By this time, if you paced the story right, and described some of the killer's murders in particularly gruesome detail, the campers would all be sitting wide eyed around the fire, hanging on your every word. A lot of people thought it was just a story you'd tell the campers; at least, the storyteller would go on to say that's what couple of the counselors who worked here last year thought until the night they sneaked off in a car, driving to a deserted country road not far away. They had parked the car beneath some trees and turned the lights out. As they were sitting there, making out and listening to the radio, the girl thought she heard something just outside the car. A twig snapping. A footstep. A little scratching noise as if someone was touching the door handle with something made of metal. She got scared all of a sudden and insisted that they leave, drive off right away. And the guy who she was with caught the mood from her and started up the car and floored it, Peeling out. They were driving back into the camp right down that very road there—and the storyteller would point at the road leading into the camp - that they'd relaxed and started laughing about it, feeling foolish for getting so carried away and letting their imaginations get the better of them. And as they were getting out of the car, something clinked against the car door and there, hanging from the door handle, was a steel hook.

(And then, you dropped the bombshell:)

Earlier that night, you'd tell them you had heard on the radio that the killer had escaped from the insane asylum and the state police had set up road blocks and were combing the woods, looking for him. They had issued a warning for the people in the area to stay indoors because the man was highly dangerous, a maniac, an animal and he had last been seen in the vicinity of—

(fill in the name of the camp). –-