When I return to visit Louisiana, I like to make the time to stop in at Camp Claiborne, revisit the old stomping grounds. Over the years, it has changed. A lot. At some point, the state or military or some kind of authorities swept in. They said it was hazardous, that
If the knowledge that I actually went out to adventure in Camp Claiborne on a Halloween night doesn’t make you question my sanity, then the story of what happened might. It’s a story that I don’t really like telling for that reason. If there hadn’t been another witness there…well, then I
I’m not usually one for content warnings. I mean, I don’t begrudge people who use them or need them, but I can never remember to until it’s too late. That said, I really, really like dogs and cats, so I’m giving a reverse content warning here: nothing bad happens to the
When I recount these stories to friends nowadays, there’s one question in particular that comes up again and again: “Why did you keep going back?” Sometimes I try to answer it, but other times I dodge and instead laugh and mention that there were places in the camp that were too
Why exactly was Camp Claiborne so wretched, and when did it start getting this way? For answers, let’s look to the history of the place. It’s hard to find detailed accounts of the land’s older history beyond what we can infer from archeology. To summarize what little I found, what’s now
One of my favorite Claiborne stories is one that makes me question why anyone would ever go out there with me again, especially the witnesses present for this one. You see, in deciding which stories to pull together for this, I’ve made a conscious decision to privilege things that happened to
Camp Claiborne attracted more than just partying or thrill-seeking teens. On my first trip out there, I was warned by the older kids about the more dangerous sorts who would also use these woods—criminals and cultists. Of course, I didn’t believe it. I figured it was just old rumors. But I
For a place that had so many seemingly impossible things happen in it, Camp Claiborne followed a surprising amount of rules. Or, at least, we followed the rules. One of the way its rules and ours came together was through a little game that we would play every single time we
When I was a freshman in high school, I was friends with seniors who let me in on their favorite partying spot. It was secluded, private, and—best of all—incredibly creepy. It was Camp Claiborne, a military base built for and discarded after World War 2, abandoned and left to be swallowed
So there I was—about an hour left in the anniversary, in a five flan match (sweet, sweet 530% bloodpoint bonus), in a game where two teammates dc’ed on first hook, leaving me (death hook) and our fourth (no hooks, clearly team mvp) sitting on a mountain of points for chases, saves,