Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Friday the 13th.

All rights remain property of their respective owners

A/N: I have not edited this piece, and therefore all mistakes are mine. I will edit at some point, especially if good feedback is received.

This is a re-write of a fic that I had originally posted in a different location, and decided it wasn't good enough. Hopefully, this version will be better.

I hope you enjoy.

It was dark as John drove down the road; the headlights of his black Chevy Impala glistening off the highway. John could feel his eyes begin to close, and for a moment, he let them. He awoke with a jolt as he realised he was driving.

Better stop for the night John thought to himself as both hands gripped the wheel so tightly that he hoped the pain would keep him awake until he found a place to stop. As the Impala roared its way down the road, John spotted a sign lit up ahead. He slowed the car to a crawl as he pulled into the car park of a small motel. Pulling into a park beside an old, red pickup he stepped on the brake and turned the engine off. John turned to the seat beside him, and rummaged through the identification papers, and remains of half eaten takeaways before finding his 9mm almost tucked between the two parts of the car seat.

John picked it up and slid it into a holster concealed beneath his left jacket pocket. He pushed the door open, and stepped out of the car, making sure to grab the key from the ignition as he left. John pushed the door shut behind him, hearing it click as the lock engaged. He walked around the car and into the door a few metres away. As he walked in, John assumed that they didn't get many visitors to this area judging from the reactions of the patrons that had looked up from their drinks to glare at the new arrival. He walked up to the bar. A young brunette girl wiped the last of the water from a glass with the tea towel she was holding, and placed it back on the counter.

"What'll it be, stranger?" She asked John as he rested his hands on the bar, and slid onto the bar stool facing her.

"I'll take a whiskey, straight up" John replied, and finished it with "and I'll also take a room for the night." He slipped his wallet from his back pocket and slipped out a credit card – placing it on the bar as the girl turned and picked up a bottle from the shelf. Turning back to john, she grabbed a tumbler from the rack. Flipping it on the counter, she up ended the bottle and let the whiskey trickle out into the glass.

The girl stopped pouring when the glass was at the right level, and then turned to put the bottle back. John put out his hand and grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Leave the bottle." He stated pretty firmly, but she nodded and placed the bottle back down on the counter. Picking up the credit card, she began to move to the till, but she stopped as she read the name on the card. She turned her head back, and looked at John as she squinted her eyes to get a read on him. John didn't look up from his drink, but he could feel the girls' eyes looking him over. The girl didn't say anything, and turned to the cash machine. She swiped the card through the reader, and punched in the numbers. The machine spat out an accepted receipt. The girl ripped the receipt off the machine, and turned back to John, who had just finished his drink, and was pouring himself another one.

She placed the card, and receipt on the counter beside the now full glass. "There you are a bottle of whiskey, and a room. Let me know when you're ready, and I'll get you the key." She wiped her hands on the towel that was strapped to her waist. "Is there anything else I can get for you?" She asked as she watched him, still trying to get a read on him.

"What's your name?" John asked as he downed the rest of the glass and slammed it down on the bar.

"My name's Cherie." She said as she leant on the bar. "What do they call you?"

John grinned as he poured himself another drink. "They call me, John. John Winchester." He told her as he placed the bottle back down on the bar, and picked up the glass again.

"And what brings you out this way, John." Cherie asked, with an air of abject curiosity. John raised the glass to his lips, this time only taking a sip before he answered

"I've got some business in the next town over." He told her. It wasn't an outright lie, but was about as much as he was going to tell her. What was he going to say? He thought to himself just tell her that he was after a demon with yellow eyes, which killed his wife? John shook his head and took another sip of is drink.

"So, you're a hunter then?" Cherie blurted out to John's surprise. He was sure what to say so he decided to try and bluff her.

"What's a hunter?" he asked trying to sound innocent. "You mean someone that goes out and kills deer?" John took another sip of his drink quickly trying to hide any sign of his expressions giving him away.

Cherie didn't look like she was buying it. "We get a lot of hunters round here, John. I know what to look for." She told him, a hint of annoyance sounded in her voice as she spoke.

"Ok, so you know about hunters." John replied spinning the tumbler between his palms as he did so. "I could still be a tourist. This is a tourism state, right?"

Cherie stood back up from the bar, and grabbed another tumbler from the rack. Setting it down on the bar, she poured a nip into it as she spoke "About a hundred miles to the north, maybe. Not around this area. This place has history, that doesn't really attract the tourists." She swigged the shot as she finished and slammed the tumbler on the bar.

John looked confused, he hadn't heard of anything in the area. Perhaps it was just local superstition he thought to himself, but even then he would have heard something. Something in the way she said it made John ask.

"What kind of history?"

Cherie picked up the glass and rinsed the tumbler under the hot water. She turned back to John, drying it as she replied "About two miles up the road, there's a camp." She told him as she finished drying the glass and placed it back in the rack. "A while ago, some say 10 years, others say 20. It changes depending on who you talk to."

John nodded in understanding. He knew how these stories changed. Cherie continued "When the camp was open, one night one of the counsellors, a Mrs Vorhees, went on a killing spree around the camp. Killed everyone, counsellors, kids. Anyone that got in the way. Some say she just snapped. I don't know, but whatever it was. It frightened a lot of people. People tend to go up there still, every now and then, but they never come back. Some say, that the ghost of Mrs Vorhees haunts the place."

John stared at Cherie in surprise at this revelation. "And even hunters haven't been able to stop this?" he asked as he wondered why seeing as it seemed like a pretty simple case.

"Nope" Cherie replied "A couple went up there last year. Never came back."

"I've got some time." John said to her "I'll check it out tomorrow." He said as he stood from the bar stool, swigging the last of the drink and grabbing the bottle to take with him. "Can I get the room key?" he asked.

Cherie turned and leant down beside a cupboard, opening the door to reveal rows of keys hanging on hooks at the back. She picked one of the keys off its hook, and stood back up, closing the door as she turned back to the counter where John was standing. She held out the key, and dropped it into his outstretched hand. John closed his hand around the key and pulled his arm in as he turned away and started to walk out.

He reached the door, and put his hands out as if to push the doors open and stopped himself. He turned back to the bar and called over to Cherie. "What was the name of the camp?"

Cherie put down the glass she had just dried, and called back to him "Camp Crystal Lake."

John nodded his acknowledgement, then turned and pushed his way through the doors.