleashes one of the bloodiest sequences ever filmed. Limbs are severed, bodies pile up, chaos reigns. Tom Savini, the man, the myth, the legend. His effects work during this sequence is legendary. Even 40 years later, the Wrath Massacre remains one of the most shocking scenes in Slasher history. Meanwhile, back at the camp, Alfred finally convinces Todd that something is terribly wrong. The remaining survivors desperately search for the missing campers, and soon they realize Alfred was right all along, you fucking think. Todd and Alfred pursue Cropsy into an abandoned mine, which somehow feels even less safe than the woods. Inside the cave, a final battle unfolds. Michelle is captured, Todd fights Cropsi, axes swing, fire erupts once again, and in a cruel twist of fate, Cropsi dies the same way he was created, consumed by flames, justice, revenge, karma. Yeah, karma's a bitch, motherfucker. Whatever you want to call it, comes full circle, or so we think, because the final shot suggests evil may not be finished after all. And horror fans know one thing. If you don't see a body, start running. Atmosphere and cinematography. What makes the burning so effective is its atmosphere. Unlike darker slashers, much of the movie takes place during daylight. Camp Stonewater feels authentic. Kids playing baseball, swimming in the lake, telling stories around campfires, sneaking kisses behind cabins. Yo, I got an HJ camp one time. It feels like a real summer camp, which makes the violence feel even more unsettling. Tom Mailam's direction emphasizes the beauty of the outdoors. Wide shots of lakes, dense forests, golden sunlight, peaceful settings. All this serves as a perfect contrast to the horrific violence waiting around every corner. And then there's Tom Savini. My god, the practical effects are fucking incredible. Every wound, every severed limb, every kill feels gruesomely real. The Wrath Massacre alone cemented this movie's place in horror history. Rick Wakeman's musical score adds another layer of unease. Sometimes soft, sometimes haunting, sometimes explosive as fuck. The soundtrack perfectly captures the mixture of summer nostalgia and impending doom. Budget box office and ratings. Released in 1981. Director Tom Malam. Budget approximately $1.5 million. Worldwide box office, approximately $700,000 theatrically. Yeah, kinda bomb, dude. Rotten Tomatoes Critic Score, 91%. Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score, 77%. IMDB rating, 6.7 out of 10. While it wasn't a major financial success during its release, The Burning has become a beloved cult classic and is now considered one of the finest slashers of the early 1980s. Reflection. The Burning has everything I want in a summer camp horror movie. Great atmosphere, memorable characters, fantastic practical effects, a terrifying killer, and one of the greatest mascot scenes ever put on film. Sure, Cropsy doesn't have the popularity of Jason or Freddy, but honestly, he should. Because this movie does something many slashers struggle to accomplish. It makes you care. You care about Alfred. You care about Todd. And when the bodies start dropping, it actually matters. The Burning isn't just another Friday the 13th clone. No. It's one of the best summer camp horror films ever made. I will argue anyone on that. And that's why The Burning earns our number three spot. Because sometimes the Forgotten Classics deserve to stand beside the legends. And Cropsy, my friends, deserved a sequel.

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Coming in at number two tonight is a movie that had absolutely no business being as damn good as it was. Released in 2021 and directed by Lee Janiak. Fear Street. And somehow, this movie manages to combine Friday the 13th, Slepaway Camp, and a Healthy Dose of Supernatural Insanity into one bloody love letter to Camp Horror. Now, I enjoy the entire trilogy. But let's be honest, this is the crown jewel. This is the movie everyone remembers. This is the movie where the body count skyrockets, and camp counselors discover that their health insurance really sucks. And unlike many modern slashers, this one isn't afraid to get mean. Real mean. Because by the end of this movie, damn near everybody you like is dead. Which honestly is kind of refreshing. Because sometimes horror should hurt.

