Tommy shone the flashlight down the basement staircase, listening to the thunder clap overhead and the rain pattering on the roof.
He hated going down there. The smell, the sounds he heard while he was down there, the cobwebs, the rats you could hear scurrying in the walls, and it terrified him. Tommy didn't like being scared even though he could sit in his room for hours and design the most realistic and terrifying masks.
His masks didn't scare him. They were just a manifestation of all of his real-life fears, except he was in control. He could manipulate the mask how he wanted, and make it do exactly what we wanted, but he couldn't control what happened down in the cellar.
He couldn't control the cockroaches running under his feet, or running into a spider web. He couldn't control the shadows dancing around and he couldn't control it if something was lurking in the dark down there…waiting to jump out and eat him alive…watching his every move, smelling his fear…waiting to rip him apart limb by limb and devour him.
When they were robbed back in the city, Tommy wasn't in control. He couldn't control that someone had violated the sanctity of their tiny studio apartment and taken what was rightfully theirs, and it scared him. It scared him to not be in control. Tommy hated that feeling.
The feeling of being totally helpless in a situation was the worst feeling he could imagine, and it came true down in the basement.
Tommy took a deep breath, and stepped on the first step, the wood sagging and squeaking under his feet.
The sour smell of must reached his nostrils, and he grimaced at the sight of a rat moving through the beam of his flashlight, two beady little eyes glowing in the dark. He arched the flashlight around his head, illuminating the silvery sheen of cobwebs strung across the beams above him.
He reached the bottom of the staircase, and moved through the dark and cluttered cellar, trying not to notice the bugs and the spiders, trying to block out the sound of the rats squeaking in fright and seeking shelter.
He pushed open a small crawlspace door, squeezed through and his flashlight beam came to rest on the fuse box. Every time the lights had gone out before during a storm, Trish and his mom always made him to be the one to go down and fix the lights.
Tommy, do this, Tommy, kill this spider, Tommy, go fix the lights, Tommy…it was all they ever said, and it made sense to him. When his dad left, his mom had looked at him and told him with tearful eyes that he was the man of the house now, and it resonated with Tommy.
His dad never really taught him how to be a true man, he only taught him how to fix a car and ride a bike and other typical boy stuff, but never how to actually handle situations like a man…like the head of the household, and that scared him too.
What did that mean? The man of the house? What would he have to do? It seemed like such an overwhelming responsibility to undertake, and a huge burden for him to have to be under.
Tommy didn't know what he would do in a really bad situation, to be perfectly honest; they lived out in the country and nothing all that bad happened. When they got robbed back in the city, Tommy had no idea what the man of the house was supposed to do. He had seen his mother and sister crying and shaking, terrified of someone coming back to finish what they started, and he just stood there uselessly.
What could you do? He was twelve; he had no idea how to make someone feel better or what to say to calm people down, or what to do in these awful situations that life inevitably brought.
Maybe he'd learn soon.
Tommy flipped the breaker switch and let out a sigh of relief, as he heard the lights flickering on throughout the house.
Then, a rustling sound came from a dark shadow of the room, and Tommy didn't even shine his flashlight in the direction. He scrambled back through the crawlspace door, bolted up the staircase and slammed the basement door shut, fastening the lock.
He let out a sigh of relief, just as he heard the front door bang open and then close.
Tommy dashed into the foyer, as he met Trish, frantically running into the kitchen to meet him. Rob came in shortly behind her, wielding a machete. Both of them were soaked from the rain.
"Tommy, thank God," she said, hugging him tight.
Tommy could see the panic and the fear in her eyes.
"Trish, what's going on?" Tommy asked.
"Tommy, is Mom back yet?" Trish asked.
"No, not yet," Tommy said.
Trish gave Rob a look, her eyes wide with worry, and she made a beeline for the telephone in the kitchen.
"I'm going to call for help," Trish said, hurriedly rotating the dial.
There was no dial tone when she put the receiver to her ear and the color drained from her face.
"Rob, what is going on?" Tommy asked, fear starting to take over.
"The storm must have blown the phone lines down," Rob said. "I'm going to go next door. Maybe"
Trish slammed the phone down in frustration.
"I'm going with you,"
"No," Rob said staunchly. "It isn't safe,"
Trish stepped closer, looking him in the eyes.
"I'm going with you,"
She turned to Tommy and grabbed him by the shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes. She didn't want to tell him and didn't want to scare him, so she did her best to convey the seriousness of the situation with her eyes.
"Tommy, stay here and lock the doors, ok?"
