Camp Christopher was nestled deep in the woods of Bath, Ohio. Known for its sprawling trees, serene lake, and seemingly endless summer activities, the camp was a haven for children every year. This particular summer in the late 1960s was no different—until something sinister began to stir in the shadows.
It was the last week of camp, and the theme was “Anything Goes Week,” a time when counselors and campers alike indulged in playful pranks and mischievous antics. Excitement buzzed in the air about the upcoming Mummy Night, a beloved tradition where counselors would dress up in scary costumes and try to frighten the campers during a hike through the woods under the full moon. As the sun set and the campers gathered around the bonfire, the counselors, led by Jake, told ghost stories to set the mood. The flames flickered, casting eerie shadows as Jake recounted the legend of “The Log Man,” a deranged woodsman who once lived in these very woods, preying on unsuspecting victims. The story sent shivers down everyone’s spine, but they laughed it off, attributing it to Jake’s storytelling prowess.
In the days leading up to Mummy Night, strange occurrences plagued the camp, initially dismissed as elaborate pranks. The first prank left the campers waking up to find deep, jagged carvings etched into the trunks of the Black Willow trees surrounding the camp. The once smooth, bark-covered surfaces were marred by grotesque images of twisted faces and figures, their expressions frozen in eternal agony. The carvings were unsettlingly detailed, as if someone had spent hours meticulously crafting each horrifying image. The counselors dismissed it as an elaborate prank, but an unsettling feeling lingered among the campers.
The second prank brought a more disturbing sight: the camp’s canoes, usually securely docked, were found floating upside down in the lake, their oars scattered along the shore like discarded bones. The once serene lake now looked like a scene from a nightmare, with the canoes drifting aimlessly on the water’s surface. The campers whispered nervously among themselves, their imaginations running wild with possibilities. The counselors tried to reassure them, insisting it was just another prank, but the sense of unease grew stronger.
The third prank turned sinister: the camp’s food supplies were discovered spoiled and strewn across the kitchen. The air was thick with a rancid stench that made the campers gag as they entered the mess hall. The walls were smeared with a dark, sticky substance that appeared brown in the dim light, and the entire room seemed to pulsate with an unseen malevolence. The substance had a sickly sweet odor that mixed with the stench of decay, creating an unbearable atmosphere. Fear began to take hold of the campers, and whispers of The Log Man spread through the camp like wildfire.
Finally, the night of Mummy Night arrived. The campers were both excited and nervous as they donned their flashlights and set off into the forest. The counselors, dressed in a variety of terrifying costumes—zombies, vampires, and ghouls—hid in the woods, ready to jump out and scare the kids. The air was thick with tension, every rustle and snap of a twig making them jump. The group, led by Jake, accidentally wandered off the path, deeper into the woods than intended.
As they ventured deeper into the woods, signs of something wrong became more evident: a dead bird hanging from a tree, its eyes gouged out, and fresh, deep claw marks on tree trunks. The campers tried to brush it off as part of the night’s scares, but a sense of dread hung over them.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the night. It was one of the counselors who had wandered off to set up a scare. The group rushed towards the sound, only to find the counselor unconscious, hanging from a tree, eyes wide open in terror and throat slit from ear to ear. Panic set in, and the campers and counselors scattered, running in different directions.
Jake tried to keep everyone together, but chaos reigned. He called out for the campers to regroup, but the forest was a labyrinth of shadows and fear. He stumbled upon a dead body impaled on a broken tree branch, insides hanging out like grotesque decorations. The sight was horrific, with blood pooling around the base of the tree and flies beginning to gather. Jake felt bile rise in his throat but forced himself to move on, knowing he had to find the others.
Another dead body was discovered next, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, mouth open in a silent scream. The forest floor around was stained with blood, and the smell of death permeated the air. Jake could hardly recognize the body, the face contorted in such extreme terror that it seemed inhuman. He knelt beside the body, his hands trembling as he checked for any signs of life, but it was too late.
