“Old Custom”

by Strelnikov
Copyright 2004 by the author


Author’s Note: As often happens, the characters took this story away from me. It ended up almost novella length, 36 pages of 10-point type. I’ve split it up into three posts – you may want to download it and read it offline. Enjoy!



Friday

Meghan Williams took her book out onto the screened back porch after lunch. Meghan had graduated from high school in this Toronto suburb a few days before. She was slender and attractive, a little taller than medium height. She had shoulder-length wavy dark brown hair, gray eyes, and the sort of fair skin that freckles on the way to a suntan. At age 18, Meghan was a work in progress, pretty enough but no great beauty. In a few more years, she would be absolutely stunning.

Meghan sat on the wicker sofa and drew her feet up. She was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Spring came late in this region near the Great Lakes, but the June Friday afternoon was warm – she hadn’t bothered with shoes.

She looked up from her book when her brother Adam came onto the back porch. “Looking forward to your summer job, sis?” he asked. He was 20, dark-haired and gray-eyed like his sister, a big guy who had played high-school hockey and the Canadian version of football. He had just finished his sophomore year at Commonwealth University in the States – like many schools in the Northern USA, CU aggressively recruited Canadians for their hockey program. She had been accepted there too, and would be joining him the coming fall.

Meghan’s smile was dazzling. “I sure am,” she replied. “Mom always said what a great time she had when she worked at the Lodge years ago.”

“Well, I guess we won’t see much of each other this summer, so…”

Adam lunged and grabbed up Meghan’s ankles in an arm lock.

“Hey! Take off! NOOOOO! HAHAHAHA-HEEHEE-HAHA-HAHAHA!” Meghan laughed as his tickling fingernails flicked and scratched her sensitive soles. Her tickle laugh was like her singing voice, musical and not the least bit scratchy.

Meghan hated to be tickled, which of course just encouraged her brother. He had tickled her feet at least once a week the whole time they were growing up. The time he had spent at college had been a welcome relief, but he more than made up for it when he was at home. Now, she laughed helplessly while his nails traced circles and other tickling shapes in her arches, not making much contact but tickling like crazy.

Adam shifted down her arches onto her heels, tickling both with one big hand. He let her catch a breath, then tickled up onto her arches again, and she knew from experience what was coming next. She struggled, squirming like a worm and laughing like mad, but he was just too strong – she was had.

Adam tickled Meghan’s soles, left-right-and-repeat, watching her toes twitch and curl. He tickled the balls of both feet, and her laughter went off the scale. It tickled unbearably – she was helpless now, red-faced, laughing at the top of her lungs, with tears of laughter running down her cheeks. He kept it up until Meghan thought she would go crazy.

“Adam! Stop it!” Dad said. Like Adam, he had ditched work to see Meghan off.

Adam quit and released the arm lock. “That should hold you for the rest of the summer, eh?” he said with a grin.

“Hoser!” Meghan said angrily.

Mom gave both of them an odd look. “It’s about a two hour drive, Meghan,” she said. “We better get going.” Her eyes were brown, but otherwise she was an older version of her daughter, still trim in her mid-40’s.

The car was already packed. Meghan wasn’t really angry at Adam – the tickling was old custom, something she had learned to endure. She hugged him and promised to call.

“Keep the shiny side up, Cheryl,” Dad said. “Drive hard – drive fast – stay between the ditches,” Adam added. The men waved to the women as they drove off.

Their destination was Lakeshore Lodge, a small resort in the Muskoka region, on the south end of Sparrow Lake. It catered to budget-conscious families with children – school was finally out for the summer, so it opened for the season tomorrow. It was run on the so-called American Plan, with housekeeping and all meals provided as part of the package – that meant that the moms got a vacation too.

Lakeshore Lodge was a mom-n-pop operation; the proprietors, Bob and Sue McKenzie, were the third generation of owners, taking over after Bob’s parents retired. Meghan had found the job through the most basic form of networking: Young Cheryl Flynn and Sue Palmer had worked there together years ago, and they still stayed in touch with Christmas cards and email.

They headed north on Highway 400, suburbs shading off into scattered houses and then to farms and orchards. They came to the Highway 11N exit in about an hour. Another 20 minutes took them to the outskirts of Orillia, on the northern end of Lake Simcoe. The afternoon sun shone brightly over the blue water.

“Sparrow Lake isn’t blue like that,” Mom said. “Peat bottom instead of sand. But it’s pretty in its own way, lots of trees. Lake Simcoe is too developed to suit me.”

They continued north on Highway 11 for another 20 minutes, running parallel to Lake Couchiching. This region was in the transition zone between northern temperate forest and boreal forest, hardwoods giving way to pine and silver birch. The soil was thin, scraped away by glaciers 10,000 years ago, exposing the black-figured pink granite bedrock in places.

A mile past Severn Bridge, Mom turned off on a two-lane blacktop regional road. “Fifteen more minutes,” she said.

The road ran west past dairy farms, which gave way to cottages and summer homes where the road turned south parallel to the Severn River. A mile further on, they turned west and crossed an old concrete bridge. The road on this side was narrower, rougher, without a center stripe.

“This road was gravel when I was working here,” Mom said. “The blacktop doesen’t look much better.”

They paralleled the Canadian National Railroad tracks, heading northwest. Northeastward across the tracks was a big complex of white clapboard buildings, and beyond them the lake. It appeared to be longer than it was wide. The water reflected the blue sky, but not as brilliantly as Lake Simcoe had.

“We’re almost there,” Mom said. “That’s the Collishaw House Resort. They have a convenience store, a gas dock and a bait shop too.”

“And a sushi restaurant, right?” Meghan said. “Today’s bait is tomorrow’s plate?”

Mom laughed. “Something like that,” she said.

The road crossed the tracks and headed northward. A quarter-mile later, they turned right onto a narrow graveled road marked with two mailboxes and a painted wooden sign: Lakeshore Lodge. The gravel was extremely fine, almost a very coarse sand, with calcium chloride mixed in to lay the dust.

The entrance road went through woods for 50 yards before crossing a marshy stream bed on a raised earthen causeway with a culvert in the middle. Just before the causeway, a narrow driveway went to the right toward the lake – there was a cottage with a car parked behind it. The woods closed in again just past the stream bed.

Mom went straight. The woods thinned out on the right, giving Meghan glimpses of the lake not far away. Then into an open area canopied by big old hardwood trees, with a sand beach on the right. On the left, well back from the entrance road, was a big white clapboard building with red shingles on the peaked roof. Another driveway split off to the left on the near side of the building. The road continued past the building, paralleling the shore.

“That’s the Lodge. End of the line,” Mom said, and parked in front of the building. Meghan checked her watch: 2:45 PM.

The building was H-shaped, with a screened porch that completely filled the space between the near-side legs; over the door was a sign with Lakeshore Lodge painted in Steamboat Gothic letters. Past the porch, the crossbar of the H held a corridor that faced an old-fashioned dark wood hotel registration counter. A sign on the counter proclaimed that fishing licenses were sold here, and there was a sales rack of summer stuff: post cards, cheap sunglasses, ball caps, sun block, bug dope. To the right, an archway gave onto a dining room furnished with big round tables. To the left, another archway opened into some sort of lounge. The interior of the place was painted a sunny yellow. The linoleum tile floor screamed its 1940’s vintage: alternating squares of teal green streaked with burnt orange, and burnt orange streaked with teal green.

No one was behind the counter. Mom dinged the hand-bell, and a woman came out of the office. She was about Mom’s age, with brown eyes and a few streaks of gray in her brown hair.

“Can I help– Cheryl! It’s been too long!” the woman said with a big smile. “And this must be Meghan.”

Mom smiled back. “Hi, Sue. Meghan, meet your boss, Sue McKenzie.”

Introductions made, Sue gave Meghan a clipboard with all those forms the tax-man needs. Meghan went into the lounge to fill them out while Mom and Sue caught up on the news in each other’s lives.

The lounge filled this whole upright of the H. It was bright and sunny, with lots of big windows, now open to the late spring air. At the end away from the lake was a stone fireplace with a dusty deer-head mount over the mantel. On one side of the archway was a book case filled with tattered summer-reading castoffs; on the other was a shelving unit that held rainy-day activities – board games, chess and checkers sets, playing cards and so forth. There were two card tables, each equipped with four straight chairs. The rest of the furniture was the ugly but indestructible sort found in the lobbies of budget hotels everywhere.

Another young woman stood up from one of the card tables, where she had been filling out paperwork like Meghan’s. She was a brunette with a few lighter highlights in her curly hair, very attractive, with a Rubenesque figure, bright hazel eyes, long dark lashes and the start of a summer tan. Like Meghan, she wore shorts, t-shirt and flip-flops.

“Hi,” the girl said. “You must be the other new girl. I’m Melanie Laurier – this is my first year here too.”

Meghan introduced herself. She found out that Melanie had found her job the same way as Meghan had: Gordon McKenzie, Bob and Sue’s younger son, roomed with Melanie’s brother Marc at York University in Toronto. Melanie was 18, and half way through Québéc’s CEGEP program, an education system similar to the junior college system in the States. She would finish a year from now and enter McGill University as a sophomore.

The name was québécois, but Melanie’s English was flawless – she was obviously a native speaker of the language. She said that she had grown up in a Québéc border town, and had relatives on both sides of the border. But she didn’t sound Canadian – rather, like a New Englander.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Melanie said. “We speak French at home. But Mom’s from Maine, and she made a point to speak English with Marc and me when we were little so we’d learn it painlessly.”

Meghan sat down to fill out the papers. Melanie sat in one of the armchairs and waited. They went back to the counter together.

The two women were still conversing, behind the counter now, laughing and joking with each other. Another girl had joined them – about medium height, pretty, brown-eyed, with wavy shoulder-length brown hair and a touch of olive in her complexion. She was dressed like the other girls – her t-shirt was pale blue, with a stylized Canada goose and Lakeshore Lodge printed on it in dark blue. She looked to be in her early 20’s.

“Finished? All right then,” she said, and took both sets of papers. “I’m Melissa Turner. Come with me, and I’ll get you set up.”

Melissa came around the counter and led the girls toward the dining room. This leg of the H had a corridor leading toward the back of the building – they turned left and headed back. Just inside the back door were two facing doors, the left one leading to the office and the right to the kitchen.

“Here’s how things work,” Melissa said as they went outside. “There’s eight of us, all girls. Three housekeepers, me and two others. Four kitchen staff – that includes you two – who also wait tables. One more who fills in for each of us on our off day.”

Outside the back door was a concrete stoop maybe 15 ft long and 5 ft wide, parallel to the upright of the H, with a set of concrete steps leading down parallel to the cross bar of the H. A double screen door opened onto the stoop from the kitchen – the stoop also functioned as a loading dock.

“Sunday through Friday, we each work five 6-hour days with one off day,” Melissa continued. “Housekeepers start while the guests are at breakfast and finish in early afternoon. Kitchen staff work two hours at each meal time. Two of you will come in early to help with the meal prep and cooking, the other two stay late to clean up.”

The three girls crossed a narrow graveled track behind the lodge and walked toward a smallish wood frame building about 25 yards behind. “Nobody gets Saturday off,” Melissa said. “That’s turnover day, and we all put in 10 hours. The last week’s guests have to check out by 9 AM, the next week’s can check in after 1 PM. You’ll work your regular breakfast and dinner shifts. In between, you’ll be cleaning and making up guest rooms, and whatever else needs doing. The guests who stay over have to make do with sandwiches and soft drinks for lunch.”

The building was clapboarded, red-shingled, with the roof ridge perpendicular to the lake shore. A screened porch covered the full length of the south or left side. There was already a car parked next to the building. Mom drove up just as they reached it.

Two guys came down off the porch to help with the luggage. Melanie introduced Meghan to her brother and Gordon. The guys unloaded both cars and moved the gear onto the porch just outside the inner door.

Mom hugged Meghan and left – she had another two-hour drive home ahead of her. The guys stayed – they would be working at the Collishaw House this summer, but didn’t have to report in for another hour or so. They introduced Meghan and Melanie to another of their co-workers, Ashley Collishaw.

Ashley’s family owned the Collishaw House – the Collishaws and McKenzies had traded heirs for the summer, old custom that avoided any resentment with their co-workers over nepotism. She was a pretty girl with straight light brown hair in a pony tail, blue eyes and the beginning of a tan. She was 20, the same age as Gordon and Marc, a student at Carleton University in Ottawa – she planned to enter the family business when she graduated. She was barefoot, in shorts and a t-shirt like Melissa’s.

Ashley and the guys sat in three of the cheap white plastic chairs and resumed their conversation. Meghan checked out the porch. It had five more chairs, a short clothesline at each end, and two bicycles leaning against the wall, the old-fashioned kind with foot brakes and no gears. A row of windows opened out from the interior of the building. The door was centered on the wall, with four pegs on the wall on either side. Six of the pegs held summer-weight jackets – evenings here were cool. Below each peg was a square cubby.

“Lose the shoes, ladies,” Melissa said, and kicked hers off into one of the cubbies. “Old custom.” Meghan and Melanie followed suit, gathered up their gear and followed Melissa inside.