"Hold the fort, Tommy," Rob said and they both ran for the door, as Tommy stood there, flabbergasted and scared out of his mind.
Trish stopped before they went out the front door, and saw Gordon perched on the couch.
Who knows what she was about to encounter? Gordon could provide protection.
She motioned him to follow.
Rob and Trish, with Gordon trotting behind them, stepped out into the pouring rain, and began to hastily follow the narrow path that connected the Jarvis house to the rental house.
The lights were out at the rental house and it was dead quiet.
Trish began to feel a pang of dread in her gut and a knot forming. This isn't how she wanted to spend her night-running through the rain with a maniacal killer running amok.
She hadn't even had time to process what Rob had told her, and now she was slowly realizing. This lunatic just might be out here with them, and it was starting to scare the hell out of her.
Trish and Rob climbed the porch stairs and stopped dead in their tracks.
There was a huge hole in the front door and shards of wood were lying all around the floor. It had been smashed through, or hacked down with an axe. Trish cowered behind Rob, feeling her heart began to pound.
"He's been here," Rob said, gripping his machete tighter in a defensive position.
Gordon all of a sudden began to bark and snarl, baring his teeth like he was possessed. He was looking straight at the house, his hair standing up on end.
"What if he still is here?" Trish asked hysterically, starting to panic.
"Here, take this," Rob said, holding out his machete. Trish shook her head, intimidated by the huge, razor sharp blade. 'Take it,"
Trish reluctantly took the machete from his hand and held it up in front of her, as Rob quietly pushed the door open into the house.
An eerie, oppressive silence had fallen over the once rambunctious and rowdy vacation home. It was far too quiet, and it was dark except for a bright white light coming from the main room.
Trish and Rob inched further into the house, seeing a video camera and projector screen set up in the living room. The projector screen was ripped right through the middle and stained with something red.
Trish felt a chill run up her spine, and she and Rob exchanged looks. It was blood, she knew it. It was blood. This isn't happening, she thought.
Gordon started to whimper, growling menacingly.
Trish stroked him behind the ears, trying to act like she wasn't scared shitless as to not frighten the dog.
Trish crept through the house behind Rob, gripping the handle of the machete so tightly her knuckles were turning white.
"I'm going to the basement to turn on the lights. You stay up here and yell if you see anything," Rob said.
"Here," Trish said, and handed him the flashlight. He shone it into a small alcove at the back of the house and walked further in, the beam coming to rest on a tiny door at the back of the alcove.
He opened it, and shone the flashlight down the rickety basement staircase.
Trish could see the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead and his chest heaving. He was trying hard to mask his fear, but she could tell he was scared shitless.
Rob whipped his bowie knife out of his pocket, tried to keep a steady hand on the wavering beam of light, and started down the basement steps, eventually disappearing into the darkness.
Trish felt another chill across her bare arm as she realized she was alone in the kitchen. Where the hell was Gordon?
She tightened her grip on the machete, looking all around her. It was so quiet-a deathly still silence that terrified her.
And then, she heard a whimpering. It was Gordon, and he was scared to death. Trish hurried back into the living room just in time to see Gordon go sprinting up the staircase and disappear onto the second floor, whining the whole way, his tail tucked between his legs.
"Gordon!" Trish whispered loudly. 'Gordon,"
Then, there was the sound of breaking glass, and silence. Trish held out the machete out in front of her, and inched towards the staircase.
Her heart was about to burst through her chest, and her hands were warm and clammy. Every hair on her body was standing on its end, and she felt the lump in her throat growing to the size of the one in her gut, screwing tighter and tighter until it felt like someone was hitting her repeatedly in the stomach as hard as they possibly could.
It's all a misunderstanding, she kept telling herself. His body was stolen, Jason's body was stolen, and that's why it's missing. Bodies get stolen all the time. Jason is dead.
But a voice in the back of her mind kept telling her Rob was right.
Trish precariously began to climb the staircase, listening to every creak of the floorboards and watching every fleeting shadow.
She reached the second floor hallway, and pushed open one of the bedroom doors to reveal an empty room.
"Gordon!" she called in a frenzied screamed whisper. "Gordon!"
She saw another door that stood wide open, and when she looked inside, she gasped at the broken glass littering the floor.
Gordon had broken through one of the windows in the bedroom and fled.
Trish's blood ran cold. Something-or someone-spooked the hell out of him.
Trish felt everything in her telling her to run and get the hell out of that house, and she started to move for the stairs when she froze.
From where she was standing, she could see straight into the bathroom, and she saw the red on the floor. The crimson red staining the tile.
