We met in the program shack at 1 am, wearing robes and ready for the operation. Through the years we'd met there on many a night, but tonight was different. The camp director's log house was years old now. For all those years we'd waited for just the right night. Late in the evening the change in the weather signaled that tonight would be that night.

Chris killed the lights and we kept our voices low as Danny distributed the devices to Francee, Chris and Greg.

Our voices still hushed, we made our way into the house through the unlocked door. With our usual stealth we silently ascended the stairs. There in the hallway we formed a tight circle. Dan pulled his lighter from under his robe, and lit the first device. His face, illuminated by the fire, broke into a broad grin. He nodded, motioning to us to begin. We all in turn lit our devices from the burning fuse of his. The hallway glowed from the sparkling light. One by one the devices sputtered as the fuse burned down to the device itself.

Then came the smoke.

As the devices hissed out their clouds, the house seemed to breathe in the sulphurous air. Tonight was the first time it had been graced with such a chance. Chris spoke first, then we all joined in the chant, "Fog Fog Fog."

The unsuspecting camp director still slept. But as the glorious fog wafted through the upstairs rooms, Dave sprung from his bed. Realizing his battle was lost, he shouted, "You turkeys!" Strong words for a desperate situation. The rest of his exclamations that night are lost to posterity. Suffice to say his speech was littered with phrases such as "What are you doing," and "I can't believe this," and of course more iterations of "You turkeys."

Surprisingly spry for a priest, Dave rushed into the hallway. And, with more energy than his gray hair would suggest, he tried to shove all four of us down the stairs. If it weren't for our expert training, I dare say that some of us would have been left behind.

But we all escaped. Dave remained in the log house. And for the rest of the night, he breathed in the acrid fog. We regrouped in the program shack. As we removed our robes, we congratulated each other on a job well done. We did it; we'd finally fogged the log house. We then dispersed back into the night, each of us savoring this sweet victory. What revenge could possibly surmount such a glorious achievement?

We found out on the last day of camp.

To be continued...