“Welcome to The Swamp,” Melissa said. “Grab a bunk – the top two on the end near the bathrooms are open.”

The building was pretty basic, Meghan saw. The floor was bare planks, polished smooth by 60 years of sweeping and mopping. The joists and rafters were uncovered, exposing the inside of the plywood wall sheathing and roof. To the right of the door, just inside, was a wall mounted telephone next to a whiteboard for messages, and a small wooden table with four bent-cane chairs. To the left, the west end of the room had two bathrooms, with a washer, dryer and linen cabinet filling the space between the doors. Along the north wall, aligned with the windows, were four double bunks, with two footlockers at the end of each and free-standing wall lockers against the walls in between. The end of the building closest to the lake was furnished with a battered sofa and four arm chairs, rust-speckled chrome tubing and upholstered in green vinyl. Between the windows on that end was an entertainment center: TV, VCR, DVD, and a boom box stereo. A mock-Turkish rug completed the furnishings, in the middle of the seating group near the TV.

“Old Mr. McKenzie – Bob’s grandfather – was from Scotland,” Melissa said. “He knew the value of a dollar. He bought most of this stuff as army surplus right after World War II. The kitchen and dining room stuff too.”

Meghan looked closer at the bunks and lockers. They had been painted red long ago, but enough paint had chipped off to reveal the olive-drab paint underneath.

The blankets were surplus too, faded but clean, the black military C-Broad-Arrow mark barely visible against the olive. “Take two,” Melissa advised. “It gets down into the 50’s at night this time of year, and there’s no heat. D’you know how to make hospital corners?”

Each girl got a foot locker and two wall lockers. They made up their bunks and unpacked. Melissa told the others that she was 21, had worked here the past three years, and this was her last summer here. Next spring, she would graduate from Queen’s University in Kingston, with a degree in business. She worked extra unpaid hours, learning the business and getting academic credit for it. Someday, she hoped to run a place like this.

“Why all girls?” Melanie asked.

“The old man hired an all-girl crew the first year, in 1946, because girls would work cheaper back then,” Melissa replied. “It’s old custom by now. It probably violates some employment discrimination rule, but Bob and Sue have an arrangement with the Collishaws. The Collishaws have a much bigger staff, about half of them guys – our employers send qualified guys to them, and everybody’s happy.”

The final item was work clothes.

“Looks like you both wear a Medium. Change into one of these,” Melissa said, and gave each girl half a dozen t-shirts like her own. “You’ll both be working in the kitchen and waiting tables. Wear one of these shirts, jeans or dark pants, and closed toe shoes. We do our laundry every day here. Aprons are in the kitchen – those go to a laundry in Orillia, like the bed linen, towels and tablecloths.”

Meghan had just finished changing when she heard a burst of female laughter from the porch. The laughter got louder, wilder – the girl was laughing her head off.

“What– ” Meghan started, alarmed. It sounded like someone was getting tickled silly!

“That’s old custom too,” Melissa said. “Ashley’s playing with the guys.”

Meghan padded back out onto the porch, with Melanie and Melissa following behind. She saw that Ashley and the guys had their chairs arranged in a triangle. Ashley’s hands were tied behind her back. Marc had hold of Ashley’s left ankle, with her foot in his lap. Gordon had the other foot. Both were tickling her feet with skill and enthusiasm – she laughed helplessly, tears of laughter running down her cheeks.

“Why is she tied up? Why are they tickling her?” Melanie asked.

“She loves it,” Melissa answered. “Gordon’s been tickling her for years. As for why she’s tied up, it’s to keep her from hurting herself or the guys. They learned that the hard way.”

Bondage was something new for Meghan, something she had never considered. Adam was so much stronger that he just overpowered her, and took the occasional bump or bruise she inflicted in stride.

Gordon held back Ashley’s toes and tickled the soft skin underneath, then down onto the stretched-out sole. Marc tickled the other sole, watching the toes twitch and curl, then down the arch to the heel and back again. Ashley howled with forced mirth, her face turning pink from laughter.

“Great laugh, eh?” Gordon said, grinning. “Want us to save you some of this?”

Meghan stammered something in reply, but found she couldn’t look away. This was horrible! Poor Ashley! But… the girl wasn’t struggling, and didn’t seem to be in any distress. Maybe she did like being tickled.

“I guess not,” Marc said. “Let’s finish her off, Gordon – we have to leave soon.” Like his sister, he sounded like a New Englander.

The guys shifted their tickle target onto Ashley’s heels, their nails flicking and scratching. Ashley threw back her head and laughed at the top of her lungs. She was red faced and sweaty, laughing like mad, completely helpless. The guys picked up the pace, tickling as fast as they could. Ashley lost it and laughed herself breathless.

“Good one, guys,” said a female voice. Meghan looked around, startled, and saw that two more of her co-workers had come in to the porch.

“Wooo! That really tickled!” Ashley said, a little breathless. “I can still feel it. Come visit any time.”

Melanie hugged her brother, and the guys left. The others introduced themselves.

Andrea Turner was Melissa’s sister, 19 yrs old. She was a little shorter than Melissa, but had her sister’s build, coloring and features. Holly Nicholson was 20, and Ashley’s room mate at college – she was studying Mechanical Engineering. She was a pretty girl, not quite medium height, fit and trim looking, with curly shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes and flawless fair skin. Both wore shorts, flip-flops and Lakeshore t-shirts.

“Hey!” Ashley said. “Don’t just stand there! Give me more!”

Andrea laughed. “She’s weird, but we like her anyway,” she said.

“Yah, I’m weird,” Ashley said, grinning. “You newbies don’t know the half of it. But you’ll learn. Welcome to Lakeshore.”

Holly and Andrea kicked their flip-flops off into their cubbies. Holly went inside, returned with what appeared to be the cut-off legs of a pair of old nylons. Andrea and Holly took the seats the guys had vacated and used the nylons to tie Ashley’s ankles to the arms of their plastic chairs. That would let them tickle with two hands, Meghan realized – they were serious about this.

The girls started slow, teasing Ashley, light nail flicks that produced a stream of girlish giggles. “Don’t– hehe! –tease– haha!” she protested through the giggles. “Tickle– haha-hehe! –me– haha!” –sillee– hehehe!”

“No problem,” Holly said, and dug in. Andrea joined in, nails flicking. Ashley arched her back and laughed her head off.

Meghan didn’t know what to think. She hated tickling! Had she made a mistake coming here?

Both girls tickled two-handed, covering both of Ashley’s feet with unbearable tickling. They shifted their effort to Ashley’s heels, and Ashley went wild, laughing at the top of her lungs.

Melissa checked her watch. “Get your shoes,” she said. “I’ll take you over to the kitchen and introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

The sound of Ashley’s ticklish laughter followed them. It dropped back to little giggles – the others were giving her a breather. Then she was laughing wildly again as they picked up the pace.

“D’you do this all the time?” Meghan asked as they walked.

Melissa saw Meghan’s unease. “Relax,” she said. “It’s only tickling – she enjoys it, and it won’t hurt her. She’s our friend – we’re happy to do it.”

Better her than me, thought Meghan. Ashley kept on laughing, loving every bit of it.

They met Bob McKenzie supervising the kitchen. He ran the food service here – his wife had charge of the housekeeping. He was a balding middle-aged guy whose impressive bay window suggested that he liked his own cooking a little too much. Melissa introduced the girls and left.

Bob introduced their other two co-workers. Meredith McKay was a petite girl with a cute shape, fair skin, bright blue eyes, shoulder-length silky blonde hair, and the wholesome good looks that one associates with “farmer’s daughter”. Tammy Reid was the same physical type, a little taller, with a long dark brown pony tail, green eyes, a girl-next-door face and a cheerful smile. Both were 19 yrs old – this was their second summer here.

They got to work. The time passed quickly. Meghan loaded potatoes into an industrial peeler, then cut them up for cooking. She cored and chopped lettuce for a salad, sliced tomatoes and onions. Before she knew it, it was 5:30.

The whole staff, Bob and Sue included, had dinner together at one of the big dining room tables and went over the next day’s program. Meghan and Melanie were the new kids, so they had kitchen cleanup detail. They got back to The Swamp around 6:30.

There was plenty of daylight left. At solstice, the sun didn’t set until after 9 PM, and it wouldn’t be completely dark until an hour later. But the westering sun didn’t provide much warmth. It was already starting to cool off.

The girls watched a movie on DVD, a sappy romantic comedy. Afterward, Ashley changed into jeans. “Come on, change clothes, and I’ll give you a tour of the property,” she said, and added a pair of socks. “You’ll want a jacket or sweat shirt too.”

Melanie followed Ashley’s example. Meghan didn’t bother. It was still 45 minutes before sundown, and it wasn’t all that chilly yet. And besides, she was warm natured.

The three girls went outside together. Ashley faced them toward the lake. They were on a gentle rise, looking over the lodge roof toward the beach and the lake beyond, with the setting sun behind them.

“We’re facing east, more or less,” Ashley said. “Let’s start at the beach and work our way around.”

The graveled track behind the lodge curved around the south side of the building. About even with the crossbar of the H was a broad avenue cut into the woods. Another white clapboard building stood there, its long side backed up against the woods on the west. It looked like the Bates Motel, a prime example of 1950’s motel architecture. There was a wide roof overhang on the front, with concrete pavement from the front of the building to the edge of the overhang and scraggly grass to the woods on the lake side. A Steamboat Gothic sign on the near end said Oriole.

“This is the newest building on the site,” Ashley said. “Eight guest rooms.”

They came to the entrance road and continued toward the lake. The area near the road was tree-shaded, thin grass growing in sandy soil; beyond that was the beach. To their right was a swing set, monkey bars and a slide. Just past the playground was another wood frame building, about the size of The Swamp, oriented parallel with the shore.

“Boat house,” Ashley said, and led them inside. The boats had been moved out, but there were racks that held oars and canoe paddles, a row of pegs with life jackets hanging from them, and a pile of flotation cushions. There was battered foosball game table to the right of the door, and a ping-pong table in the middle of the room. A dozen garbage cans stood along one wall. Four tall stacks of nesting green plastic mock-Adirondack chairs stood in a corner.

Back outside, they walked down the beach to the water’s edge. The beach was bordered on the south by a patch of scrub willow, on the north by more tree-shaded lawn. There was a metal slide in the shallow water to their left, a wooden platform a short distance offshore, and another platform further out on an anchored oil-drum raft. The dock was on their right, on the south. Three aluminum row boats were tied to the dock, two aluminum-framed plastic canoes were drawn up on the shore to the right of the dock. Another canoe, this one aluminum-skinned, was upside down at the edge of the scrub willow patch – it leaked, Ashley said. They walked out onto the floating dock – the water was clear, sand bottomed.

“This is an artificial beach,” Ashley said. “Ours is too, at Collishaw House. The trick is to wait until mid-winter, then dump truckloads of sand on the ice and grade it out. It places itself when the ice melts.”

Meghan swatted at a mosquito – the willow scrub must be full of them, she thought. The girls walked back toward the lodge and turned right onto the access road. The road curved slightly, closer to the shore, lined on the lake side by a row of silver birch trees. To the left was more tree-shaded lawn.

Another clapboard building stood on the left, about 25 yards north of the lodge, separated from it by an upthrust of exposed granite bedrock. It was big, two-storied, with a porch all the way across the front. The sign over the porch entrance said Alouette.

“Sixteen guest rooms, eight on each floor,” Ashley said.

They continued along the road. “Mind if I ask you something, Ashley?” Meghan asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Why do you let people tickle you like that?”

“I like to be tickled – always have. It’s the way I’m wired.” She paused. “No, that’s not an answer. Let’s see...”

“OK,” Ashley continued. “Sensation is what lets us know we’re alive, right? Well, a good tickling produces an overload of sensation. It drives me crazy while it’s happening, but... At the same time, it doesen’t. I just let go and let it carry me away. It’s exhilirating and... liberating, I guess. Does that make any sense?”

“I never thought of it that way,” Melanie said, “but it does make sense. It can even be fun – sort of – depending on who’s doing it to me.”

But it didn’t make sense to Meghan – she thought of tickling as “sadistic torture inflicted by siblings”, and nothing she had heard encouraged her to change her mind.

Forty yards further north was a similar two-story building, but smaller. The sign on this one said Bobolink. Across the road, near the lake, was another clapboard structure about the size of a big walk-in closet.

“Twelve rooms, six and six,” Ashley said. “The little building across the road is the well house. Now look over here.”

She led them to the shore near the well house. Here, it was armored against the winter ice with gray stone rip-rap, oblong rocks the size of a carry-on suitcase. The rocky border extended north, and terminated at the edge of the beach on the south. But here, someone had laid three blocks as steps and upended two more, one on either side. At the bottom was a narrow strip of sand, a few feet wide. The lake bottom here appeared to be exposed granite bedrock. Twenty yards offshore was a huge, partially submerged flat-topped boulder, deposited there by the glacier, with a few water lilies growing around it. The portion above water was about 10 ft long and 7 ft wide.

“The beach is for the guests,” Ashley said. “If you want to swim, come here. No one will bother you.”

