Enamor
This is my second fanfiction. I recommend you read "Demented" first, my Nightmare on Elm Street fanfiction, otherwise Emma's friend Elvira will be unfamiliar to you. They are intersected many times throughout. I don't own Friday the 13th. I only own Emma, Elvira, and those pricks. (You will recognize these pricks later) Rated M for violence, swearing, and (perhaps) smut later on. Anyway, enjoy, and I hope to God Emma isn't a Mary-Sue. Let's provide some insight on Emma before we proceed.
Name: Emma Berkowitz (contrary to Demented)
Age: 23
Appearance: icy blue drooping eyes, shoulder-length messy chocolate hair, pale skin, average body-shape, petite figure
Clothing: Buckled black shoes, grey tights, long lacy black dress with buttons at the torso and long-sleeves, a black transparent shawl (Aristocrat/Victorian fashion, if I may)
Chapter 1: The Attic
Elvira had just left though the door mentioning something about taking a piss on her body if she died. Emma sat shocked for a moment, but ignored this, as this was Elvira's average behavior. Dread consumed Emma's thoughts. She was going to be a maid for three classmates taking a trip to New Jersey. This wasn't the worst part; these three were the average 'jerk & whore' group, not to mention they were camping in a campsite from where nearly nobody returned alive.
"But eight dollars an hour is worth it," Emma argued with her dread. She sat still for a moment, trying to comprehend what else might make the two weeks worth while. Her results came up as nothing. Emma shuffled into her room to pack. She opened her suitcase and stuffed inside clothes, a nightgown, hygiene equipment, a multitude of books, (including children's books she had owned since early childhood) blankets, and her assortment of health pills. Vitamin D for her lack of sunshine, Fluoxetine for her Autism, and various illegal drugs that Elvira had somehow managed to smuggle from a Mexican convenience store now littered her suitcase. "What makes her think I would use drugs?" she said to herself while snatching Elvira's drugs from the suitcase.
She certainly wasn't going to miss her house; a single-story, hideously yellow, nearly windowless, one-bedroom flat. However, it was the cheapest on the market, and unpopular pianists didn't usually make that much money. Plus mortgage was very low, which was convenient. She had only spent about a year in this house after graduating college with a degree in music. A cabin would be a refreshing change.
A large school bus stopped at her house and honked. The three kids from inside motioned her to hurry. Emma locked her door and stopped at the sliding door. As the door nearly closed in on her she asked "Where on Earth did you get a bus?" Trevor shooed her to the back and said "I got it from my bus driver uncle." Lindsay held two fingers to her nose. "What a filthy bus! I hope we're not spending two weeks in here!" Jake put an arm around her. "Don't worry, babe, it will be way more comfortable in our cabin. Our 'plans' for tonight won't be ruined." Lindsay giggled while Emma nearly gagged. What kind of people, she thought, have sex without loving their mate?
She gazed from the fogged windows and dreamed of the plentiful childhood she never had.
A chocolate haired girl with droopy, disfigured eyes beheld the street below from the rainy attic window. She spent most of her time doing this, and nothing more. People who walked by caught her gaze and quickly strode away while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "creepy eyes." She didn't stay in this dwelling because she was forced to. She had no desire to meet again with her prostitute mother. Every day, the conceited woman would deliver a small supper of orange juice, beans, and Emma's daily pills. Not that she was complaining, though. She loved orange juice, pulp-free or not. Whenever her mother was gone for "work," she snuck downstairs and rummaged through the fridge for anything that was even remotely like orange juice. Everything besides apple juice; she hated that bitter taste with a passion.
The only time Emma even came out of the house was for school. That was twice as bad, as most kids gossiped about her eyes. "Maybe her dad was a mutant," they would say. She had only seen him once in her life when she was seven. He appeared at their doorstep and groveled at her mother's feet, asking for another chance with him, like she was a divine goddess. He didn't seem to understand that their relationship was a one-night-stand. Her mother pushed Emma to him and told him, rather bluntly, that this was his daughter. "You made me have this freak of nature," she said to him. He was a rather odd looking man; he had brown messy hair that swept over his dull, curved green eyes. He was tall and lanky as if he had never eaten before. His pale and hollow face would have been handsome if it wouldn't have had his bones protruding from his sallow skin like a thin white sheet wrapped tightly around his skull.
The odd man looked up to Emma and his upwards-curved eyes grew wide. "That's right, Thomas, this is your daughter." Tears spilled onto his cheeks. "She has your beautiful lips, Candace," he sulked. Emma looked at her father. What a pathetic man, she thought. Thomas gazed into Emma's dreamy blue eyes, which were now narrowed at him with criticism. "You don't care about me, do you?" she asked him. "You never came to visit me. You only love mommy, am I correct? Get out of my sight, you negligent old man." Emma slammed the door and sprinted upstairs. She sat down on her piano stool and continued playing with her back hunched and her small fingers pounding madly at the keys. This piano was her only solitude and her only friend. The ceilings leaked, the wooden floor was moldy with age, and her mattress smelled of dust and moths, but that didn't matter. Nothing did anymore.
And here she was, on her way to Camp Crystal Lake, presumably to her death. Not that she cared; if the kids around her were disposed of, she would be satisfied. For what seemed like hours, she sat alone in the back of the bus and rubbed the fogged windows while the three jeered and Lindsay teased her choice of clothing. As if yours is any better, Emma thought; you pretty much dress in short-shorts, a see-through top, and nothing else besides your thong, filthy prostitute.
Anger loomed over her head but sadness soon replaced it. It wasn't fair to her how some received a winning deck of cards in the game of life, but others got nothing. Why did God make such a miserable world for us to live in? Emma slumped in her seat and dreamt of herself rising from a lake. A very large, shadowed, figure emerged from the earth next to the lake. In his hands was a large blood stained machete that he swung down onto the dirt. His faceless head turned to Emma and she jittered awake at the entrance to Camp Crystal Lake.