“Many, many times,” I lied.
There was no way I was going to tell Karl that I had never camped out in Bony Finger Canyon. All the high school kids did. They even had parties down there. I had always just found a way to miss them.
Bony Finger Canyon got its name way back when, when some miner or prospector or somebody found a skeleton arm down there. People say that the owner of the arm now haunts the canyon, looking for his missing limb, occasionally hacking the arms off of unsuspecting visitors.
I don’t know if it’s true, but I don’t want to take the chance.
Supposedly, if the arm is returned, the ghost will lead the good Samaritan back to a buried treasure.
But, of course, nobody knows where the arm is, either.
“Come on, you’ve never been,” said Karl. “I’ve never seen you there.”
“I have!” I insisted. “I’ll go tonight, to prove it.”
Oh crap. What have I done?
“And I know where the Dead Man’s arm is, too!” I head myself telling him.
“Well what don’t you bring that, too,” Karl sneered.
He didn’t believe me.
It made sense. I wasn’t believable.
Karl seemed to think about my offer. “Alright,” he said, after a while. “Tonight, just after nine. Meet us at Old Man Johnson’s field.”
“Oh, and don’t forget the arm,” he added, just to make sure that I knew that he knew I was bluffing.