Except the mosquitos, Meghan thought, and slapped another one off her neck.

Ashley led them back to the road and 25 yards further north. To the left were two double cabins, like something out of a 1930’s tourist court, each with two guest rooms – the signs on these said Chickadee and Goldfinch. To their front was a tall hedgerow, with an opening closed with a cyclone fence double gate. A house was visible beyond, with a dock extending from the shore. The road continued past the gate to the house.

“Bob’s parents built the house,” Ashley said. “They have a place in town now that they’re retired – Bob and Sue live here now.” She indicated a middle-aged man putting a cover on a boat tied up at the dock. “That’s Bob’s brother Doug – he comes here on weekends to fish. He’s a beer distributor in town – Bob bought him out when he and Sue took the place over.”

They turned back, walking southward past the cabins. “These are actually the oldest buildings on the site,” Ashley said. “We get a lot of fishermen here – there’s bass, pike, walleye, and even a few muskies. Those are pretty rare, one meter is minimum “keeper” size these days. And panfish too, bluegills and perch mostly. The cabins were part of a fishing camp in the 1930’s. These were the best ones – the old man kept them when he tore the rest down to build the resort.”

The sun was already down behind the rise to the west of the site. Ashley led them between the cabins and Bobolink. The bedrock was exposed here and there behind the buildings; a graveled parking lot had been laid out in the most level spot. They crossed the parking lot – the driveway to it, Meghan realized, was the same one that ran along the back of the lodge. Three cars were parked in the back of the lot – Holly’s, Tammy’s, and another shared by the sisters, Ashley said. Her own was parked at her family’s place – it was an easy walk, a little under a mile.

Suddenly Meghan found herself swatting mosquitos. Swarms of them were coming out of the woods. She ran toward The Swamp. The flip-flops were no good for running – she stumbled, kicked them off and, abandoning all dignity, sprinted flat out for the safety of the screened porch.

Meghan was inside, scratching, when Ashley and Melanie came in. “Gonna listen to me next time?” Ashley asked.

“Take a shower,” Meredith said. She and the others who had stayed behind were already in their pajamas. “I’ll put some cortisone cream on those bites when you get out.”

Meredith had a lower bunk. After her shower, Meghan treated the bites she could reach, then plopped herself down on the bunk on her tummy. She was wearing a pair of old gym shorts and one of her brother’s t-shirts, both soft from many washings.

Meredith started applying the cortisone to the mosquito bites, starting at the top and working her way down. “They ate you alive, eh?” she remarked.

“Are they always that bad?” Meghan asked.

“Only after dark,” Meredith answered. “Unless you go walking in the woods – that’s just as bad during the day. OK, last one– ”

Meredith applied cream to a bite on the back of Meghan’s right ankle, then playfully danced her nails from heel to toes.

“Hehehe! Quit!” Meghan said sharply, and snatched her foot away.

“Knock it off, Meredith,” Melissa said. “We don’t have time to play – we have to be up early tomorrow. Lights out in 10 minutes.”

Melissa had the bottom bunk nearest the front wall of the building – Ashley, Tammy and Meredith had the others. Andrea bunked above her sister, Holly above Ashley, then Meghan and Melanie, who was closest to the bathrooms.

Ashley flipped the light switch and called out, “Good night, all!” Within minutes, Meghan had drifted off to sleep.

Saturday

The eastern sky was just beginning to glow red when Meghan woke up. A sound in the distance – bagpipes? Could she be imagining it?

But the room was chilly. She rolled over, snuggled back into the blankets and went back to sleep.

They were up and dressed at 5:30, just before sunrise. Bob and Sue handed out assignments over a breakfast of cereal and coffee and everybody got to work. Bob loaded the Adirondack chairs and the garbage cans into the pickup and distributed them around the site. Sue supervised the housekeeping. Melissa, Andrea and Tammy prepped Alouette – last-minute sweeping and dusting, and making up the rooms. Ashley, Holly and Meredith had Bobolink and the cabins.

Meghan and Melanie swept out the dining room, corridors and lounge in the lodge, and then made up the rooms in Oriole. The Bates Motel motif was continued inside, with knotty pine furniture and a black tile border above the white bathroom wall tiles. Carpet holds sand and moisture, both undesireable in a place like this – the rooms were floored with alternating linoleum squares in 1950’s shades of tan and brown.

They finished by 11:00 and met at the kitchen. The girls compared notes – what time did you finish making up your rooms? Tammy finished last, by about five minutes.

“Oh shit!” Tammy said, with feeling. The other five returning workers grinned. Meghan looked to Melanie and got a Gallic shrug in return.

They all had an early lunch. The five teased Tammy throughout the meal. Afterward, Meghan walked down to the beach – she was through until her dinner shift.

Check-in time was 1 PM, but early birds started arriving just before noon. The first were two cars in caravan, the leading car towing a boat on a trailer. They stopped at the edge of the beach. A family got out of the second car – two school-age boys and a couple in their early 30’s. A woman about the same age got out of the lead car with her kids, two boys and a little girl; her husband stayed in the car. The women got tote bags out of the car trunks, and everybody trooped off to the boat house.

The two men launched the boat, then drove the cars to the parking lot. The kids came running out of the boat house in their swimsuits and splashed into the lake. The moms sat in two of the Adirondack chairs to supervise. The men came back, cranked up the boat and headed across the lake to gas up. Meghan waved a greeting to the two women and left. She had a few hours – maybe she would read, or take a nap.

Meghan heard female laughter pouring out of the open windows as she approached The Swamp. She entered hesitantly – by her way of thinking, the situation was way over the top.

Tammy was the source of the laughter. She sat in one of the cane-back chairs, hands tied behind her back, a rope around her waist binding her to the chair. Her legs were extended, feet tied together and through the back of a facing chair, tied off to the top arch of the canes. Her big toes were tied together with string. Ashley kneeled at Tammy’s feet, sitting back on her heels, tickling two-handed. Her fingernails flicked and scratched, forcing stream after stream of ticklish laughter from her victim – Tammy’s dark pony tail whipped back and forth like a flag as she struggled against her bonds.

Ashley held back Tammy’s toes and drew fast, looping figure-eight’s around the balls of both feet. The loops got faster, tighter, covering each square inch of ticklish flesh. Tammy arched her back and laughed at the top of her lungs.

The other girls – even Melanie – were sitting on the footlockers and the other two chairs, enjoying the show. Holly looked up.

“Have a seat, Meghan,” Holly said. “This is another old custom. Tammy finished last with her guest rooms – this is her forfeit. You can have some of this if you want – you made up the rooms in Oriole, so you qualify.”

“I… don’t think so,” Meghan said.

“Suit yourself,” Holly said. She turned and called, “Hey Ashley, save some for the rest of us!”

Ashley quit and stood up, leaving Tammy gasping. “That was almost as much fun as getting tickled myself,” she said. “Who’s up next?”

“Me,” said Meredith. She gathered up a handful of things off the table – Meghan couldn’t make out what they were. Meredith kneeled at Tammy’s feet and laid the objects on the floor in front of her.

“Are you gonna let them do that to you?” Meghan asked Tammy.

Tammy blinked away tears of laughter. She had her breath back again. “Sure,” she said. “It won’t kill me, and I’ll have my revenge later – you’ll see!”

“Bold words,” Meredith said, and selected a piece of knotted twine. She threaded it between Tammy’s big and next toes and drew it back and forth, forcing a burst of ticklish laughter. She kept it up for a minute or so, then moved on, tickling between each pair. Meredith gave Tammy a breather, then held her toes back and flicked a paint brush on the stretched out soles, paying particular attention to the crease in the middle. Tammy was in the zone now, wild laughter pouring out of her.

“Amateur!” Andrea scoffed. “Wait ‘til you see what Melissa and me do to her!”

Meredith stuck out her tongue at Andrea. She switched to an inkless ball point pen, covering Tammy’s feet from toes to heels with various tickling shapes. Tammy squirmed and struggled, laughing her head off, trying desperately to pull her feet away. Meredith dropped the pen and attacked with her fingernails. She tickled two-handed down Tammy’s arches to her heels, then back to the soles again. She held Tammy’s toes back and tickled the balls of both feet, covering them with tiny nail flicks, and Tammy’s laughter went off the scale.

Meghan drew Melanie aside. “They’re crazy! Let’s get out of here before they come after us.”

“That’s not how I read them,” Melanie replied. “I don’t think they will – we’re not in the club yet. It’s kinda fun to watch though, isn’t it? Meredith shows real talent.”

“NO! I get enough tickling from my brother! Come on, let’s go, this is creeping me out.”

Melanie hesitated briefly, then agreed. Tammy kept on laughing, turning pink, tears running down her cheeks.

Meghan and Melanie had a little over four hours until they had to start dinner prep. It seemed like a good opportunity to swim and work on their tans – they changed to swim suits, grabbed their towels and cut across the back of the site to the stone steps.

The day was pleasant, in the mid-70’s. There wasn’t enough boat traffic yet to raise a chop on the water – the light breeze off the lake barely rippled its surface. The water was shallow, the rock bottom sloping gently away, just over 4 ft deep on the shore side of the big rock. It was warmer than Meghan expected – they paddled around for almost an hour, enjoying the day. But eventually Meghan shivered. She waded to the steps, then fetched their rolled towels out to the rock.

The girls spread their towels side-by-side on the rock and laid down on their tummies, heads pointed toward the shoreline. The sun warmed them. Meghan felt herself drifting off…

Plunk. Plunk.

Meghan raised her head, looked to both sides. It sounded like something falling into the water, but whatever it was, she couldn’t see it. She laid her head down and drifted again…

Plunk. Plunk.

There it was again! “Did you hear that?” she asked Melanie.

“Yah. Wonder what it is?”

“I looked but didn’t see anything.”

They relaxed again…

Plunk. Plunk.

Meghan rolled over and sat up. About 20 yards out, two guys about her age sat in an anchored boat – they must have drifted inshore on the breeze. Both wore broad-brim canvas boonie hats, shades, and ratty shorts and t-shirts. They were working the water lilies at the edges of the big rock with crankbaits.

They reeled in, then cast their lures again.

Plunk. Plunk. It was the sound of the lures hitting the water.

One of the guys grinned. “Nice day, eh?” he said.

Melanie sat up and drew up her legs. “You guys are so busted!” she said. “There’s no way you’re gonna catch fish here, and you know it!”

“Who says we’re after fish?” the other guy said. “By the way, I’m Andy Franusz and this is my brother Alex. We’ve got a cottage up the lake, just past the church camp.”

“Well, come on over here,” Melanie said. “Then we won’t have to yell at each other.”

The guys cranked up and idled over. The girls introduced themselves. Alex fended the boat off the rock while the girls came aboard. Andy gave the engine more throttle and motored away.

“We don’t want to beat the boat up against the rock,” Alex said. “Want a tour of the lake?”

“It’ll have to be a quick one,” Meghan said. “We have to be at work by 4:15.”

Andy checked his watch. “It’s 2:30 now – it would be tight. Some other time?”

That was agreeable – they seemed like nice guys. The trick was working out the logistics. In the meantime, they had an hour or so to kill. The guys bought Cokes and snacks at Collishaw’s gas dock, and they spent that hour in pleasant conversation, cruising slowly 100 yds offshore. The girls found out that Alex was 21, Andy was 19. They were back from college for the summer – their home was in Newmarket, a little over an hour’s drive away – but they spent most of their weekends at the lake cottage.

Time to go back. The guys already had the phone number of The Swamp – the girls asked for the phone number at the guys’ cottage. The guys found a ball point pen in the bottom of their tackle box, but nothing to write on. Melanie surprised Meghan and extended her left leg.

“Write it on the bottom of my foot,” she said. “No one will see it there. I can scrub it off later.”

Alex took a firm grip on Melanie’s foot and started writing across her sole. Melanie burst into ticklish laughter. She had a pretty tickle laugh, a musical contralto. Gratified by her response, Alex went back over the numbers, making them two-dimensional, taking his time darkening the outlines while she laughed like a madwoman.

Meghan shuddered inwardly. “Foot notes” were one of Adam’s favorite tickle tortures – Meghan knew from long experience that it tickled like mischief.

Melanie laughed helplessly as Alex added three-dimensional perspective to the numbers. He carefully shaded each one, forcing more bursts of wild laughter. Shadows were next – he was thorough – and Melanie laughed her head off, her knuckles turning white from her grip on the plank seat. Still not satisfied, he went over his ticklish handiwork again while streams of ticklish laughter poured out.

“Hey! Quit!” Meghan said. “You’ve already been over the numbers three times!”

Alex quit and released Melanie’s foot. She inspected his handiwork.

“Sloppy penmanship,” Melanie said. “I ought to make you do it over.”

“We don’t have time,” Meghan said. This was crazy! Not her too!

The girls had left their sandals by the stone steps. Andy brought the boat inshore – they stepped off the bow without even getting their feet wet.

“Why’d you do that?” Meghan asked. “Let him tickle you, I mean.”

“Hey, no big deal. I’ve been tickled before, and it hasn’t killed me yet.”

“Yah, me too, but I don’t volunteer for it,” Meghan said.