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The movie opens in 1994. That was a great year, by the way, with Ziggy Berman recovering from the events of the first film. She's older now, broken, traumatized, and carrying scars that have haunted her for 16 years. When Dina and Josh arrive looking for answers about Sarah Fear's curse, Ziggy reluctantly agrees to tell them what happened at Camp Nightwing in the summer of 1978. And just like that, we're transported back. Camp Nightwing, a place divided by class and resentment. On one side are the kids from Sunnyvale, rich, popular, spoiled as fuck, the golden children. On the other side are the shady siders, poor, troubled, and viewed by everyone as future criminals, because apparently economic discrimination at Summer Camp goes together like beer and bad tattoos. Young Ziggy Berman is an outsider already. She's strange, rebellious, and everyone thinks she's cursed, which isn't exactly helped by the fact that local bullies decide to tie her to a tree, nearly burning her alive. Kids are little fucking assholes, dude. Lord knows I got bullied when I was younger. Fortunately, Nick Good, one of the counselors and the future sheriff of Sunnyvale, intervenes, and sparks immediately begin flying between him and Ziggy. Meanwhile, Ziggy's older sister, Cindy, is trying desperately to escape Shady Side. Cindy wants a better life. She works hard, follows rules, little goody two shoes, and constantly clashes with Ziggy's rebellious attitude. Their relationship becomes one of the emotional centers of the movie. Then strange things begin happening. Tommy Slater, one of the camp counselors, begins hearing voices, acting strange as fuck, and wandering into the woods. Nobody thinks much of it. Why? Why don't fucking people get it up front? After all, weird behavior is practically a requirement for camp counselors. But soon Tommy snaps, and holy fuckballs, does he snap? Possessed by the evil influence of Seraphir, Tommy grabs an axe and transforms into one of the scariest killers in the trilogy. His eyes go dead, his personality disappears, and suddenly Camp Nightwing becomes a slaughterhouse. The kids the killings begin, and then they're brutal as fuck. One counselor gets hacked apart, another victim is slaughtered in the cabin, panic spreads through the camp, children are evacuated, counselors scramble, chaos erupts. As the survivors attempt to understand what's happening, Cindy and her boyfriend's friends begin investigating the mystery. Scooby-doo-by-doo! Eventually they discover clues hidden beneath the camp, old tunnels, ancient rituals, and evidence that Sarah Fear's curse stretches back centuries. Meanwhile, Tommy continues his rampage, and unlike some slashers, this movie wastes no time. Bodies pile up fast, friends die, relationships crumble, and hope slowly disappears. Nick and Ziggy grow closer during the madness, and for a while, it almost feels like survival might actually be possible. Almost. Eventually, Cindy and Ziggy reconcile. Years of resentment, jealousy, and hurt are finally laid bare. And just when it seems like the sisters might survive together, the movie twists the fucking knife. Literally. Tommy catches up with them inside the tunnels. Cindy is stabbed repeatedly. Ziggy watches helplessly. Then she herself is attacked. Both sisters fucking die. For a moment, hope vanishes completely. But thanks to CPR performed by Nick Good, Ziggy is brought back to life. Cindy isn't, and honestly, this scene hurts a lot. Because after all the fighting, all the bitterness, and all the years they wasted hating each other, they finally understood one another, only to lose everything. The film then returns to 1994. Ziggy finishes telling her a story, and Dina realizes the truth about Sarah Fear, setting up the explosive finale in Fear Street Part 3. But as a standalone story, Fear Street Part 2 absolutely delivers. Atmosphere and cinematography. This movie absolutely nails the atmosphere. Camp Nightwing feels alive. Cabins, campfires, mess halls, lake activities, color wars, pranks. Everything feels authentic. Until blood starts spraying everywhere. Lee Janiak clearly loves the summer camp genre. Every frame feels like a modern love letter to Friday the 13th. The cinematography is beautiful. Warm oranges and yellows during the day, dark blues and shadows at night, dense forests, fog-covered paths, and abandoned tunnels beneath the camp that feel genuinely terrifying. The kills are nasty. The lighting is gorgeous, and the soundtrack, pure 70s nostalgia. David Bowie, Blue Oyster Cult. I love Blue Oyster Cole, by the way. The Manhattans. Every song helps transport viewers directly in the 1978. And then there's Sadie Sink. My god, she absolutely carries this movie. Her performance as Ziggy is funny, vulnerable, angry, and heartbreaking. Without her, this movie wouldn't hit nearly as fucking hard. Budget box office and ratings released in 2021. Director Lee Janiak. Budget approximately 19 million released on Netflix. Rotten Tomatoes Critic Score, approximately 88%. Rotten Tomatoes audience score, approximately 81%. IMDB rating 7.1 out of 10. Although it never received a traditional theatrical release, Fear Street Part 2 quickly became one of the most beloved entries in modern horror and helped cement the trilogy as one of Netflix's greatest genre successes. Reflection. Fear Street Part 2, 1978, succeeds because it understands what made Camp Slashers great. You need atmosphere, you need memorable characters, you need creative kills, and most importantly, you need tragedy. Because the best horror movie films don't just scare us, they break our hearts. This movie takes everything we love about summer camp horror and injects it with genuine emotion. By the end, you aren't just watching people die, you're mourning them. And that's why Fear Street Part 2, 1978, earns our number two spot, because beneath the blood, the curses, and the axe murders lies a story about sisters, about forgiveness, and about the terrible price of waiting too long to tell someone you love them, which, if you ask me, makes this one hell of a slasher and one hell of a tragedy.