Jake and a few remaining counselors stumbled upon Devil’s Cave, a small, notorious hideout known for its dark history. Desperate for safety, they barricaded themselves inside. The cave was filled with old, bloodstained tools and shackles, evidence of unspeakable horrors that had taken place there. The air inside was thick with the scent of rust and decay, and the walls seemed to close in on them. They knew they weren’t safe, but it was the only shelter they had. Scattered around the cave were familiar items from the week’s pranks: a broken canoe paddle, a fake bloody knife, and pieces of the Black Willow carvings. The realization dawned on them that the pranks were not the work of mischievous campers or counselors, but something far more malevolent.
As they huddled together, trying to catch their breath, they heard faint, eerie whispers echoing through the cave. “When the log rolls over, we’ll all be dead. When the log rolls over, we’ll all be dead.” The words sent chills down their spines, and they realized that this was no prank—it was a warning.
Suddenly, they heard footsteps outside. A shadowy figure appeared at the entrance, its face obscured by a tattered hood. The figure stepped into the dim light, revealing itself as The Log Man. His hulking figure, blood-soaked hands, and twisted grin filled the cave with palpable terror. As he advanced, his eyes gleaming with malice, it became clear that he was no ordinary man—he was a demon, his true form revealing itself in the flickering light.
Jake fought bravely, grabbing a rusted axe from the corner of the cave and swinging it wildly. The Log Man was unstoppable. He easily deflected the blows, laughing maniacally as he did. With a powerful swipe, he threw Jake across the cave, his head smashing against the wall with a sickening crack. Jake’s vision blurred, and the last thing he saw was The Log Man advancing on the other counselors.
The counselors screamed as The Log Man advanced, his eyes glowing with unholy fire. One counselor, in a desperate attempt to save the others, stepped forward, wielding a makeshift weapon—a piece of broken wood. They engaged The Log Man in a fierce struggle, buying precious moments for the others to escape. The counselor was heroic, landing blows and deflecting the demon’s attacks. But The Log Man was relentless. He grabbed the counselor, pulling them close and whispering something inaudible before slashing their throat. Blood sprayed across the cave walls as the counselor collapsed, their sacrifice allowing the others a chance to flee.
The remaining counselors ran blindly through the woods, their hearts pounding in their chests. They could hear The Log Man behind them, relentless in his pursuit. One counselor, Timmy, stumbled and fell, scrambling to get back on his feet. As he ran, he felt a warm, wet sensation in his pants. He had pooped himself in sheer terror.
Timmy burst out of the woods and onto the main campgrounds, collapsing in a heap. The other campers and counselors found him there, trembling and incoherent. They tried to comfort him, but the horror in his eyes told them everything. Mummy Night was over, but the nightmare had only just begun.
As dawn broke over Camp Christopher, the full extent of the carnage was revealed. The story of The Log Man became the stuff of legend. But for those who survived, the memory of that night would haunt them forever, especially Timmy, who could never forget the terror that made him soil his pants.
The True Horror of Camp Christopher
The events of that fateful night in the summer of 1967 are etched into the collective memory of Bath, Ohio. Local authorities conducted extensive investigations, and criminal records from that time still exist, detailing the gruesome discoveries and the testimonies of the surviving campers and counselors.
Eyewitness accounts describe a towering figure with blood-streaked clothing and a twisted smile, a maniacal presence that seemed almost supernatural. Many of the counselors who survived were too traumatized to return to the woods, their nightmares filled with the haunting chant: “When the log rolls over, we’ll all be dead.”
Over the years, skeptics have tried to debunk the story, but the chilling details remain consistent. The carved trees, the defiled kitchen, and the ghastly scenes in Devil’s Cave all point to something far more sinister than a mere campfire tale. Some locals swear they still hear eerie whispers in the woods on quiet nights, and sightings of a shadowy figure continue to be reported.
For those who lived through it, the horror of Camp Christopher is all too real. It serves as a grim reminder that sometimes, the monsters in our stories are more than just figments of our imagination. They are the embodiment of our deepest fears, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.