Meghan and Tammy caught the early dinner shift, helping with the cooking and meal prep. Meredith and Melanie came on 45 minutes before dinnertime to help with final preparations. They ate their meals in the dining room with Bob, Sue and the other four girls, then cleared the table and set it up for the guests’ dinner.

At 5:45, Bob flicked a switch near the kitchen door – somewhere, a siren gave one long blast. “We serve dinner in 15 minutes, girls – look alive,” he said.

They made last minute preparations. Bob blew the siren again at 6:00. “You’re on,” he said.

There were about 120 guests, give or take, seated at a dozen big round tables. Seats were assigned, Bob’s way of evening out the seating at each table. There was a chart posted on the wall outside the dining room, another in the kitchen. Each waitress was responsible for three tables.

Meghan had the three tables near the north windows. She discovered that the two families she had seen on the beach were actually one extended family – adult sisters, their families, plus Grandma and Grandpa, who had arrived later that afternoon. They had Table 1. Table 2 was two more families of four, plus a couple in their 40’s. Table 3 had another family, this one with teen children, plus a young childless couple, another couple in their 70’s, and two guys who were here for the fishing.

Waiting tables here wasn’t too difficult. This was a dining hall, not a restaurant. Everybody got the same meal, served family style. All the girls had to do was take drink orders, set out the serving bowls and platters, make sure everybody’s drink stayed full, then clear the table and serve dessert and coffee afterward.

The dining room had pretty much emptied out by 6:30. Meredith and Melanie had kitchen cleanup detail – they got started, checking the dining room occasionally to make sure the guests who stayed late got what they wanted. Meghan and Tammy were finished for the day – they went back to The Swamp.

Again, Ashley was tied up and laughing with wild abandon, with the others tickling her. This time, she was hogtied on the Turkish carpet. She really did love it, odd though that seemed to Meghan.

For her part, Meghan went out onto the porch to read. She had found a romance novel in her footlocker, a leftover from last year. It suited her mood – something she could read without thought. The other girls came out in small groups from time to time, but they respected her solitude, an essential habit for people who live at close quarters. She came in at sundown, showered, put her pajamas on and passed the time with the others until lights out. She went right to sleep and slept dreamlessly.



Sunday

Meghan’s eyes popped open to the sky’s rosy glow. Bagpipes again, she thought, still half asleep. She rolled over and went back to sleep – she had the cleanup shift with Meredith, and didn’t have to be at work until 7:15.

The guests’ breakfast was served starting at 8:00. It was a little more complicated than dinner had been. Guests had a choice of hot or cold cereal, pancakes, fried or scrambled eggs, bacon (Canadian style, not the thin stuff they ate in the States) or sausage, white or wheat toast, juice, milk or coffee. But again, it wasn’t all that difficult. Most of the foods cooked quickly, and could be prepared in bulk without suffering too badly. If they ran short of something, they just made more.

The off-day schedule started on Sunday. This was an easy day for the housekeepers, one day into the week, so only two were needed. Melissa and Andrea had the day off. But apparently there was some disagreement over their day’s program, as Meghan found out when she and Meredith got back to The Swamp at 9:30.

Holly and Ashley were working, but the other four were there. “Have a seat over here,” Tammy called out from one of the armchairs. “Melissa and Andrea are about to have a duel.”

“That’s right,” Andrea said. “My bossy big sister wants to see a movie this afternoon. So do I, but not the same one.”

“You might as well give up,” Melissa said. “I’m gonna win, and you know it!”

Andrea made a rude noise. The sisters sat down on the rug in the center of the group, facing each other. Meghan sat next to Melanie on the couch, Meredith took another arm chair.

“What are they doing?” Meghan asked.

“That’s the duel, silly,” Tammy said. “Another old custom. Watch!”

Each sister extended her right leg, drew up the left with her left foot flat against her right thigh, and got a firm grip on her sister’s right ankle with her left hand.

“Who’s gonna be the referee?” Melissa asked.

“Me,” Meredith said. “Ready– on three– one, two, three, GO!”

Both girls flicked the nails of their right hands on the bottom of her opponent’s trapped foot, fast as they could. Both burst into ticklish laughter, howling with forced mirth.

They both knew every ticklish spot, and tickled them all. Their fingernails flicked and scratched, each covering the other’s foot with fiendish and well-techniqued tickling. Both laughed like mad, red faced, tears of laughter streaming down their faces.

Melissa concentrated on the exact center of Andrea’s sole. Andrea’s laughter went up a notch – she almost lost it, and Melissa’s laughter dropped back to giggles. But Andrea shifted her tickle target onto her sister’s sole and dug in, and now Melissa was laughing her head off again. Their toes twitched and curled as they laughed and laughed – it added to the challenge and prolonged the contest. They both laughed like madwomen, tickling as fast as they could, as time expanded and the tickling filled their consciousness.

Melissa had more experience, it seemed, but Andrea had more endurance. Melissa lost it and collapsed onto her back, laughing at the top of her lungs. Her strength was gone, tickled away.

Andrea giggled as the tickling sensation faded, then picked up speed as fine motor control returned. She shifted her grip, holding Melissa’s toes back. Her nails danced on Melissa’s sole, paying particular attention to the crease in the middle. She tickled the sweet spot mercilessly, bringing forth wave after wave of ticklish laughter.

“Hey, you’ve won, Andrea!” Tammy called out. “Give her a break!”

“Nah,” Andrea replied. “She deserves this. Watch!”

Andrea stopped tickling, then quickly rolled her sister onto her tummy and sat on her facing aft. Melissa was still helpless – she didn’t resist at all. Andrea grabbed her sister’s ankles, pulled, and wrapped her right leg around Melissa’s legs in the figure-four leg lock.

“NOOOO!” Melissa yelled.

Andrea teased her, flicking and scratching the upturned feet from toes to heels, producing a steady stream of giggles.

“Haha! Sta– hahaha! –ap! Ple– hehe! –ease! You– hehe-haha! win! Haha-hehe-hahaha!” Melissa begged and giggled.

“Gotcha!” Andrea said triumphantly, held her sister’s toes back and attacked the sweet spots again. Melissa laughed her head off at the top of her lungs. Andrea’s fingernails flicked and scratched, tickling horribly. First the left sole, across the balls of both feet, then the right sole, and back again, over and over. She tickled two handed onto Melissa’s arches and down to the heels, drawing figure-eight’s and other tickling shapes. Melissa laughed like mad as Andrea tickled back up to her soles. Andrea tickled both soles at warp speed, and Melissa’s laughter went off the scale. It was more than Melissa could bear – she laughed herself breathless.

Andrea released the leg lock and stood up. Melissa laid there gasping, sweaty, tears of laughter running down her cheeks. She rolled onto her back, drew her legs up and shuffled her feet on the carpet to get the tickle off.

“That really, really tickled,” Melissa said.

“It was supposed to,” Andrea said. “Payback for the last time.”

“You win – this time,” Melissa said. She sat up and winced – her abs were sore from laughing. “But next time…”

Andrea gave her sister a hand up and the two went into the bathrooms to shower. Meredith and Tammy went to change into swimsuits – they wanted to work on their tans. Meghan turned to Melanie, still beside her on the couch.

“This is giving me an overdose of weird,” Meghan said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?”

The Maine accent came out strong. “Ayuh, two of my cousins used to do that,” Melanie answered. “When they weren’t ganging up on me, or on their older sister.”

“Well, I want no part of it,” Meghan said. “I get enough tickling from my brother.”

Meghan’s left thigh was crossed over her right, the left foot swinging. “Do you really?” Melanie asked, and reached down quickly and tickled the foot. Meghan yelped and pulled it back. She stood up and stormed off, fuming. Enough!

Lunch was served at noon. Waiting tables at lunchtime was easier even than dinner had been. The meals were made up in the kitchen, adult or child portion – today, it was soup and a sandwich.

The grandmother at Table 1 stopped Meghan as she was clearing the table. “Do you have an empty mayonnaise jar I could have?” she asked. “A big gallon-size one?” She was in her 60’s, small and plump, with gray hair and merry blue eyes behind bifocal glasses.

“Um… We just put one in the dumpster, Mrs. Wegelin,” Meghan answered. “We’ll have more by tomorrow – d’you want me to save them for you?”

“Please. One is all I need. I’d like to use it for a craft project.”

Meghan and Meredith found a note scrawled on the whiteboard when they got back to The Swamp: Gone Swimming. They put their swimsuits on and joined the other girls at the big rock. It was another pleasant afternoon, warm and breezy. The resort season was well under way now – there was considerable boat and jet-ski traffic that raised a chop on the lake. They didn’t see the two brothers. Oh well…

Ashley got it again before bedtime, just like yesterday. Again, Meghan and Melanie were the only holdouts.



Monday

Holly was notoriously a sound sleeper, and hard to rouse. Ashley said it had been one of their few points of contention at school. Several times, Holly had slept right through her alarm clock, while Ashley, who had a later class, would be wide awake. Nor was she any easier to awaken here.

Ashley shook her bunkmate for the third time, and got a wordless sound of protest in response. Otherwise, Holly didn’t even stir. Exasperated, Ashley motioned the other girls to gather round.

“Blanket party time, gang,” Ashley said.

“What are you talking about?” Melanie asked, mystified. Meghan was equally confused.

“You’ll see,” Melissa said. “You do the honors, Meredith. Places, everybody!” She turned to Melanie. “Watch and learn, Grasshopper.”

By then, Andrea had fetched another of the army blankets from the cabinet. She took hold of one corner, Melissa grabbed the other on the same long side of the blanket – they positioned themselves next to Holly’s bunk. Tammy and Ashley took station on the other side of the bunk.

The sisters flipped the blanket over Holly, keeping hold of the two corners. Tammy and Ashley grabbed the other two corners. The four girls pulled downward, drawing the blanket tight over Holly and trapping her in her bunk. Meredith flipped up the covers at the end of the bunk, exposing Holly’s feet.

“Mmf,” Holly snorted – she stirred, discovered her restraints, and her eyes popped open. “Hey! What’re you doing?” she asked, fully awake now.

“Giving you your wakeup call,” Ashley answered.

“Oh NOOO!” Holly wailed. “Not that! Not now! Please!”

“Yup,” Meredith said from the end of the bed. “Shift her down this way a little.”

They did so – Holly’s struggles were to no avail. She ended up with her feet sticking out past the end of the bed. Meredith looped another old nylon leg around the ankles, then tied off to the bunk frame. The finishing touch – she tied Holly’s big toes together with string. The evolution was executed flawlessly, without waste motion – this was obviously not their first rodeo.

“Pleeease! Don’t!” Holly begged, straining against her restraints.

“Tickle tickle!” said Meredith, and suited her actions to her words.

Holly howled with forced mirth as Meredith spread her toes apart to tickle between them, then held them back and scratched the tender skin underneath. Still holding the toes back, she flicked her fingernails up and down the wrinkle in the exact middle of the right sole, then across the balls of both feet to the left, tickling like crazy. Meredith made a claw of her right hand and raked her nails the length of Holly’s right foot, drawing four parallel wavy lines, applying just enough pressure to tickle horribly. She trailed the tips of her nails back up to Holly’s sole, then repeated on the left foot. Holly laughed her head off.

Meredith released the toes and tickled both soles, watching the toes twitch and curl as Holly laughed and laughed. She tickled two-handed back down both arches, lingered on the heels, scratching in circles and figure-eight’s, then onto the arches just in front of the heels. Those were the sweet spots, where it tickled unbearably – Holly’s laughter went off the chart. She laughed with wild abandon, face red, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks.

By then, Holly was incapable of any resistance, lost in ticklish delirium. Meredith held her in the zone, laughing her head off. All she could do was laugh, and laugh, and laugh some more as time expanded and the tickling filled her universe. Then Meredith picked up the pace, mercilessly tickling the sweet spots, and reduced Holly to red-faced, gasping silent laughter.

“Are you awake now, girlfriend?” Meredith asked. “Want some more?”

“NOOOO! Letmego-letmego-letmeGO!”

“OK, let her up,” Ashley said. “Fun’s over. We’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Let’s tickle her some more later,” Andrea said mischievously.

“Nah, my turn next,” Ashley said.

“OK, usual time tonight,” Melissa said. “Dibs on the shower!”

Melanie had the day off, so Andrea subbed for her in the kitchen and dining room. Meghan shared the meal prep shift with Andrea, and had one of her questions answered. But it raised another question, one of origins.

“The tickling? It’s just something fun to do,” Andrea said. “It’s an old custom here. Melissa’s been here the longest, and she told me it was going on when she got here. Her oldest co-worker told her it was going on when she got here. I dunno, maybe even when Sue was working here.”

Hmm, thought Meghan. Mom never said anything about tickling. I’ll have to ask her about it.

The day was much like yesterday – she was getting into the routine. After lunch, she gathered up the big mayonnaise jar she had saved, and took it to Mrs. Wegelin as promised.

