Camp Half Blood Cabins Novels & Stories

Wren raised her hand to grab the keys but I snatched it and walked away knowing she would follow. Cabin 7. It was a small cabin, heavy with the smell of damp wood and faint sandalwood. It was humid inside. It was a study room, it had the equipment to store the project species and tables at each side for the students. Our beds were in a separate block. There were two blocks, one had the girls bunkhouse and the other had boys bunkhouse.

She was getting better at reading when to stay quiet. The drive took another hour once we left the city limits. By the time the buses pulled into the campgrounds the sky had gone that flat gray that always came before evening. Cabins sat in neat rows between the trees. A wide river cut through the far side of the property, dark and slow. I felt something cold move under my ribs the second I saw it. I looked away fast. Teachers started calling out cabin lists the moment we stepped off the bus. Hockey team in the larger cabins near the clearing. Cheerleaders in the ones closer to the main lodge. The rest of us got mixed into whatever was left.

There wasn’t even a couch in the cramped living quarters, just a fold out table and a plastic chair. A single, solitary bed sat against the far wall, its four-poster frame rusted and peeling in some areas. “This place is an infection waiting to happen.” I muttered, trudging into the cabin barefoot and cranky. The boots on my feet were slick with mud, so I kicked them off onto the small front porch. Nox followed close behind. He whistled when he saw the state of the place. “Hope you’re up to date on your vaccinations.” “Ha-ha.” I deadpanned.

And that’s why I love Greta. The Horror Camp was a good one. I got to Spring City the day before, because the gates would open at five for the campers, and I needed to have it all set at least an hour or two earlier than that. It’d been raining over the last couple of days, so I didn’t camp out in the tiny clearing, but in Tinicum Hall’s dayroom.

I didn’t need the Shadow witches asking questions and Katrina really didn’t give a crap what we did since she wasn’t an active Shadow. As soon as we landed at Blood Claw, the stench of old death permeated my nose, almost making me gag. “Fuck man,” Hunter groans, waving the air. “We need to get someone to clean this place up. I mean were they just going to leave it like this? Could at least be hunting grounds if nothing else. Especially with the few cabins that are still around,” Chance says. “Yeah I’ll mention it,” I say, starting toward the main packhouse.

Xavier wondered how they had not even caught her by her scent and then he quickly remembered that she was also a Damon and they knew how to hide their scents. “Should we check inside?” one of them asked. “I don’t think so,” another grunted. “I’ve heard lots of terrible legends about cabins in the middle of the woods. Most of them have been said to be possessed by evil witches and once you get in, you are cursed and you can’t get out again.”

He still has some detractors but there's nothing much they can do about it. I was about to return when something stopped me. I wanted to know if the victim was able to survive. There was something which urged me to help whoever it is. I continued to follow the blood's scent. Shortly after, I came upon a familiar sight. It was a place on the other side of the river, cabins were settled inside a protected fence made out of sharpened woods and silver spikes, to fend off werewolves and vampires.

And with that, he melted back into the shadows, leaving Ayden seething, Liam unsettled, and the pack’s secrets one step closer to unraveling.(Felix’s POV) The vampire stronghold was carved into the cliffs like a cathedral of shadow, its stone halls lit only by crimson glass torches that flickered with unnatural flame. The air was thick with incense and iron, a subtle perfume that masked the ever-present tang of blood. I moved easily through the grand chamber, my footsteps echoing. I felt eyes following me from the balconies

It was dark out as Hunter pulled up to the tiny one-bedroom cabin in the middle of the woods. It was one of his many safe-houses scattered around the territory. I grabbed my duffle bag from the back seat as I surveyed our surroundings, making sure we were alone. There were no signs of life in the small clearing. The cabin was dark save for a security light that clicked on as Hunter approached the porch. With the light, I could make out the backend of a vehicle covered with a tarp parked around the side along with a small shed about twenty feet from the main building.

By the time night fell, I’d accepted three things. 1. The Varyn House had a mood. 2. My crowbar, Brenda Classic, was my closest friend. 3. I was officially cohabiting with a vampire. Honestly? I’d had worse roommates. The lights above the kitchen table flickered lazily. The bulbs hummed even when the switch was off — like Brenda herself was breathing through the wires. I was surrounded by three coffee mugs, one bleeding pen, and a notebook labeled Operation Anti-Crispy.