Chapter 4:
The Murders Begin
The cop who had given Ginny the lift was driving back along the dirt road when a hooded figure suddenly cut across him unexpectedly. They were going in the direction of Camp Blood.
"Hey, you there!" The cop called after the figure he had seen. No response.
The cop then began to run. Running thourgh the woods, chasing the sinister figure, as it darted between trees and under fallen logs and over bushes. Birds flew amongst the tree tops, twittering in fear and the two passed by, zipping off, moments apart. The cop ahd no idea how close he was in comparison to the figure he had seen. The running man, the man who had gone like a phantom. "yeah, like a phantom," the cop chuckled to himself as he reached a large puddle lying in his path. Nearing it, he slwoed down. He had not heard anyone crossing over it.
"Where could he be?" The cop muttered to himself, panting heavily, gasping for air. He had no idea how far he had run, how deep he was into the woods, he close he might be to the next town. He had not wanted to see too much of the place, Camp Blood. The dreaded place. It had become a popular rhyme and urban legend to local kids, a rhyme about the 6 young people killed by Pam Vorhees at Camp Blood. The cop began repeating it in his head, it haunting him, unable to escape.
"One's throat sliced,
Two's neck slashed,
Three's neck diced,
Four's face smashed,
Five's face,
Cut on as harrow,
Six's neck pinned,
To a door with arrows,
And it all left the poor little girl,
To not join the dead,
So with a quick twirl,
The killer lost her head."
As the cop stood, bent, thinknig of that dreaded night, those murders. How the killings had haunted the area. Oblivious to the machette being lifted above his neck, coming down with deadly speed. Blade meeting neck.
Blood splattered on the Phantom's face moments later, the cop lying face down in the puddle.