Mrs. Wegelin and her husband were in Oriole 1 – their daughters and their families were in Oriole 2 and 3. Meghan noticed a hand-painted wooden sign propped up on the outside window ledge. It said:

MOM’S PHARMACY
Snack Bar – Cold Drinks
Open 24 Hours

Meghan knocked on the wooden screen door – the windows and inner door were open – and called out.

“Mrs. Wegelin? It’s Meghan. I’ve got your mayo jar.”

“Coming!” was the response.

Mrs. Wegelin came outside. “Thank you, Meghan,” she said. “This will do nicely.”

“What’s the story about the sign?” Meghan asked, pointing to it.

The woman laughed. “I believe in being prepared. I’ve got Band-Aids, Tylenol, stuff for sunburn, upset stomachs, bug bites and poison ivy. Cokes on ice and between-meal snacks for my grandchildren. Coffee, tea and Ovaltine. You name it, I probably have it. My son-in-law Frank made that sign the first year we came here, as a joke. I liked it, so I kept it. I put it up every year.”

Another old custom, Meghan thought.

“What will you do with the jar?”

“You’ll see,” Mrs. Wegelin said. “Be patient.”

Melanie was back again by dinnertime. Marc came visiting after dinner, just to see how Melanie and Meghan were settling in. They sat on the porch – inside The Swamp was a no-guy zone. Meghan decided that she liked him. He was cheerful, outgoing, with a warped sense of humor and a taste for dreadful puns. Melanie said that he was equally adept at punning en québécois. Meghan had taken the obligatory French-for-Anglophones classes in high school, but she was by no means fluent. Too bad – the sibs sometimes switched to that language and lost her.

Melanie propped her feet up on the arm of Marc’s chair. That was asking for trouble, thought Meghan. She knew that if she did that with Adam, he would tickle her silly.

“What’s that on the bottom of your foot, sis?” Marc asked.

“Phone number,” she said. The number Alex Franusz had written there was faint but visible – ball point ink doesen’t wash off. It would have to wear off.

He wetted his thumb and rubbed. “This isn’t taking it off either. Guess I’ll have to–”

Surely Melanie knew what was coming next!

“–tickle it off!”

“Non! Arrête! Stopit! Hehe! HAHAHA-haha-HAHAHAHA-HAHAHA!” Melanie laughed as he scratched and scraped with his nails. She tried to pull her foot away, but he was a step ahead – he had a firm grip on her foot with his other hand. He traced each number with a single fingernail, then scratched with all four at once. Melanie threw her head back and laughed at the top of her lungs, clutching the arms of her chair in a death grip.

“Nope – I’m not getting it off either,” Marc said. He flicked and scratched while Melanie laughed like a maniac. “This isn’t getting it either.” But he kept it up, and Melanie laughed and laughed.

He quit after a few minutes. Melanie acted indignant, but Meghan could tell that her new friend wasn’t really upset. Like Meghan, it seemed that getting tickled by her brother was old custom for Melanie. The difference was, it looked like Melanie encouraged him – or at least didn’t discourage him.

Meghan saw Marc eyeing her bare feet. “Don’t even think about it!” she said.

She went inside to use the plumbing. She found Holly, Melissa and Andrea tying Ashley up in a chair, the way Tammy had been on Saturday. Ashley grinned up at her and invited her to join the others – old custom, she said. Meghan shuddered and declined as politely as she could manage.

Tammy and Meredith were walking up when Meghan got back outside – they had just finished with the kitchen cleanup. Ashley burst into ticklish laughter as the girls entered the porch. They grinned at each other.

“Looks like we’re just in time,” Tammy said. “Why don’t you join us after Marc leaves?”

“We’ll be at it for a while,” Meredith added. “Ashley’s a real tickle masochist.”

Melanie hesitated, but finally declined. Meghan wanted no part of it. Ashley laughed her head off, her ticklish laughter streaming onto the porch through the open windows. Her friends kept her laughing for a very long time indeed.



Tuesday

Meghan had settled completely into the routine by the next day. She liked her co-workers and bosses, the venue was pleasant, the work wasn’t too demanding. Aside from the tickling, she had decided that this was a good place to work. And even that wasn’t too bad. No one demanded that she participate, or held it against her that she didn’t.

Melanie and Andrea had meal prep detail today – Meredith had the day off. Meghan had kitchen cleanup with Tammy. For some reason, the dining room emptied out faster than usual, so Bob sent Meghan down to the beach with a trash bag and a spike-on-a-stick. She exchanged her jeans and sneakers for shorts and flip-flops and walked to the beach. The guests were pretty good about not trashing the place, but wind and wave still brought the detritus of civilization ashore.

She passed Mr. and Mrs. May, the old couple from Table 3, on her way to the beach. They had set up folding chairs overlooking the beach, in the shade of the big trees. He was a skinny old man in t-shirt and ball cap, reading “Field and Stream” – he spent his mornings fishing, and his filleted catch currently resided in the kitchen cooler. His wife was small, slim, with a mop of silver curls, and soft brown eyes surrounded by a mass of wrinkles. She had set up an artist’s easel – she was making a water color painting of the lake.

“Hello, Meghan,” Mrs. May said. She smiled, and Meghan saw what a beauty she once had been. “It’s a beautiful day, eh?” Her old-lady voice was roughened from a lifetime of smoking.

“Yes it is,” Meghan answered. “I like your painting.”

“She’s talented that way,” Mr. May said. “Stand still long enough, and she’ll paint your portrait.”

“Maybe some other time,” Meghan said politely. “Excuse me, folks. I’m working.”

The two dads at Table 1 were avid water skiers, and apparently they had a newer and more powerful boat this year. She saw one of them sitting on the end of the dock holding the tow yoke, wearing a ball cap, shades and t-shirt in addition to his swim suit, with his feet in the bindings of a wide slalom ski. His brother-in-law idled the boat forward, taking all the slack out of the tow rope.

“GO!” the skier shouted. The other goosed the motor hard – the boat dug in and then shot forward. The skier popped up off the dock, still dry from the knees up.

Meghan looked up from her chore when they passed by on their next circuit. The skier had hooked his foot through the tow yoke and was skiing hands-free, smoking a cigarette with his hands behind his head.

“Cool!” one of the boys said.

“They never grow up, do they?” the man’s wife said in a resigned tone.

“Nope,” her sister said.

They made one more pass, then the skier whip-cracked himself toward the beach. He skied into the shallows, leaned back to slow himself, then stepped out of the bindings and took two long steps onto the beach. He hadn’t even gotten his feet wet.

The three most dangerous words in the English language are, “Watch this shit!” Naturally, the other guy had to try it too. Meghan looked up occasionally while she worked – he was showing off, just like his brother-in-law had.

She finished the beach, rinsed the sand off her flip-flops, stuffed them into a back pocket and waded north toward the rip-rap, looking for floating trash. The winter ice had shifted one of the big stones, she saw. It was 20 ft from where it should be, barely submerged in 12” of water just offshore on the north end of the beach.

The second skier cast off toward the beach like the first had. Murphy’s Law took hold. The ski hit the submerged rock and broke straight across with a sharp crack! The man catapulted out of the bindings and took three off-balance running steps, arms windmilling. He landed face down on the sand with a solid whump!

His wife and kids came running. When the woman discovered that he hadn’t killed himself, but had just had the wind knocked out of him, she started ragging on him. The general thrust of her commentary was, “It serves you right, you dumbass!” He took it stoically – he knew she was right.

Meghan kept wading northward. It was none of her business.

She saw two ordinary utility buckets sitting on a flat rock, with towels spread over them. Two boys, brothers from the look of them, waded in the shallow water, peering intently into the big rocks along the shore. One of them lunged and snatched something out of a crevice. “Got one!” he said triumphantly. He lifted a corner of a towel and deposited his find in the bucket.

“What are you doing?” Meghan asked.

“Catching frogs,” the older boy said.

“Why?”

“To see who can catch the most in half an hour. I’ve got 12 so far – look.” He showed her the contents of his bucket: an inch of water and a dozen spotted green frogs. One of the animals made a break for freedom, but the boy snatched it up and put it back in the bucket.

“What are you going to do with them?” she asked.

“Let ‘em go,” he said.

“That way, we can catch ‘em again tomorrow,” the younger one added.

She kept moving and drew even with the well house. The usual sounds there were the hum of the pump motor and splashing water from the minimum flow line discharging back to the lake. Now, though… Laughter! She climbed the stone steps, padded over to the building and opened the door.

The laughter stopped instantly. “Close the door!” Ashley said sharply.

Meghan stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. Her eyes adjusted to the light from the overhead bulb, much dimmer than the daylight outside. She saw Andrea on her tummy on one of the old army blankets, gasping for air, hogtied with old nylons. Ashley kneeled at her upturned feet, a knee on either side of Andrea’s to prevent a rollover. Their discarded sandals were in a corner. The room was barely big enough for the three of them.

“Why are you tickling her? And why the secret hideout?” Meghan asked Ashley. This was weird squared!

Andrea answered. “Conditioning,” she said. “Melissa lost that duel because she couldn’t take any more. I’m tougher because I train for it. It gives me a secret edge that Melissa doesen’t know about.”

“And who better than me to do it, eh?” Ashley asked. “I know all about tickling from the inside. Besides, it’s fun. Ready for some more, girlfriend?”

“Go ah– heee! HAHAHA-heehee-HAHA-HAHAHA-HAHAHA!” Andrea laughed as Ashley started in on her.

Ashley tickled the bare soles, watching the toes twitch and curl, while streams of laughter poured from her victim. She flicked and scratched her way down the arches to the heels, lingered to draw figure-eight’s and other tickling shapes, then spider-walked her nails back up to the soles again. Andrea howled with forced mirth as Ashley spread her toes and tickled between each pair, then held them back and tickled the sensitive skin underneath. Meghan watched, horrified. This was way over the top!

“Doing OK, girlfriend?” Ashley asked, still tickling. But Andrea was laughing too hard to answer, or even to form a coherent thought.

Ashley tickled down onto the stretched out soles and tickled side to side. Andrea bucked and squirmed, laughing helplessly, trying desperately to escape the tickling. Ashley concentrated on the right sole, tickling the exact center, along the crease where it really, really tickled. Then across the balls of both feet to the center of the left sole – Andrea laughed at the top of her lungs. And the finishing touch – Ashley made a Peace sign and scratched the middle of both soles at the same time. Andrea lost it and laughed herself breathless.

“Want some of this?” Ashley asked. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

“Uh… no,” Meghan said and backed up to the door. “Gotta get back to work.”

“Suit yourself,” Ashley said. “Close the door on your way out.”

Meghan bolted and slammed the door behind her. Andrea started laughing again – she was getting a real workout. She was still laughing when Meghan finished her chore and climbed the stone steps again 20 minutes later.

Ashley got it again before bedtime. Andrea got her payback, with interest – not that Ashley minded, of course. Once again, Meghan and Melanie didn’t participate. But tonight, Melanie chose to watch – was her resolve weakening?

Wednesday

Meghan had the day off. As usual, she awoke before dawn to the sound of the distant piper. She dressed quietly, shorts and a red t-shirt with the crest of the Calgary Regiment printed on it. She added a hooded sweat shirt against the morning chill. She had learned her lesson – she applied bug dope liberally to her bare legs on the porch. A pair of flip-flops, and she was ready.

Meghan had gotten permission to use the leaky aluminum canoe – she planned to explore the lake today. The lake was irregularly shaped, about 2-1/2 miles long and a mile across at its widest point. At the north end, a bay protruded to the west, connecting to the lower Severn River and from there eventually to Lake Huron. The tourist map she had didn’t have much detail, but sufficient to navigate on a lake this small. Failing all else, she could always ask for directions.

She had found an old ammo can on the porch, the kind with a waterproof lid. In the kitchen, she nuked a cup of water for tea and quickly packed her breakfast and lunch – a sandwich and three apples. It went into the ammo can. She added a gallon jug of water – it had once held orange juice – and walked down to the beach.

She got a paddle from the boathouse, a flotation cushion and a cut-off milk jug to bail with. The worst leaks had been patched – by Gordon, probably – with aluminized duct tape. With luck, the lake water wouldn’t dissolve the glue in the few hours she would be using the canoe. She rolled it over, put her gear inside, tossed her flip-flops in and launched it. The sun still wasn’t up, though the light was getting stronger. Somewhere, a loon called.

The piper started again – “Blue Bonnets” this time. She paddled 100 yards offshore, then coasted, listening. There! Somewhere to the south, near the end of the lake.

The marshy stream she had crossed Friday on the way in emptied into the lake here. The north side was shallow, carpeted with water lilies. On the south was an upthrust of bedrock, its top maybe 4 ft above the water. Apparently spring snow melt had scoured a deeper channel here, for there were no water lilies.

The piper stood on the rock, playing and marking time with his foot. He was a wiry, wrinkled, silver-haired old man in jeans, t-shirt and ratty sneakers. He wasn’t professional grade, but sounded pretty good anyway. She saw that he knew to stop blowing in the last measure of the tune, instead maintaining air to the pipes by arm pressure on the bag. When he finished, he released pressure – the instrument stopped without a squalk. Piping is physically demanding – he was sweating despite the chill of the morning.

