Freddy VS Jason

Part 2

Written By Robert Martin

Started: March 27th, 2004, at 12:00 AM EST

Prologue

"I cannot believe my own creation got the better of me," a voice echoed gently through the hidden visage of darkness. A cold breeze wandered through the rundown house in the middle of the marshes and wood, as a low set of footsteps could be heard creaking against mostly old and rotted down wood. A hand would grab an old machete, which was left on a small table, which seemed to once be some sort of shrine, a dark memory of evil that won't fade away.

The hand gripped around that blade, lifting it from its resting place. A light of amount of red rust covered it; wait, no… it wasn't rust… it was dried blood. Within this dark place, an almost reddish outline could be made out from within the black out the night, a visage of a man, covered totally by the darkness. The only totally visible portion of his body was his one remaining eye; light blue, cold… with bloodshot veins covering the only intact eyeball.

"I allowed it to get loose on my children," the voice continued, gripping the blade tighter now. "And now… he's back home… but he knows the way back to my children. I can't let that happen, not now, not ever… my glory and prestige is my own… and I won't let some hockey masked freak steal it from me!

"In life… I was called psychopathic… in death… I'm the man of everyone's dreams." A light chuckle echoed throughout the entire room, a maddening, and continuing stream of echoes, seeming to get loader and proceed, until they went dead silent, with one, long, and strong breath by the form.

"Jason… Voorhees… they called him retarded… they called him slow. They called it stupid; when they looked at his ugly face, they said, 'whoa.'" Another chuckle resonated though the room, then coming to a quick halt once more.

"This time… I've got a backup plan for that bitch, and it involves a source, even darker then my own. He was brought to hell… one of the carriers of darkness… but now, I need his help. With him… I can once and for all claim what is rightfully my own. No, not just Elm Street, why stop there? I can take over the entire world!" A maniacal laugh carried its way through the house, and out into the marsh; it almost caught the attention of the hunter, who was about to strike at his prey within a tent in the middle of his home.

"He seems to show a lot of qualities the old lap dog, Jason, has. His name is Michael," the voice would say, with a smirk.

2004

A small hotel room, on the fortieth floor, fills with the voice of a single person, who is speaking over the telephone to someone. He is sitting in a hotel room, in a chair, chatting nonchalantly to the person on the other end. "Shirley- Shirl," he would say. "I am going to write a new book after I'm done with this deal, you know that- Yeah, yeah… as I promised, no more of my sex books until after all this media dies down… yeah… can you believe it's been almost six years now? I am still speechless about it all."

Touching his temple, he could feel the small scar across it. "Ronny," the voice said from the other side of the line, "you'd betta get yo ass back here to me before I have a damned mid life crisis."

"Come on baby," Ronny returned, "you're only thirty-one. You won't have one until you're at least… thirty-five."

A "humph" sound returned to him.

"One a joke," he said, with a small laugh. "Well, I need some sleep, I have that big book signing tomorrow. I love you baby." With the response returned, he said a simple good-bye, and hung up the phone. He turned the swivel chair, seeing his book upon the table. He picked it up, reading aloud the title.

"'The Hillcrest Academy Murders, by Ronald Jones.' I always hated that title. He turned the book around, to see his picture on the back cover. But it had been tainted. Upon dropping it on the ground, he stepped back. His face had a stab mark within it, and blood covered it almost entirely. He would just barely hear the closet door slide open, as a familiar white faced maniac appeared from wihin.

He gasped, looking to him. "Oh, fuck no," he said to himself, backing away, and toward his small patio just outside his room. He pulled open the door, and turned around to jump down it. He knew the fall would probably kill him, but better to be killed by a fall then a man you've been hoping was dead for six years. Upon turning around, the glass smashed, a knife flying through it, and ramming into Ronny's chest. With an explosion of blood from his mouth, the Shape lifedt him up from the ground, turning him around, and hanging his body over the edge. He tilted his head, watching Ronny's body writhe in pain and agony, as Michael ripped the blade from him.

He fell straight down tumbling. He his head hit one of the lower patios midfall, exploded into brain matter, skull fragments and gore. His body slammed into a car, smashing the glass and roof down into the cabin of the car.

Shirley would look to her husband in bed, sitting up, and touching him. "Baby, wake up… you're having a nightmare," she said. Turning him over from his side, his entire body exploded in a shower of blood, covering her entirely. She let out a scream of terror, a long, maddening scream. She would never recover from this, and, in a year's time, was dead from a self-inflicted knife wound to the neck.

"My children have been waiting for me," said the dark voice. "And I'd hate to keep them all waiting." Another cackle elevated from the dark room, as the form slowly vanished from sight.

Chapter 1

An old, beaten down, black muscle car roared down the road, ripping its way around a corner. Inside was a man, whom gripped the steering wheel with one hand, while the other hand sifted through a small bag, filled with several books and tools inside. He pulled out an old hockey mask, staring at it. It resembled Jason's old hockey mask; yet it wasn't at damaged, and had two blue streaks across the cheeks rather than the red.

