Sounds.
Not the sounds of my home, sounds of a foreign place. A building? A morgue?
No sounds of frantic hearts or people running in fear. There were sounds of buzzing fluorescent lights and feet squeaking on a clean, waxed floor. It was a morgue.
There were smells too.
The smell of chemical cleanliness and yet an earthy undertone, the smell of my home. They finally caught me, those prisoners of reason and revenge. Those who want me to suffer as their loved ones had at my hands.
I say take your best shot.
I looked around the room and saw to my left, the badly decomposed, lifeless body of my forefather, Jason Voorhees. During his semi- living years, Jason was the basic definition of a living corpse, but in his death, time was not kind to him. He went through the bloating stage a long time ago and now he was in the active decay stage. Maggots feasted on his tissue so long ago, and a hardened shell was left for time to remove. His chest was being held open by skin retractors and his withered entrails were in the fluorescent light. I was strapped to a metal operating table and its coolness was giving me goose bumps. The bastards of revenge cut him open to see what kept him alive for so long… and what kept me from dying.
I looked to my right and glimpsed an empty operating table that gleamed in the humming light. Next to in, in one of those plastic chairs that can be found in hospitals, sat, rather uncomfortable, a potential victim for my….. Not enemy, but not friend either. Was he an acquaintance? Was that the word? Well, it waited for Krueger's descendant, Jesse.
I looked around again.
My weapon, a titanium alloy machete blade that was attached to the original handle that my forefather, Jason, used lay on another metal table, calling to me, practically screaming for me to hold it again. The table wasn't too close or too far for that matter. There was no one in the room, excluding the sleeping victim and the body. This made for an easy escape route for me, should I want to leave.
There was a new smell permeating the air. The smell of blood covered with Axe Body Spray. The Dark Temptation spray. But yet, that smell was covered up with the smell of lake water. Crystal Lake water to be exact. But all of those were covered with the smell of something burning. Like a beef patty or a fatty piece of pork and the smell of boiling blood came to my nose.
Jesse Krueger had come.
And he was very, very angry.
I sighed. Apparently, when the Krueger family gets angry, about the level that Jesse was, they take on a burning flesh smell, or so Jesse told me.
We aren't friends, yet not enemies either, but we do hang out on occasions.
So many scents on one body.
Even though I had been lying on the smooth metal table for a while, I got goose bumps from anticipation, wanting badly to fight with or against Jesse.
I heard a door open and glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw the bastards that had trapped me. Those bastards of revenge and hate. They crowded above me, obscuring my view of my forefather and of the door where I can hear, even over the loud voices of those above me,
1, 2, guess who's coming for you?
The thing was that Jesse was singing under his breath.
One of the revenge seekers reached out and took off my old, broken Detroit Red Wings hockey mask to reveal my scarred face underneath. Another reached out and attempted to take off my spiked collar but stopped when there was a polite knock on the door on the far wall.
"You expecting anyone?" an average girl with shoulder length wavy blonde hair, brown eyes, a nose job, a nip and tuck, who was getting over her Vicodin addiction, asked.
Everyone shook their heads.
The blonde huffed out a frustrated breath and walked to the door while the others went back to trying to get my collar off of my neck without getting bitten.
There was a thud as the blonde hit the linoleum floor. Dead. Blood stained her once white shirt in four red parallel lines.
The group whipped their heads around to stare in fear at the man in the doorway.
"You have something of mine," Jesse purred as he licked the blood off of his blades. "And I want him back."
That was when chaos erupted in the room. Most of the group had their own weapons such as guns, but one of them, a Mulatto with a nasty weed addiction, looked around wildly and grabbed the first thing he saw, which was my machete. By the time both he and I looked at Jesse, he had already killed the others.
Jesse sighed, as if he was impatient.
"Why don't you put that silly thing down and we can talk this out."
I huffed out a breath. This was going to take longer than I thought it was.
Dope Smoker seemed to believe Jesse because he began to lower my machete.
"Put it back on the table," Jesse convinced Dope Smoker.
He obeyed.
Jesse walked so painfully slow behind the Mulatto, I didn't know what to think anymore. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew Jesse wasn't going to talk, he wanted to kill and he wanted to get to me.
Jesse grabbed Dope Smoker by the shirt and shoved his left hand as deep into the guy's stomach area as far as it could and he thrust his hand upward and into all of the important organs that one needs to stay alive.
Bright red blood flowed like wine over Jesse's glove and pooled on the linoleum floor where it began to cool and clot. Jesse dropped the Mulatto in the puddle where he landed with a sickening crunch as his skull cracked on the floor.
Jesse stood stock still for a moment; his long mousy brown hair fell in front of his eyes, obscuring his emotions.
He looked up at me and said, "You know, if you look at it right, the puddle looks like Finland."
I can't believe what he just said. I'm tied to an autopsy table and he thinks that blood puddles look like countries. He's insane.
Then again, so am I. it runs in the family I guess.
Jesse saunters up to me and runs his blades down my chest and whispers two small words in my ear, "I win."
The scene fades and instead of falling heavily on the floor like I would normally do, I find myself in my bed with Jesse on the floor next to it.
I grabbed him by his shirt and shake him.
'You made the straps too tight you ass!' I mentally yell at him, knowing that he can hear me.
Jesse just chuckles, just like his forefather, Freddy did whenever he was in this situation.
"I just wanted to see you struggle," Jesse said. "You know I take out my frustration on you."
When he said that, I saw that his face was covered with pancake makeup, like he was hiding something.
I wiped away most of the makeup and found ugly, purple bruises around his right eye and on his cheek.
I hugged Jesse close to me. We aren't friends, but we aren't enemies either, and I care for him.