He started again with “Caberfeidh”, followed it with “The Rowan Tree”, and then “Colonel Bogie”, a march favored by the former British Empire’s armored troops. The last wasn’t really a pipe tune – it had been written for military brass band – but somehow it worked. He segued straight into another march. It sounded familiar…

An old war movie – Henry Fonda, Telly Savalas, Robert Shaw – “Battle of the Bulge”. The piper was playing Das Panzerlied, the exact German Army equivalent of “Colonel Bogie”. What an odd choice! She paddled closer. He hadn’t seen her yet, wrapped up in his music.

The music stopped. Meghan applauded. The man made a startled movement and then looked down.

“Good morning, young lady,” he said. “I don’t get many visitors at this hour.” He gently laid his pipes down and sat on the edge of the rock, feet dangling. “I’m George Stansfield. Come round, tie up and visit for a while,” he said.

“Meghan Williams. Glad to meet you, Mr. Stansfield.” She looked, and looked again – his left leg was fully an inch shorter than the right.

Just upstream, behind the rock, was a floating dock with a boat tied up at it. She tied up and climbed up the rock – it felt cool under her bare feet. To her left was an old cottage, the one she had seen coming in on Friday. Now, though, two cars were parked there.

Mr. Stansfield remarked on Meghan’s t-shirt, and they discovered a relationship of sorts. Meghan’s grandfather had served in the Calgary Regiment from the spring of 1943 to the end of World War II. Mr. Stansfield had served in the same unit earlier in the war, she learned. He had been in combat for only one day, but that day was enough for any man’s lifetime – the disastrous raid on Dieppe in August 1942. He had gotten a million-dollar wound when his tank was shot out from under him, shattering his left leg in the process. He had spent 18 months in hospitals having it rebuilt, then the rest of a war as a gunnery instructor for tank crews in Canada.

“George! Breakfast!” his wife called from the cottage door. The sun was just above the horizon.

He stood, gave Meghan a hand up and led the way toward the cabin. Despite his short leg, she saw that he didn’t limp.

“You noticed the leg, eh?” he said. “I decided even before I got out of hospital, that in spite of the leg, I wasn’t a cripple. That meant that I shouldn’t walk like one. So I don’t – I trained myself not to.”

“Why, hello, dear,” Mrs. Stansfield said to Meghan. “Will you have breakfast with us? How do you like your eggs?” Audrey Stansfield was a Depression baby, a little younger than her husband.

The couple introduced Meghan to their houseguests. Max and Norma Vogel were George and Audrey’s contemporaries, long-time friends and neighbors. The men had been co-workers at a steel mill in Hamilton for more than 30 years, but were now long retired.

“Are you finished torturing that cat?” Mr. Vogel asked. He had learned English as an adult – his was German-accented.

“Hey, what’s your beef – I played your tune too,” Mr. Stansfield answered. The complaint and response were bantering, good-natured, an exchange these old friends had had many times over the years – another old custom.

“We go back a long way, George and I,” Mr. Vogel said. “Not just in the mill. We spent August 19, 1942 shooting at each other. I was at Dieppe too.”

“Doesen’t that bother you?” Meghan asked.

Mr. Stansfield answered for both. “It was a long time ago. For both of us, it was the defining experience of our lives. What matters now is not the color of the uniform, but the shared experience.”

Mr. Vogel said he had been sent to Canada after becoming a prisoner of war in late 1944, and had come back to settle after the war. His wife Norma was Canadian-born – they had raised two children and had five grandchildren, with a great-grandchild on the way. He razzed his friend George a little – George and Audrey only had four grandchildren.

After breakfast, Mrs. Stansfield gave Meghan some home-made cookies, which she added to the contents of the ammo can. She said her good-byes, pushed off and paddled north. The canoe was taking on a little water, she noticed – her toes were awash. She bailed it out and went on.

The sun was well up by now, and the boat and jet-ski traffic was picking up. Meghan consulted her map, crossed the lake to the eastward, a distance of about 3/4 mile, then skirted the eastern shore of the lake about 25 yards offshore to keep from being run over. Her line of sight was perhaps 30 inches above the water surface, so her unrestricted horizon distance was just under 2 miles. She saw several prominences at the limit of her vision to the north – the map said that they were small, rocky islands.

Meghan paddled northward, setting an easy pace. She noticed that the shore was well developed – in the years since Mom had worked here, better roads and vehicles had turned this region into “cottage country” for Toronto and its environs. About the only places without cottages or other construction were boggy places, boulder fields and steep bluffs. Even those last sometimes had cottages at the top, with long wooden stairs down to the water’s edge.

Still, the trip was pleasant. The day was sunny and warm, with a gentle breeze. The water that leaked in was warm too, and she found that she had no trouble staying ahead of it with the bailing jug.

Meghan came to the islands near the north end of the lake. They were small, rocky, the largest not much bigger than a basketball court. They were home to waterfowl and little else – a few frogs and lizards, maybe. Their thin soil supported a few stunted scrub trees and a host of late spring wildflowers.

She paddled north and came to the end of the lake a little before noon. There was another resort here, smaller than Lakeshore, more cottages, and a marina at the entrance to the bay that led to the Severn River. She made a pit stop at the marina and paddled back south.

One of the larger islands sloped gently into the lake. Meghan beached the canoe, laid the flotation cushion under a scraggly tree against the trunk, and ate her lunch in its shade. She leaned back against the trunk afterward and drifted…

Meghan awoke with a start. She checked her watch. It was 2:00 – she had slept for about an hour. The sky was still sunny, but a brassy haze had set in. The wind had picked up, the lake was choppy, and towering banks of cumulus clouds were building to the west. She launched the canoe and headed south along the west shore, pushing a little, keeping a wary eye on the sky.

An hour later, the bottom fell out of the sky.

Meghan had just drawn even with the church camp when the first big drops fell. Thunder boomed, lightning blazed across the sky, the air held a whiff of ozone. The temperature dropped precipitously. Cold rain came down in buckets, blinding her, filling the canoe. Hail fell, pea-sized pellets that hurt like mischief. She hurriedly put her sodden sweat shirt on and raised the hood to protect herself from the stinging ice, then dug in and paddled like mad toward shore.

A shout – on the shore to her left, a man stood, waving his arms. “Over here! Come ashore!” he shouted.

Meghan paddled for the shore. The canoe was sluggish, hard to handle, water sloshing around the bottom. Another lightning flash lit up the sky, and then the man was knee deep in the water, pulling her ashore. They beached the canoe together and walked to a nearby cottage – no point in running, they were both already soaked through.

Meghan stood dripping on the porch with her host. The cottage, she saw, was built in the early 20th Century Craftsman style. But it had been renovated with an eye toward economy and low maintenance. The siding was asphalt-asbestos sheets installed in the 1940's, with an embossed pattern that might, in poor light from a long way off, be mistaken for bricks. The porch roof was a big aluminum awning, 1960's vintage, presumably a replacement for the original roof that had rotted away.

A woman came onto the porch with two big beach towels. The man introduced them: Kevin Ingalls, the director of the church camp, and his wife Brenda, who supervised the kitchen. They were in their 40’s. Both were church members but not year-round employees – the rest of the year, they were teachers. Meghan wiped her bare feet on the mat and followed them inside.

The renovations inside the cottage were like those outside. The living room had its original tongue-and-groove wood ceiling, painted many times. The walls had dark paneling, the floor was covered with beige industrial carpet, both the cheap kind found in trailers. The furniture was mismatched, a step up from thrift store grade, donated by church members. A not-very-effective attempt had been made to make the place seem homey with houseplants and framed prints.

“Brenda, find Meghan some dry clothes, please,” Kevin said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me,” and disappeared toward the back of the cottage to change his own.

Brenda was a step ahead. “Here, take these and get out of those wet clothes,” she said, and gave Meghan a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. “Bathroom’s the second door on the right.”

Meghan shucked her wet clothes and blotted as much water as possible out of her panties – when she finished, they were damp but not unpleasantly so. She hadn’t been wearing a bra. The borrowed shorts were khaki, well-worn but clean, a little too loose. The shirt was new – forest green with Covenant Church Camp and the Christian Fish symbol printed on it in white. She gathered up her wet clothes and went back out to the living room.

Meghan had tea with her hosts while the rain poured down outside – its warmth was welcome after her soaking. They told her that the cottage had belonged to the man who had donated the land for the camp – it was now the camp director's quarters. The day had darkened to a gray gloom. Once, the lights flickered and went off. They came on again before Brenda could find the candles and matches.

The rain finally stopped about 5:30. “Thank you for your hospitality,” Meghan said as she was getting ready to leave. “I’ve never been shipwrecked before – it was interesting.”

“Glad we could help,” Kevin said.

“I’ll bring the clothes back on my next off day, Brenda,” Meghan said.

“Don’t bother,” Brenda replied. “I’ve “outgrown” the shorts, and we have plenty of t-shirts. Just come back and visit us sometime.”

The canoe was full of water – her paddle, flip-flops, jug and ammo can were floating. Kevin helped her to roll it over to dump the water, then pushed her off as she launched.

She got back to the lodge around 6:00 and had a stand-up dinner in the kitchen. She found Melissa and Holly teasing Ashley when she got back to The Swamp – Ashley was sassing them right back, and giving as good as she got. Soon, the other two would use the exchange as an excuse to “punish” Ashley – which had been the idea all along, of course.

Meghan ignored them. She got her book and sat in one of the armchairs to read.

Tammy and Meredith came in a few minutes later – they were through for the day. Both of them joined the banter. Before much longer, the “outraged” girls had “overpowered” Ashley and hogtied her. The nightly ticklefest started after that, and Andrea joined in after she got off work. The five girls kept Ashley laughing, with just an occasional pause to catch her breath. Melanie had come in with Andrea – she watched the fun but didn’t participate. Meghan gave up trying to read, and found that she couldn’t look away either. It was fascinating in a weird sort of way, and the others really did seem to be enjoying it.

Finally, Meghan took a shower and went to bed early – she had had an active day. She pulled the blanket over her head to block the light, but it did nothing for sound. Ashley’s ticklish laughter was the last thing she heard as she dropped off to sleep.



Thursday

Back on my head again, thought Meghan as she and Meredith walked into the kitchen. They had the cleanup detail today – Bob, Melissa and Melanie had the breakfast preparations nearly complete by the time they got there. Tammy had the day off – she had already grabbed a bacon-and-egg sandwich and left for town in her car.

“I finished my project yesterday, Meghan,” Mrs. Wegelin said at breakfast. “Come to my room when you get a chance – I’ll show it to you.”

“Have Glue Gun, Will Travel,” her husband said, a remark that mystified Meghan – she had never seen the old TV western the man had alluded to.

The finished product wasn’t at all what Meghan had expected. The woman had hand-painted the mayo jar with translucent paints, in a Tiffany stained glass pattern. It was… exquisite. There was no other word for it.

“I dropped my cookie jar when I was unpacking,” Mrs. Wegelin explained. “So I made another one.”

“Couldn’t you have bought one?” Meghan asked.

The woman grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?” she said.

“Don’t stand still too long, Meghan,” Mr. Wegelin advised from his chair. “Or she’ll decorate you too.” He was smoking a pipe – a messy habit, but it sure smelled good.

“Oh, hush!” the woman said. “Or I’ll wash your pipes out with soap.”

“She did that, when we were first married,” he said. “Didn’t know any better. I nearly became a widower that day– Damn!”

He smoked inexpensive tobacco, and it had just popped and showered him with sparks. Mrs. Wegelin turned to Meghan while he was putting himself out and said, “I’ve got asbestos doilies on all the furniture at home.”

He just made a rude noise – her comment was obviously another old custom.

Meghan joined Melissa, Andrea, Holly and Melanie swimming at the big rock after her lunch shift. Meghan left early. Her lunch hadn’t agreed with her, and sat in her stomach like a lead weight – she needed an Alka-Seltzer.

Someone was sitting in a folding chair near The Swamp, facing the building, as Meghan approached. She came closer and saw that it was old Mrs. May, with an artist’s sketch pad balanced on one knee – she was making a pencil sketch of the building. The old woman must be very hard of hearing, Meghan thought. Ashley was getting it good, but the woman was completely oblivious to the streams of ticklish laughter pouring out of the open windows.

“Hello, Meghan,” Mrs. May said. “Listen to that girl. I’m glad to see that one old custom is still being observed.”

Meghan was speechless. Mrs. May wasn’t deaf at all – she heard every bit of the tickle torture. And she regarded it as nothing out of the ordinary!

“I suppose I should explain,” the old woman said, and laid her sketch pad aside. “I worked here the year the place opened, back in 1946. I was Roberta Seldon then, and my hair was as dark as yours. There were eight of us, local farm girls, all of us 18 years old and just out of high school. Donal and Annie McKenzie hired us because we worked cheap – low expectations, you see. Guys had more options – they would have demanded higher pay.”

“That’s what Ashley said,” Meghan said. “Makes sense.”

“Ashley Collishaw? She’s working here this summer?”

“Yes. In fact, that’s who you’re hearing right now. How do you know her?”

