The City of Townsville.
It was a little known fact that Townsville was just outside the city limits of a small ghost town.
The locals of the area had already come to be familiar with the dark and foggy nights near the old camp site. The ambiance came with the territory. To some it was something to take pride in, the fact that they lived in one of the most famous ghost towns of all time. But that was only to a handful. The rest could comprehend just how dangerous the legends of the town could be - because unlike a few ghost towns, the aforementioned legends had investigations conducted on them by the federal bureau of investigation as little as four years ago.
In 1980, a crazed woman named Pamela Voorhees set off a murderous chain of events at this campground after her young son, Jason, died due to the neglect of the teenage camp counselors. The teenagers acted as most teenagers usually do - smoking joints, having sex, and above all, not doing their jobs.
Jason, who was a small boy at the time, around five or six years old was constantly teased for his hunchback and down syndrome. One day, just for the sake of cruelty it seems, his peers picked him up and threw him into the lake. Because no one was watching, little Jason drowned and died. His body was never recovered from the lake. His mother, Pamela, in a loving rage for her son took it upon herself to murder every counselor at the campsite... under the impression that no children were safe there and that the counselors would always and forever be, pot smoking nymphomaniacs. She was stopped of course (beheaded) and just as her son Jason apparently had, she died on the soil of the campground.
Years after the death of Pamela, however, more murders began to happen at the campsite. But at the hands of what seemed to be a copycat killer as Pamela Voorhees was, no question, dead. It wasn't long before people realized that madness ran in the family and that little Jason, now a man and very much alive, donned a burlap sack over his head and a machete in his hand to finish what his mother had started.
Re-emerging summer after summer, now replacing his burlap sack with a goalie's hockey mask he'd commandeered from a victim, Jason Voorhees seemed unstoppable. The theory was that he had crawled out of the lake after being thrown in, but being a scared and confused retarded boy, simply ran deep into the forest where he raised himself and became an unstoppable animal. There was also a tale that said Jason was watching in the shadows as his mother was beheaded, and this was him seeking revenge just as she did for him. Another theory suggested that Pamela Voorhees practiced the dark arts and had cast a spell where upon her death, her son would rise from the swampy lake and avenge her.
One thing in the town was for certain, though - Jason Voorhees's reign of terror had not stopped until last summer, when he was nowhere to be found. Rumors around said that he might be the madman responsible for the murders in New York that summer. But most everyone agreed that this was just paranoia. That maybe, just maybe, someone had done Jason in. And the town could finally rest.
On this dark night the crickets were chirping loudly and the wind quietly brushed over the old lake in the center of the old campgrounds, causing ripples in the water. It was an unusual sense of serenity. And in light of this, anyone who was familiar with the area would have known something eerie was going on.
The crackling of leaves in the distance signaled a car driving in from off the state road, brights on, scaring any birds around it out of their trees. It stopped, not far from the lake. and cut it's engine.
Out from the car stepped the beautiful tall redhead. The mayor's aide known as Sarah Bellum, who was smart and informed enough to know the history of this campground. But being a good-hearted soul on a mission, she forced herself to step out of her car, slowly shutting the door behind her so as to not wake any ghosts in the area. She looked over her car to the old cabins that stood before her and took a, she felt, melodramatic breath. (Especially with no one being around to hear it.) This was indeed, as creepy as it gets. But she knew that it would pay off in the long run. People would be here with her within the next few hours, and she had worked so hard to got the water and electricity restored to this place. This was for the children of Townsville, for the parents who so eagerly wanted them to have something to do instead of sitting inside all summer. This was also, a sweet maternal chord hit her breast, for the girls. Who she knew were going to be so excited when they got here. Whom she knew would make the rest of the children feel safe from any ridiculous ghosts that might exist here.
School was to end the next day and the children were due to check into camp before the evening. There were still a few things to be done at the camp site, mostly setting up all the bunks with sheets and blankets. She had volunteered to be the counselor to come and sleep at the campground alone for one night, if only to make sure that anything that needed a few finishing touches was handled.
The first thing she needed, though, was a quick shower. She had driven straight from Townsville city hall to the outskirts just to get this all ready. She still smelled of the cheap cologne the mayor wore everyday. In light of this fact, the first thing she did after stepping out of her car was open the trunk and retrieve a duffle bag before heading towards the showers. She figured that besides washing the mayor's musk off of her, the shower would wake her up a bit. She was fatigued as much as the run-of-the-mill business woman was at the end of the day, and needed a little bit of refreshment.
Shutting the car's trunk heading towards the building marked "LADIES SHOWER" - she couldn't help but admit to herself that the slow cracking of the leaves beneath her heels sent a shiver up her spine. This was a scene from a movie of some kind, she thought... the kind that didn't end very well at all. Despite it all, though, she shook off her childlike fear and hoofed confidently to the front door of the showers without incident.
Once she was inside, Sarah Bellum stood in front of the mirror, surveying her body as she hoped other women did. She didn't have any friends and secretly thought sometimes that she was unnaturally vain when she checked every inch of her body in the mirror at night. Especially her face, which she felt most proud of. She never showed it, and never took overzealous pride in the natural beauty of her face. But it was there, as she knew everyone saw upon first meeting her.
KI-KI-KI-KI-HA-HA-HA-HA
Turning around with a start, Miss Bellum instinctively let out a small shriek. She covered her mouth immediately afterwards, remembering that the last smart thing to do when hiding from something is to scream and let them know you're whereabouts. What was that? It sounded like someone whispering. Or trying to breathe. Or maybe it was just the wind. She surveyed the room.
It had to have been the wind.