He began to hear the voice of his sister in his head; the memories had haunted him for years, and still haunt him even now. "Tommy," the voice echoed through his head. "Tommy!" A child's voice, his own voice, then filled his head, "Die! Die!" The sounds of something being hit over and over into wet meat would also ring through his ears as if they were going on right at that moment.

"Die! Die!"

"Tommy!"

His mind suddenly returned back to that night, so long ago. A young boy was hugged into his sister's arms tightly, gripping her like he was trying to slowly squeeze the life from her body. The boy looked back behind him, at the malformed and bleeding carcass upon the ground. He looked down at his hand, with the long, black, and dirty finger nails, which he then saw the finger slowly move. He immediately pushed Trish away from him, lifting the machete over his head, and slammed it down into the killer's body.

He didn't stop there. He continued to swing the machete wildly at the deformed man beneath him; as he heard the screams behind him.

"Tommy!" Trish would cry, standing just a few feet away, as the machete came down once again upon the killer. "Tommy," she could cry out to him once more.

"Die," he would exclaim, bringing down the machete once more onto the body. He refused to stop until he knew the killer was dead. "Die!" He refused to stop until Jason was dead.

The sound of the horn of an eighteen wheeler in front of him brought him out of the trance. He, just for a moment, was like a deer trapped in headlights; just staring into the near blinding glare. He veered off the road, into a small wooded area, until the car came to a complete stop. His hand was still gripping around the hockey mask in his hand. He looked down to it, and immediately threw it into the back seat of the car. He took in a few hurried breaths, wanting to get oxygen back into his system.

He pulled an old scrap book from his bag, and would sift through it. Magazine and news paper articles read such titles as "Teenagers Found Dead at Crystal Lake," "The Curse of Crystal Lake," "The Crystal Lake Killer Remains On The Loose," "Crystal Lake Legend," and the final article read "The Crystal Lake Killer Has Vanished."

He knew by the title of the last article that it was finally over. He hadn't heard a single thing about Jason Voorhees in nearly thirteen years; then, as he flipped through the pages, he arrived at a fairly new article; "Copy Cat Jason Voorhees Killer Appears In Springwood."

He knew in order to find out what was going on, he needed to return to the source; Crystal Lake. But it had been nearly twenty years since he was there last; his memory went back to that night. He was out on the lake, in the small boat.

"Megan! Megan no! Jason!" He watched as the cabin exploded in pieces of thin wood, as the hockey masked maniac gripped his huge hands around her head. She began to cry out, wanting to be freed, but the hands began to squish her face together, as she began to cry.

"Jason! It's me you want, remember!" He watched as the monster let go of the girl, and began to come back to him.

He stirred back from that, and looked down to the scrapbook. He flipped the page once more, to a new article, which read "Crystal Lake Killer Returns." He closed his eyes, his mind returning to that night. The fire roared all around him, as he gripped to the chain tightly. Then, he saw as air bubbles came up on the left side of the boat. He peered over, ready at a moments notice to drop the chain around his blackened neck.

He finally got the chain placed around that monsters neck. But Jason, whom refused to say die, jumped up, ripped the boat in half, and they both sunk down into the murky waters below. He felt himself try and get back up to the surface, but Jason had him by the foot. He struggled to free himself, but Jason, with his mighty grip, pulled him back down into the water. He felt the heads wrap around his neck, and shake him violently. He looked into Jason's eyes; well, his one eye; and saw the evilness that it held within. He sucked in some water, and felt everything slowly start to blacken. He would close his eyes, and everything would just seem to end.

He would cough, and he would awaken. He looked up; his vision slightly hazy, as he saw Megan holding to him tightly just above him. He sat up, and looked out to the lake, while all the children behind him stared on blankly.

"It's over," he remembered himself saying; "It's finally over. Jason's home." He slowly watched the fire die down, until it was nothing more than a flicker, than nothing more, at all.

He opened his eyes, and looked into the rearview mirror of the car. He saw himself almost twenty years older; he knew he was a man now; he didn't have the youth, or vitality anymore. But he was smarter, he was wiser; he knew what had to be done. He knew exactly what needed to be done.

"Jason," he said to himself, a bit more of a manly voice coming from him then he had remembered. "I am old," he thought to himself, knowing that it was all true. He was older, and he began to think he didn't have the strength anymore to fight Jason Voorhees. It was at this moment he began to have doubts about continuing on.

"This is foolish," he said to himself, starting the car up once more. He let the engine roar twice, before he put the car back into drive, and continued on down the road. He passed a sign which read

'Welcome To Springwood. It's A Nice Place To Live.' He groaned upon reading the tacky old sign, passing into the town, just as he had long since planned. He knew this battle would be long, and hard; but he had to face this once and for all, and he knew he had to find out as much as he could about this town of Springwood.