“I’ll come to that,” Mrs. May said. “As I said, there were eight of us. Me, Joan Spence, Lorraine Macleod, Dorothy Foster, Vivian Alexander, Faye Eaton. Mary Brown – she looked like Susan Hayward. And Betty Taylor. Betty was a little bit of a thing, not even 5 ft tall – she weighed about 90 lb soaking wet. She had fiery red hair, jade-green eyes and that perfect skin that only redheads have. She was full of mischief, but everybody liked her.

“Betty had an annoying habit though – she used to sneak up on us and tickle our feet. We finally decided we’d had enough of it, so we ganged up on her and tickled her senseless. Surely that would get her attention, we thought.

“Turns out it did, but not the way we expected. Betty kept up the tickle attacks – rolled me up in a blanket one time and tickled my feet until I thought I’d go out of my mind. My brothers had tickled me a few times, but this was worse – Betty was absolutely fiendish. She got the others too, especially Mary. Mary was super-ticklish – you could just say “tickle” and she would laugh.

“So we got Betty again. We kept her laughing all one evening, with just a few breathers, from the time we finished in the kitchen until lights out. We thought she’d quit aggravating us after that, but she didn’t – she did more of it She was sneaky and persistent – we all spent some time laughing our heads off. I was off-the-scale ticklish on my soles and the balls of my feet, and that’s what she went for.”

“Didn’t that make you mad?” Meghan asked. “It would me – I hate to be tickled.”

Mrs. May started to say something, then changed her mind. “No, Meghan,” she said. “You had to know Betty. She was everybody’s friend – we couldn’t stay mad at her. We just got even.” She paused, remembering. “Betty was really ticklish – it drove her wild. She had a great tickle laugh too, a lot bigger than one would expect from someone so small.

“It finally occurred to me that Betty was aggravating us so that we would tickle her. I asked her point blank, and she admitted it. She actually enjoyed being tickled, can you imagine?”

Meghan thought of Ashley, still laughing inside The Swamp. “Yes, I can, Mrs. May. Ashley’s like that.”

“Yes, I suppose so… I asked Betty why she didn’t just ask us to tickle her. She said, “This way’s a lot more fun.” ”

“What did you do about it?” Meghan asked.

The old woman grinned. “Funny thing about that. It turned into a game that lasted all summer. Betty tried to tickle every one of us, while we tried to avoid it. As soon as she had gotten all of us, we ganged up on her and tickled her silly, and then she started over again. It got so I enjoyed making her laugh, she had such great reactions. And I didn’t really mind being tickled any more – that surprised me. The rest of us even started tickling each other. It was just part of the game.”

Ashley’s laughter went off the scale, then stopped abruptly. She had had the breath tickled out of her.

“Not many girls went to college back then, but Betty and I did,” Mrs. May said. “We were going to be teachers. We worked here the next three summers. By the last year, the tickling was old custom. We always managed to get our co-workers to participate after about a week or so, and a few even became… let’s just say enthusiasts. I got to be a pretty fair tickler. Even got to where I liked being tickled. It drove me crazy while it was happening, of course, but afterward, it was… exhilirating.”

“What happened to Betty?” Meghan asked. “Do you ever hear from her any more?”

“Betty married Roy Collishaw,” the old woman said. “Ashley is one of her granddaughters. The tickle bug skipped a generation with her father, but your friend Ashley comes by it honestly.”

“Oh! That explains a lot.” Meghan paused, thinking. “Mrs. May, would you like to come in and see the place again?”

“I’d like that very much.”

The old lady kicked off her sandals on the porch when Meghan did. “I remember,” she said.

“Visitor!” Meghan called out as they went in. Ashley and Meredith were on the couch. Meredith sat sideways, hands tied behind her back, ankles tied together, big toes tied together with string. Her feet were in Ashley’s lap, ankles resting on the left thigh, right thigh over the ankles with the right foot tucked behind the left leg to anchor it. It was a simple but effective leg lock.

“Hello, Mrs. May,” Ashley said. “Welcome to The Swamp.”

“We called it that in 1946 too,” the woman said. “Place was always damp – it was a wet summer.” She looked around. “We had a radio and a phonograph, the phone had a dial, and there was a chalk board next to it. No dryer, just a clothes line. It smelled like new wood inside, and the bunks and lockers were olive-drab. Otherwise, it hasn’t changed much.” She sat in one of the armchairs and motioned for Meghan to take another. “Go ahead, Ashley. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Meredith lost a bet,” Ashley explained. “We agreed that if she could tickle me out in 10 minutes or less, she got it free. Otherwise…” She flicked her nails lightly down Meredith’s feet, toes to heels. Meredith giggled like a little girl.

Ashley knew all about tickling from the inside – it made her a fiendish and inventive tickler. She flicked her nails in Meredith’s arches, producing streams of giggles. She drew circles, squares and other tickling shapes on both heels – Meredith laughed harder, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks. And then she tickled back up Meredith’s arches to the soles, and Meredith laughed like a madwoman.

Meredith was in the zone now, and Ashley kept her there, laughing wildly. Ashley tickled between each pair of toes, then held them back and tickled the soft skin underneath. Meredith laughed her head off, red faced and sweaty, tears streaming.

Ashley paused – Meredith sat there gasping, trying to get her breathing and heart rate normal again. Ashley picked up a paint brush and flicked it in the blonde’s arches. Meredith howled with forced mirth, helpless to resist the fiendish and well techniqued tickling.

Ashley flicked the bristles from toes to heels, covering both feet with unbearable tickling. She switched to brushing in a big circle. That was worse – once each circle, it got THE SPOT, where Meredith’s feet were insanely ticklish – her arches, just in front of her heels. Meredith laughed at the top of her lungs as Ashley concentrated on the sweet spots, the tickling bristles dusting and flicking.

Another breather, then Ashley tickled Meredith’s heels two-handed, bringing forth another peal of ticklish laughter. She tickled up Meredith’s arches to her soles again, then back to the sweet spots. She speeded up, nails flicking, tickling at warp speed. Meredith laughed and laughed until she ran out of air.

Meredith sat there, breathing hard, slowly returning from Tickle Hell. “How’s that?” Ashley asked.

“Oh ghod…” Meredith gasped out. “That tickled so much…”

“Couldn’t have done better myself,” Mrs. May said. “No, I’ll pass,” she said hastily. “My fingers are too arthritic to do her justice. But it was fun just to watch.”

Mrs. May paused on the porch with Meghan on her way out. “Meghan, you remind me of me when I was 18,” she said. “Free advice is worth what you pay for it, but… You’ll be happier here if you join in. Trust the Force. Let yourself go with the sensation. You might even find that you enjoy it.”

Meghan said something noncommital, and Mrs. May took her leave.

As before, Ashley was guest of honor at the evening tickle party. Tammy came back in time to join in – she teamed up with Meredith and tickled Ashley until she was delirious. Melissa and Andrea were next, then Holly. Holly knew every ticklish spot – Ashley was her college roomie, after all – and tickled every one. And for the first time, Melanie joined in. Her level of tickling skill surprised the others – she was good!

“Hey, I’ve got three older cousins,” Melanie said. “I had to learn in self defense. Even so, Stacy and Shelly tickled me silly at every family gathering. But Ashley – my cousin, Ashley Haviland – she always tried to boss us younger girls around, so we ganged up on her and tickled the crap out of her.”

Again, Meghan didn’t participate, and the others didn’t hold it against her. But she laid awake for a long time after lights out, listening to the soft breathing of her bunkmates and thinking it over. How bad could it be? Adam hadn’t killed her yet. Maybe I should join them, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.



Friday

Today was another easy day for the housekeepers. This week’s guests would leave tomorrow, most of them weren’t too concerned that the floor didn’t get swept. That let Ashley and Holly take the day off – Melissa and Andrea could handle it by themselves.

Meghan had meal prep with Melanie. Bob had business to attend to in Toronto, so he left right after breakfast. Sue had charge of the kitchen at lunchtime. Right away, Meghan saw trouble brewing.

Bob’s menus were unimaginitive but inoffensive – he had to cater to a wide range of tastes, after all. Sue was a little more adventurous. Fried fish on Friday? Bo-o-ring! She would try something else. But unfortunately, the cook book she used was “Recipes for Disaster”.

The salmon patties made Meghan queazy. They were a glistening pink, fibrous-looking, sitting on lettuce leaves on toast. Years ago, Meghan had had a cat. The patties looked a lot like the hairballs Muffy heaved up on the carpet. She pleaded an upset stomach and had just some toast for lunch.

A rumble went through the dining room as the girls brought lunch out to the tables. Most of the men got up and left – they would take their chances at the diner where the regional road turned off Highway 11, they said.

The two dads at Table 1 were no exception. The little girl didn’t really understand what was going on, but the four boys wanted to leave too. They whined and complained when their mothers made them stay. The moms were adamant – you don’t have to eat it, they told their sons, but you have to stay here with us. We won’t let you be as rude as your fathers, they said.

Mr. Wegelin stayed too. He said nothing about the salmon patty on his plate, but he didn’t eat it either. He just ate the other stuff and went on like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He was an example of that vanishing breed, the gentleman – Meghan admired his aplomb.

The girls started clearing the tables, embarrassed, avoiding the guests’ eyes. Meghan cleared Table 1 first. When she was finished, Mr. Wegelin stood up.

“Come on, kids,” he said to his grandchildren. “Let’s get an ice cream.”

Dinner came none too soon – Meghan’s tummy had been rumbling embarrassingly for the past hour. Bob was back, so the entrée was honest fried fish, farm-raised tilapia. Mr. May donated his week’s catch – everybody got a little piece of largemouth bass too.

Ashley and Holly still weren’t back, but that didn’t stop the others after they finished for the day. The others had been teasing Melanie all week about her Yankee accent – pronouncing “schedule” as sked-jule rather than shed-yule and so forth. Today she gave some back.

“I had trouble with your accent too,” Melanie said, and produced a sheaf of handwritten notes. “So I made an Ontario Dictionary to help me out. Here’s the first two entries.”

A. Interrogative intensifier. Usage: “Nice day, A?”
A boot. Approximately. Usage: “He’s a boot 6 ft tall.”

“Let me see that!” Tammy said. “Look at this! Oot. Not in. Usage: “It’s raining oot side.” ”

“Take off! We don’t sound like that, you hoser!” Andrea said indignantly.

“Get her!” Melissa shouted.

The others piled on – all but Meghan. What followed was a four-on-one tussle, punctuated by laughter, grunts, squeals and various foul blows. Melanie ended up hogtied on the Turkish carpet.

“OK, you got me,” Melanie said cheerfully. She wiggled her toes. “Who’s first?”

“Me,” Melissa said. “I’m the alpha bitch here, eh?” She kneeled at Melanie’s bound feet and placed a knee on either side of Melanie’s to prevent a rollover. She had an electric tooth brush and a cup of soapy water, Meghan saw.

“Your feet are dirty, and I’m gonna tickle ‘em clean. You’re really gonna get it!” Melissa taunted. She traced figure-eight’s in Melanie’s arch with a fingernail, producing a stream of giggles.

“Stop teasing her, sis,” Andrea said. “I want to hear her laugh.”

Melissa dipped the brush in the soapy water and started on Melanie’s toes. Melanie burst into ticklish laughter.

Melissa scrubbed the tip of each toe, between them, then held them back and started on the soft skin underneath. Melanie’s laughter went off the scale – the soapy water provided extra lubricant, so the toothbrush tickled a lot worse than it would otherwise. And by sheer good fortune, Melissa had discovered the sweet spots. Melanie arched her back and laughed at the top of her lungs.

Melissa ran the brush up and down the exact middle of Melanie’s stretched out right sole, along the crease. She circled the brush around the balls of Melanie’s feet in figure-eight’s, in smaller and smaller loops to cover every inch of ticklish flesh, then moved on to the center of the left sole while ticklish laughter poured out of her victim. She released Melanie’s toes and gave her a breather – Melanie blinked away tears of laughter and gasped for air. She laughed like mad again as Melissa finished scrubbing her soles, watching the toes twitch and curl.

Melissa worked her way down toward the ticklish heels. There wasn’t really much dirt, but what the hell – she did a thorough job anyway, while Melanie laughed and laughed. She laid the brush down and started in with her fingernails, tickling slowly up Melanie’s arches to her soles. She finished by holding Melanie’s toes back again and tickling under them, and tickled Melanie’s breath away.

“Well done!” Holly said from behind them – they hadn’t heard her and Ashley come in. “Holding up OK, Melanie?”

“Yah,” Melanie gasped out. She took a deep breath. “It’s no worse than what I used to get from my cousins. Who’s next?”

“Could I– ” Meghan blushed, then went on. “Would you mind if I tried that, Melanie?”

“Ever tickle anybody before?” Melanie asked.

“No, I never have,” Meghan answered. “My brother tickles me, but that’s it.”

“That’s a good start, but it’s not sufficient,” Holly said. “Time for a tutorial. Assume the position, Ashley.” Soon Ashley was hogtied next to Melanie.

Holly kneeled behind her roomie, and motioned for Meghan to do the same behind Melanie. “Note the knee position,” Holly lectured. “We’ll start with the fundamentals – fingernail techniques. Do as I do – I’ll coach you through it.”

