Sure enough, that night after dinner, we came back to the Muskrat Hut and found it was a disaster area—like maybe a hurricane or a tornado had hit our home away from home.
On the outside, the cabin looked normal. But when we went inside and turned on the light, it was like there’d been an explosion at a shaving cream factory.
It was everywhere—on the floor, on the windows, on the beds. Especially on my bed.
And that wasn’t all. They’d gone after Norman, big-time. Besides the shaving cream, there was tape all around his bunk, like it was some kind of toxic waste dump. They’d also put up these stupid signs that said DANGER and KEEP OUT and BOOGER ZONE.