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Well, ladies and gentlemen, we've reached number one. And honestly, if you've been listening to this episode and thought anything else was going to sit on top of the mountain, you need to lay off the monster energy drinks. Released in 1980 and directed by Sean S. Cunningham, Friday the 13th didn't invent the slasher genre. Halloween had already paved the way. But what Friday the 13th did do was define the summer camp horror movie. It created an empire. Sequels, comic books, video games, merchandise, and one of the most recognizable villains in horror history. Ironically, Jason himself barely appears. No hockey mask, no undead superhuman, just a shadow of the legend he would eventually become. And honestly, that first movie still kicks ass.

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I just popped a fresh Zen. Hold on. I gotta take a swig of beer for this one. Shout out to Blue Moon. Cause I drink it and they don't pay me for it. Here we go. The film opens in 1958. Camp Crystal Lake, motherfuckers. A place that should have been full of campfires, swimming, and awkward first kisses. Instead, two camp counselors sneak away from their responsibilities to fool around. Because horny camp counselors are apparently incapable of existing in a horror movie without making terrible fucking decisions. As the young couple embraces inside a cabin, an unseen figure approaches, and moments later, both are brutally murdered. The killings force Camp Crystal Lake to shut down. But the tragedy doesn't end there. The following year, a young boy named Jason Voorhe supposedly drowns in the camp lake. According to locals, the counselors were too busy making out to notice. And that moment on, Camp Crystal Lake earns a reputation. People begin calling it Camp Blood. And the locals believe the land itself is cursed. Fast forward to 1979, Steve Christie decides he's going to reopen the camp. Yeah, dude looks like a fucking creepy fucking gym teacher or something. Because apparently common sense wasn't included in the budget. Steve hires a group of young counselors to help prepare the grounds. Among them are Alice, Bill, Marcy, Jack, Brenda, Ned, and Annie. Our first victim is Annie. Yeah, that made me sad. Annie was the first one to die, and I thought she was probably the hottest out of all the titties you see in that movie. I wish I could have seen Annie's. Anyways, a cheerful young woman hitchhiking her way to camp. Along the road, she encounters crazy Ralph. The fucking uh Harbinger, dude. He's yeah. You're all gonna die. The town drunk and an unofficial prophet of doom. Ralph warns her repeatedly, You're doomed. You're all doomed. Which honestly is pretty solid voice advice at this point. But Annie ignores them because nobody listens to crazy old men in horror movies until their heads end up in a freezer. After accepting a ride from a mysterious woman, Annie realizes something is wrong. The driver passes the camp entrance. Panic sets in. Annie leaps from the moving vehicle and attempts to escape the woods, but the unseen killer catches her and slits her throat. Meanwhile, the remaining counselor is setting in into camp life. Yeah, I don't know. You fucking roll up and got a job to be a camp counselor, and this dude's still like fixing it up and shit. Like, I didn't sign on for that. Is that shit in my job description, bro? I ain't fucking being a carpenter and all that shit. Anyways, they're all laughing, swimming, playing strip monopoly, making coffee, and naturally screwing around. Ned disappears first after spotting something strange. Nobody thinks much of it. Because apparently disappearing friends are just part of camp orientation. Jack and Marcy eventually sneak off for sex. At least somebody's having a good time. Which in horror movies is basically signing your own death certificate. Marcy leaves to use the bathroom. Jack remains behind, and as he relaxes in bed, an arrow erupts through his throat. Kevin Bacon. One of Tom Savini's greatest practical effects ever. Marcy fares no better. She meets her end moments later. Bodies continue piling up. Brenda hears a child's voice calling for help. Help! Help me. Think if someone is in danger, she ventures outside. Bad fucking idea. Because compassion gets people killed in slashers, you dumb fuck. Rule of thumb, don't fucking care about anybody. Don't get emotionally attached. Mind your fucking business. Steve Christie returns to camp, only to become another victim. Bill is later found penned to a door with arrows, which I wondered about that. Like, would arrows be able to hold up your body weight if you were suspended by them? I don't know. But anyways, and poor Alice slowly realizes something terrible is happening. One by one, her friends have vanished. Night falls, rain pours, and the atmosphere becomes increasingly claustrophobic. Then comes the reveal. Mrs. Pamela Voorhees arrives. At first she seems kind, motherly, relieved. To find Alice alive, but then she begins talking and talking and talking. And suddenly it becomes clear she's completely fucking insane. Pamela reveals the truth. Her son Jason drowned in 1957, neglected by camp counselors who were busy fucking. The murders in 1958? That was her. The murders happening now? Also her. She speaks in Jason's voice, which is fucking creepy, you creepy bitch. Carrie carries on conversations with herself, like, fuck. And believes she's avenging her little boy. What follows is one of Hora's greatest finales. Alice fights desperately to survive. Pamela chases her across cabins and through the woods. Over the cabin and through the woods. Knives are swung, windows shattered, and eventually Alice gains the upper hand. Using a machete, she chops the bitch's head off. And just like that, the nightmare appears over. Police rescue Alice. The next morning she drifts peacefully in a canoe. Sunlight shines, birds chirp. Everything seems calm until fucking eight-year-old Jason, a rotting child, bursts from the lake and drags Alice into the water. One of the greatest jump scares in horror history. They weren't even gonna do that scene, but they felt like it needed something else, so they did that scene. And it became a fucking classic. Alice later awakens in the hospital. Police assure her no boy was found, but Alice quietly asks, then he's still there. And just like that, a legend is born. Atmosphere and cinematography. Friday the 13th thrives on simplicity, mostly because it had a low as