Holly tickled Ashley’s soles two-handed, watching the toes twitch and curl as Ashley laughed like a crazy woman. She tickled down Ashley’s arches to the ticklish heels, drawing circles and other tickling shapes. Those were the sweet spots – Ashley went crazy, bucking and squirming, laughing her head off as Holly’s tickling fingernails flicked and scratched.

Meghan followed along, hesitantly at first, but gaining confidence as she tickled. She tickled Melanie’s soles, down her arches, onto her heels. Meghan tickled two handed, keeping Melanie laughing madly, scratching and flicking the ticklish heels. She tickled up the arches to the soles and back again, covering Melanie’s feet with unbearable tickling. Not bad, she thought. Kinda like playing a musical instrument.

Holly spread Ashley’s toes apart two by two, tickling between each pair, and Ashley laughed like mad. She held the toes back and scrabbled her nails on the soft skin underneath, then across both soles, side to side and back again. She tickled up and down the creases in the middle of Ashley’s soles, forcing stream after stream of forced mirth. Then two fingernails, drawing fast looping figure-eight’s around and onto the balls of both feet, and Ashley laughed at the top of her lungs.

Melanie laughed her head off as Meghan tickled under her toes, then between each pair. Melanie was losing it, nearing the end of her endurance, lost in ticklish delirium. Meghan shifted her tickle target onto Melanie’s stretched out soles, and her victim dropped back to normal rated laughter. She tickled the balls of Melanie’s feet, faster now, and the laughter went up a notch.

“Finish her off!” Holly said. “Tickle under her toes! It drives her wild!”

Melanie’s laughter went off the scale as Meghan’s nails scratched and scrabbled. Melanie laughed wildly, helplessly, at the top of her lungs, and ran out of air. Meghan had tickled her breathless.

“See? That’s how to do it,” Holly said, and stopped tickling Ashley. She rose and gave Meghan a hand-up.

Melanie rolled onto her side. “Tabarnak!” she gasped out. She blinked away tears of laughter and took long deep breaths, trying to get her breathing and heart rate normal again. “I’ll... get you... for this... she said.

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Meghan replied, grinning from ear to ear. Mrs. May was right – this really was fun!

Ashley had her breath back by then – she’d had lots of practice in her young life. “Cut Melanie loose,” she said. “I think she’s had enough – no sense getting carried away. Tickle me instead.”

So they did – all of them. And a grand time was had by all.



Saturday

Today was turnover day – this week’s guests were leaving. Meghan was a little sad – she had liked them all. But a new group would be here by this afternoon. The people who vacationed here were decent folk – she would probably like the next group too.

Mrs. May motioned Meghan aside after breakfast. “Did you do like I said?” the old woman asked.

“Today,” Meghan said resolutely. If I don’t lose my nerve, she added silently to herself.

“Good! You’ll be happy you did. So long, Meghan – we’ll see you again next year.”

The kids from Table 1 ran down to the beach after breakfast and splashed into the lake one last time while their dads put the boat back on its trailer. It would have to hold them until next year’s vacation. They changed into their clothes in the boat house and left as soon as the boat was secure.

The place was oddly quiet without the guests. Only half a dozen of them stayed over for another week – Bob would make sandwiches for their lunch, releasing his kitchen staff for housekeeping duties. It would take longer than last Saturday had – the rooms had to be stripped and cleaned before making them up. Meghan and Melanie started on their share of the guest rooms after they finished their kitchen cleanup duties. The girls had handicapped the Saturday contest – Meghan and Melanie had fewer rooms to make up than the others. They were the new kids, and besides were getting a late start.

Meghan had the Chickadee and Goldfinch cabins, plus two rooms in Bobolink. The furniture in the cabins was 1970’s vintage, but otherwise they clearly showed their 1930’s origin. The ceilings were tongue-and-groove wood, the bathrooms had half-wainscot and claw-foot tubs, the floors were painted planks. She finished making them up, swept and dusted, then piled the used linen on the porches and went to have an early lunch.

Meghan moved on to Bobolink after her lunch. This building and Alouette had been built the same year as the lodge – the floors had the same teal-and-orange linoleum squares. Meghan climbed the stairs, got fresh linen out of the service closet, and started on Room 11. She checked her watch afterward, then took her time with Room 12. Almost 12:30 – got to make it look like happenstance, she thought.

Sue was loading dirty linen into the van when Meghan came downstairs with the last of it at 12:45. Sue glanced at her watch and gave Meghan a meaningful look. Meghan steeled herself for the coming ordeal and walked back to The Swamp.

“Well?” Melissa demanded.

“I just finished,” Meghan said. “It’s my turn in the barrel today, eh?”

“Sure you’re up for it?” Tammy asked. “We won’t go easy on you.”

“My brother hasn’t killed me yet. Come on, tie me up before I lose my nerve.”

“OK, we have about two hours before we need to go back to work,” Melissa said. “That gives each of us about 10 minutes of tickle time, with breathers in between and a little left over. Let’s do it.”

They decided to use the blanket roll – the tickling was old custom, but not the specific bondage method. The girls rolled Meghan up like a burrito, with only her head and feet sticking out. They secured the roll at ankles, waist and shoulders with the ubiquitous old nylons, then tied her big toes together with string. Ashley, Holly and Meredith lifted her up and deposited her on her tummy on Melissa’s lower bunk. The others rearranged the sofa and arm chairs so everybody could watch in comfort.

Melanie got to go first. She sat on the bunk, then arranged her legs in the same leg-lock Ashley had used on Meredith. This time, though, the bare soles were turned upward.

“Last chance to back out,” Melanie said.

“Shut up and tickle!” Meghan said with false bravado. She fought down a last-minute attack of jitters – she could stand it – couldn’t she?

Melanie flicked her nails in Meghan’s arches, two-handed. It tickled worse than Meghan could have imagined – Melanie was a much better tickler than Adam. Meghan squirmed, arched her back and laughed at the top of her lungs.

Melanie had years of practice on her cousins – now, she put it to good use. Meghan howled with forced mirth as Melanie spider-walked her fingernails all over the bottoms of both feet, heels to toes and back again. Melanie tickled both heels, scratching in circles and figure-eight’s, until Meghan thought she would go crazy. She danced her nails lightly up the arches to the balls of Meghan’s feet, not making much contact but tickling like crazy. She spread Meghan’s toes apart to tickle between them, held them back and scratched the tender skin underneath. Still holding the toes back, she flicked her fingernails up and down the wrinkle in the exact middle of the right sole, and Meghan’s laughter went off the chart.

“Looks like I found the sweet spot,” Melanie observed.

“Keep looking,” Holly advised.

Meghan heard the exchange through a haze of tickle torture. Oh ghod how it tickled!

Melanie held Meghan’s toes back again and tickled around and across the balls of both feet. Suddenly Meghan was bucking, squirming, trying desperately to pull her feet away. “Check it out!” Melanie said. “This is even better than the last spot.”

Melanie released the toes and tickled both soles, watching the toes twitch and curl as Meghan laughed and laughed. She covered both arches with tiny nail flicks, lingered flicking and scratching on the heels, then back up the arches to the soles again. Meghan laughed wildly, face red, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks.

By then, Meghan was incapable of any resistance. Melanie held her in the zone, laughing like a maniac. All she could do was laugh, and laugh, and laugh some more as time expanded and the tickling filled her consciousness. Then Melanie picked up the pace. Meghan laughed her head off, lost in ticklish delirium.

Melanie quit tickling. Meghan giggled weakly as the tickling sensation faded. She was sweaty, thirsty, cheeks tear-streaked. Her ribs and abs hurt from laughing.

Melanie rolled Meghan onto her back, gently wiped her face with a towel and held a glass of water to her lips. Meghan downed it in a few gulps. “That tickled… so much…” she said.

“OK, that’s it,” Melanie said, and started to undo Meghan’s bonds. “Sorry, gang, but she’s had enough.”

Meghan surprised them all. “No I haven’t,” she said. “The others haven’t had their turn. We’re just getting started. Come on, who wants to tickle me?”

Melissa claimed the next round. The others all took their turns, and tickled Meghan until she was red-faced and sweaty, and her ribs and abs ached – Ashley, Holly, Andrea, Tammy and finally Meredith, the most fiendish of them all.

Meredith started slowly, tracing a circle around the ball of Meghan’s right foot with a single fingernail and producing a stream of giggles. She held Meghan’s toes back and traced a figure-eight around the balls of both feet, and the giggles turned to laughter. The loops got smaller, faster, covering every square inch of ticklish flesh. Meredith switched to fast nail flicks, covering the balls of both feet with fiendish tickling. Meghan laughed her head off, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks.

Meredith tickled between Meghan’s toes, under them, down the soles and arches onto the ticklish heels. Meghan laughed helplessly while the tickling fingernails flicked and scratched her heels, her ticklish laughter filling the room. Meredith used the tips of her nails like playing guitar chords, up the arches, while Meghan howled with forced mirth. Then the soles again, in the exact middle, and the balls of her feet, where it really, really tickled. Meghan arched her back and laughed her head off at the top of her lungs.

Meredith held Meghan on the edge, never letting her zone out, while she laughed and laughed. She kept it up for the full ten minutes. She finished on the balls of Meghan’s feet again, tickling as fast as she could. It was more than Meghan could bear – she laughed herself breathless.

Meghan laid there limply, eyes closed, trying to get her breathing and heart rate normal again. She was a mess – sweaty, hair tangled, face streaked with tears of laughter. Her lungs felt like she had run a distance race, her abs felt like they had been beaten with a board. Her feet still tingled from the tickling.

But she felt great. The laughter had released a flood of endorphins. Mrs. May had been right about letting go, letting the sensation overwhelm her and carry her away. Odd as it seemed, Adam hadn’t tickled her enough.

The girls unrolled her. Meredith rested a hand on her shoulder when she tried to rise. “Rest a while,” Meredith said. “You’re pretty shaky. Ashley, get her something to drink.”

“That was… amazing,” Meghan said. “A flood of sensation. Is that how it is for you?”

“More for me than the others, I think,” Ashley said, “but... yes it is,” and the other girls nodded their agreement. She handed Meghan a glass of water. “Glad we did it?”

“Yes – I wish I hadn’t held out as long as I did.” Meghan finished her water. “Let’s play again tonight. Hogtie me – I want to be completely helpless.”

Ashley laughed. “Nope – my turn tonight. But you can tickle me for as long as your fingers hold up.”

Meghan sat up and winced – her abs were pretty sore.

“OK, why not?” she said. She grinned. “After all, it’s old custom.”


***THE END***



If you liked this story, try the sequel: “Apt Pupil”
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=106318




Afterword…

From 1956 to 1966, my family spent a week of each summer vacation at Wild Echo Lodge, a family resort 100 miles north of Toronto on the south end of Sparrow Lake. There were 11 of us – my brother and me, our parents, our aunt and uncle and their three kids, and Grandma and Grandpa. Our last time there was the summer after my freshman year in high school.

My brother and I loved the place. We took our own families back there, with Mom and Pop, in 1988. We thought about going back again a few years ago, but Pop’s health had failed by then and he was no longer able to travel.

I thought about taking my family and Mom to the place again after Pop died, so I looked it up on the internet. I discovered that it has been torn down, the site now has time-share cottages on it. That saddened me – I would have liked to see it again – so I decided to pay tribute to it in a story.

The old couple who owned the place when I was a kid were Canadian Scots. They were pretty tight with a dollar – I suppose they hired only girls because girls worked cheaper than guys back then. The girls lived in a bunk house – they called it “The Swamp” – behind the lodge building. Talk about a great venue for my kind of story!

Want to see the place? The 1952 aerial image at this site is about the way I remember it from when I was a kid.
http://www.sparrowlake.ca/Slcurrnt/McCraw/wildecho.htm

The boat house is to the left of the beach – the dock had been relocated to the other end of the beach by 1956. The well house is on the shoreline. The Lodge is the H-shaped one-story building with the chimneys, partially concealed by trees in the left middle distance. “Oriole” hadn’t been built yet in 1952 – its location was about 50 yards to the left of the Lodge, more or less in line with the center of the building. “Alouette” is the large 2-story building with the porch, in the center of the image. “Bobolink” is just barely visible as an angular outline through the trees behind the well house. The cabins “Goldfinch” and “Chickadee” are close to the shoreline – only one is visible, the other is out of the frame to the right. The lake level was high when this picture was taken, so the big rock is submerged. Its outline is barely visible under the water on the right, marked by the water lilies. “The Swamp” is the small building in the center rear of the image.

I may visit the place again sometime in another story. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this one.


Strelnikov

Superb story, Strelnikov. 😀 I loved it.

Why, you're super-sizing us!

Strel, this is a superb and generous entry in your archive. (I'd write ouevre if I could spell ouervre...oh, forget it!)
I'm going to take your advice from your e-mail alerting us to its posting, and download it to read in rapturous leisure. It looks too good to act the glutton and wolf down.
'Sure beats hearing the speeches at the RNC!

OMG I love your stories. I was wondering why we hadn't heard from you in a while. 😉

great stuff man...you weave a fine tale!