SLAM! The door of the shower building thudded shut like a slap across a face, also sending Miss Bellum jumping what she felt was almost eight hundred feet in the air. Clutching her keys to hear breast, she caught her girlish fears sneaking up on her again. Determined to not be the slave to crackling leaves or wind, she marched towards the door with as much confidence as she could muster. How was she going to keep a bunk full of scared children calm when she herself almost had a heart attack because of a gust of wind?
She poked her head outside the door and just to be sure said, "Hello?" She raised her voice a bit louder over the now whistling wind, "Is anyone there?"
There was no answer.
KI-KI-KI-KI-HA-HA-HA-HA
She returned inside the building to shower. Maybe this was a side-effect of fatigue. It made sense that being this tired would make one delusional. Especially when one was by themselves in the middle of nowhere, spending the night alone in a spooky campsite. She thought back as to what her logic was when she made the decision to stay for the night. But before she could finish her thought -
SLAM! The door shut again, louder than before, even. She had forgotten once again to shut it all the way. This time, barely wincing instead of hurdling herself into the air again, Miss Bellum took a glance across the room only to see that the window on the other side was, in fact, open. It HAD been the wind. Who would put a window inside of a showering station? That practically begged a peeping tom to watch the show. She made a mental note to get that window boarded up before the children had to shower the next day. She also took this moment to march back over to the door and make sure to shut it this time. She even took it a step further, and locked it not only with the door lock, but the chain lock at the top.
She walked to the center of the room and used one foot to pry off the shoe on the other foot, then visa versa. She slipped off her faded black socks and threw them inside of her shoes. Unbuttoning her shirt, she took a glance towards the window once more, stepping out of the moonlight so as to not feel as exposed to the spooky night. Soon, she was down to her black bra and panties, which she gave a sad sigh as she slipped off. Undressing was a good way to make ones self feel incredibly alone.
Turning on the water, she did something she had done since she was a little girl, and tested the temperature with her foot. It was a little too cold, so bending over, sleek body in the darkness she turned the H-knob to the right, getting the temperature she wanted. She stepped into the shower, sliding the door closed behind her.
Letting the warm water hit her face first, she turned away from it, soaking her hair and letting the water run down her cold body, which she didn't realize was so cold until the moment she was doused in the steamy sheet of the water. She basked in this for a moment, closing her eyes in relaxation. Then, realizing she had forgotten her shampoo in her duffle bag, she opened the sliding door of the shower.
Heading towards her bag, dripping wet, she started to dig through it. She found her shampoo.
KI-KI-KI-KI-HA-HA-HA-HA
The weird sound from earlier. But it sounded a lot closer than it did last time. She looked around cautiously, eyes jetting towards anything and everything - even if it didn't look particularly suspicious. She held her shampoo to her chest like a security blanket of some kind, backing up towards the window across the room.
KI-KI-KI-KI-HA-HA-HA-HA
There was no mistake about it. The sound, whatever it was, was a lot closer than it was earlier. Maybe even right outside?
KI-KI-KI-KI-HA-HA-HA-HA
There was the high-pitched CRISH of a window shattering before Miss Bellum noticed the hand. A huge, slimy hand that had just crashed through the window and now had it's almost inhuman strong grip around the slender neck of Miss Bellum. It was choking her with all it's might, whatever the hand belonged to was out for blood.
Screaming for her life and choosing flight before fight could even cross her mind, Sarah Bellum opened her mouth wide-as-possible and bit into the slimy thing like it was a well done steak. There was no cry of pain, but the hand DID let go, disappearing into the night as Miss Bellum ran towards the other side of the room, fiddling with the door handle and the lock anxiously before running stark naked to her car. She didn't even have time to process what was happening. What was that? Was that even a hand? She wiped her mouth to find a black-green substance on it from biting the hand. It was like a residue from a rotting fish. She wanted to throw up, but time was of the essence. She had to get to the car and get home and warn the entire city of Townsville not to even thing about going to Camp - CLUNK.
She had run into a body. A big body. A tall, buff man wearing a hockey mask - a rusted machete in his hand. His shoulders rising up and down as he breathed hard and deep. He wore a tattered tan jacket and tattered cargo pants, it seemed. This was him.
This was Jason Voorhees.
Tilting his head to the side, he looks back at her - expressionless hockey mask staring deep into her eyes. It was then that Miss Bellum fell to her knees, sobbing so hard that she was sobbing silently. She was going to die. Less than two minutes earlier she was taking a shower and now, nothing in her life feeling even remotely worth it, she was going to meet her end at the hands of this murderous folk tale. She looked up into the face of death. And then...
He wasn't there anymore.
Miss Bellum looked side to side, crying and confused. Almost as if on cue, the crickets began to chirp again as if nothing had happened at all. She was willing to bet that if she were to go back into the showers, that the window wasn't going to be shattered at all. Was this a nightmare?
The wind blew through the trees and somewhere, an owl let out an eerie hoot. She slowly got up to dusty off her muddy, wet, and very naked body. But then she heard a sound. Another crackling in the leaves. She quickly turns to see what it is and SQUISH.
Jason Voorhees had thrown the machete towards her like a dart board, the pointed end of the machete landing right in the middle of her face. The blade had gone completely through, and her curvy body fell straight to the ground.
Standing in the distance as the dead body of Sarah Bellum twitched for the last time, he slowly stomped up to her body and casually looked down on it, staking his machete by the handle. Stepping on her head, using it as a foot stand, he pulled the machete out of her face. The SCHLICK of the blade coming out as blood poured onto the dirt of the campground. Just as it had done dozens of times before. Miss Bellum's pale and dead body lay there in a bloody mess as Jason walked off into the distance, machete in hand, passing up a small plank of wood sticking out of the ground. An old, beat up, rotting wooden sign that read, "Camp Crystal Lake".
FRIDAY THE 13th PART 8.5
JASON TAKES TOWNSVILLE