fuck budget. The camp itself feels isolated. The cabins, the lake, the dirt roads, the endless woods, everything feels believable. Camp Crystal Lake feels like a place you've actually visited, which somehow makes the horror even more effective. Sean S. Cunningham uses slow pacing and long shots to create tension. You constantly feel like somebody is watching. Harry Manfreddy's score is legendary. The kick kh sound has become one of the most recognizable audio cues in horror history. Yeah, if I could turn that into a fucking textone, I would. That's a good idea. And Tom Savini's practical effects, absolute perfection. From Jack's arrow through the neck death to Pamela's decapitation, the gho remains impressive over 40 years later. The film's rainy climax adds another layer of atmosphere. Darkness. Thunder. Cabins illuminated by lightning. It's simple, but it fucking works. Budget, box office, and ratings. Released in 1980. Director Sean S. Cunningham. Budget, approximately 550,000. Worldwide box office, approximately 59.8 million, bitch, in 1980. Rotten Tomatoes Critics Score, approximately 66%. Rotten Tomatoes Audience score, approximately 60%. IMDB rating 6.4 out of 10. The movie became a massive financial success, and everybody fucking jocked its nuts, dude. And in doing so, launched one of the greatest horror franchises in history. Reflection. Friday the 13th isn't just the movie. In fact, it was the very first horror movie I ever fucking watched. I think I was five years old. That's probably not. Don't judge me, bitch. Don't judge my mom's parenting. It is what it is. It made me who I am today. It's a cultural phenomenon. Without it, there is no Jason, no hockey mask, no endless sequels, no Camp Crystal Lake, no countless slashers trying to imitate its success. It transformed summer camps into places of terror. And it gave horror fans one of the greatest franchises ever created. But more importantly, it understood the power of simplicity. You don't need complicated mythology. In fact, the fucking story don't even make sense. You don't need giant budgets, you just need a terrifying setting, memorable kills, great atmosphere, and characters you enjoy spending time with. 46 years later, people still gather around campfires and talk about Jason Voorhees. That's legacy. That's immortality. And that's why Friday the 13th earns our number one spot. Because it comes to summer camp horror, nothing else comes fucking close. Long live Camp Crystal Lake! Long live Camp Crystal Lake! And remember, my friends, if some crazy old bastard named Ralph tells you you're fucking doomed, you might want to listen. Final reflection. You know, when most people think about summer camp, they think about simpler times. Campfires, swimming, first crushes, bad food, mosquito bites, poisoned ivy, and memories that'll stay with you forever. For some of us, summer camp was the first taste of freedom, the first time away from home, the first heartbreak, the first time we saw a teddy, the first time we discovered girls weren't aliens and boys weren't complete idiots. Well, maybe boys were complete idiots. And things have never changed. But horror movies have always understood interesting things about summer camp. It's temporary. You're surrounded by strangers. You're always away from home. You're isolated. And for that first time in your life, mom and dad aren't there. Suddenly the world feels bigger and scarier. Maybe that's why summer camps make such perfect settings for horror movies. Because growing up is scary as fuck. Leaving childhood behind is scary. Realizing the world isn't always safe is scary. And maybe that's why these stories continue to resonate generation after generation. Because beneath the mass killers, the ghosts, the monsters, and the blood, these stories are really about loss, about loss of innocence, about growing up, and about discovering that not every happy story has a happy ending. Tonight, we heard stories from listeners. We explored real-world tragedies and hauntings. We laughed like a couple of immature fucktards. And we celebrated six films that turned Summer Camp into one of horror's greatest playgrounds. From Billy Murphy to Madman Mars, from Cropsey to Tommy Slater, and finally, the legend himself, Jason Voorhees. These characters became campfire stories for horror fans, modern myths, Boogeyman we grew up with. And honestly, we wouldn't have it any other way. Because deep down, horror fans are just kids sitting around a qu campfire, trying to scare each other, laughing too hard, telling stories, and hoping the night never ends. But eventually, the fire burns low, the lanterns go out, and it's time to hand back to the cabin. Just make sure you don't hear someone calling your name from the woods, and if you do, whatever you do, don't whistle back. Well, my creeps, the campfire is burning low, the cabins are quiet, and hopefully you've checked under your bunk bed before turning off the lights. Tonight, we shared your stories. Bob ruined summer camp with real-world hauntings and unsolved tragedies. We acted like a couple of fucking idiots, and we celebrated six movies that taught generations of horror fans one very important lesson. Never trust horny camp counselors, and for the love of God, stay out of the fucking woods. Thank you for spending another night with us here on Echoes in the Dark. Original stories, true hauntings, and horror genre explored. If you enjoyed tonight's episode, be sure to follow the show, leave us a rating, and share us with your fellow creeps. Word of mouth helps this little campfire keep burning. Have a creepy story of your own? Seen something you still can't explain? Or maybe you've got a local legend from your hometown that deserves its moment in the dark. Send your listeners submissions to Hopewell Hollow1993 at gmail.com. Again, that's Hopewell Hollow1993 at gmail.com. Your story just might end up on a future episode. And don't forget to stop by the holo shop for official merch. Grab yourself a t-shirt, hoodie, mug, or something creepy to let the world know you're part of the Echoes family. And while you're at it, be sure to check out my novel, Hopewell Hollow, available now. If you love small town mysteries, supernatural horror, and stories where nothing is quite what it seems, I think you'll feel right at home in Hopewell. From myself and the nicotine-fueled cryptid known as Makab Bob, thank you for joining us around the campfire tonight. Until next time. Sleep with the lights on.

SPEAKER_00 1:37:03

Keep one eye open and remember when you're lying in bed tonight and you hear something, it's probably just your imagination.

SPEAKER_14 1:37:15

Or is it Stay Wide Away. Stay wide away.

SPEAKER_15 1:37:28

Stay wide away.

SPEAKER_16 1:37:39

Campside, leaning crooked, mudded on the path, lantern in the cabin, burning in the glass. Kids heard a snap crack down by the lake. I saw two red eyes blink once in the lake. Keep your shoes on, your voice low. Your name do not go. Treat line moving like it got the breath. And every footprint slow, step by step. Listen like follow, don't riff, don't straight. When the woods get quiet, that's the worst part they say. Submit your stories, leave them at the gate. If you hear that happen, it already came. Stay wide of it, stay wide of it, don't fall asleep, don't fall asleep. Stay to wide away. Stay. Council look on missing docks do it. One more step, the footsteps, we ain't left yet. The back was laughing from the hilltop line. Every five got smaller at the same damn time. Found a dough in the ash that run when you can and the tape turn black in my own. Stay wide away. Stay wide away. Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. Stay wide away. Stay wide away. Stay wide away. Some of God, teeth in it, nose tonight.

SPEAKER_14 1:39:23

Stay wide away.

SPEAKER_15 1:39:25

Stay wide away.

unknown 1:39:27

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

SPEAKER_16 1:39:37

Eccles as the dog got your long after the flame footprints in the buttons spell out your name. I tried to laugh it off, tried to act brave, but the cabin dog breathing made me babe.

SPEAKER_14 1:39:50

Stay wide oy.

SPEAKER_16 1:39:52

Stay wide oy. Don't fall asleep, don't fall asleep. Stay wide away.

SPEAKER_02 1:40:00

Stay wide.

SPEAKER_16 1:40:04

Someone got teeth and it knows your name. Stay wide oy.

SPEAKER_15 1:40:11

Stay wide.

SPEAKER_14 1:40:16

Stay wide away.

SPEAKER_16 1:40:20

Stop that merch if you make it out a lie.