Trish made her way towards the bathroom and her knees went weak at what she saw.
It was one of the girls, strung up from the bathroom ceiling light like a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse, an axe protruding from her chest. Blood stained the white towel wrapped around her, and dribbled down her leg, pooling below her dangling feet. One of the guys that Trish had seen was propped up in the shower, naked and covered in blood, his face twisted in a frozen scream.
Trish let out a horrible piercing shriek, and she instinctively went careening in a blind panic towards the staircase, dashing down it two at a time.
"Rob! Rob, he's here! Rob!" she shrieked, bolting through the main room, almost tripping on the projector cables. She ran into the alcove and down the basement stairs, where Rob met her coming the other way.
"Trish, Trish, what's the matter?!" Rob asked, frantically trying to console her. She was incoherent at this point, a blubbery, sobbing mess.
"Rob, he's here, they're all dead, and Gordon…" Trish stammered hysterically, uncontrollably terrified.
Rob gave her one horrified look, and grabbed her hand, pulling her up the stairs.
"Come on, let's get the hell out of here," he said.
All of a sudden, there was the sound of splintering wood and the rickety staircase gave way, sending Rob's left foot slamming through and wedging down in the beams below the steps.
"Shit, I'm stuck, help me!" Rob exclaimed, trying in a desperate attempt to free his foot.
Trish yanked on his leg, tears pouring down her face, still petrified beyond reality. His foot finally gave way, and they started back up the staircase, when Rob suddenly went back down on an impulse.
'Wait, my knife," he said, but Trish tried to stop him.
It was too late. Rob was running back down into the darkened basement.
"Rob, let's just go! Rob!" Trish screamed.
She scrambled back down the basement steps, just in time to see a huge man lunge at Rob and heave him against the wall.
Trish saw the hideous features of the man were covered by a hockey mask, and he wore a blood-stained tattered worksuit.
Trish let out an even louder scream seeing the horrible masked killer slam Rob against the wall again.
'Trish, run! Run Trish! Oh God!" Rob screamed.
Do something, Trish's mind was yelling at her. But her body wouldn't let her. She was frozen, her body racked with unimaginable horror.
All she could do was watch in terror as Jason grabbed a gardening fork off of a shelf and began to hack at Rob. Trish could see his arm slashing rapidly and angrily, and she saw the blood and heard Rob's cries of agony. She screamed and screamed over and over again, trying to get Jason's attention, trying to make him stop, but he was unstoppable, viciously swinging at Rob again and again.
"He's killing me, Trish! He's killing me! Run! Run!" Rob bellowed in pain.
Finally, Trish's instincts surged through her body and she spun around, scrambling up the staircase as fast as she could, stopping at the top to look back down .
Rob's screams had stopped, and there was nothing but an agonizing silence.
Trish wasn't just going to leave. She had to do something. She couldn't leave him down there to die.
She mustered up every ounce of strength and courage in her, and ran back down the basement steps, stopping dead in her tracks halfway down.
Rob was lying on the floor, illuminated by the silvery moonlight flooding in through the tiny basement window.
She saw the blood on him, and let out a horrified sob.
"Rob…" she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. A wave of nausea had begun to hit her at the sight of Rob's mutilated body and she held back her instinct to gag.
Then, she felt the terror and the panic kick in. That monster was still down here and she realized it with such a force that she slammed back up the staircase as fast as she could.
Just as she reached the top, a hand suddenly reached through the hole where Rob fell, and grabbed Trish by the ankle.
Trish shrieked, looked down and saw two demented eyes staring at her through the eyeholes of a hockey mask.
She screamed again, and instinctively began to swing the machete as hard she could at the hand, satisfied at the sight of the rusty blade slashing into Jason's wrist and the bloody gashes opening in his disgusting grimy flesh.
Jason growled in pain and released his grip on her ankle, and Trish bolted up the stairs and slammed the basement door shut.
Get the fuck out of here, Trish's mind screamed, and she ran through the house to the front door, yanking it open.
She cupped her hands to her mouth in horror and disgust at what she saw.
It was another body, wet from the rain, lying there on the doorstep. Her neck was twisted at such an unnatural angle, and her eyes were bugging out of her skull.
Trish recoiled with shock and horror, and backed away into the kitchen, the panic of the situation beginning to overtake her.
Then she heard the heavy bootsteps thundering up the basement stairs and her instincts kicked in again.
Trish sprinted for the back door, flung it open, and screamed at the sight of another body.
It was Jimmy, crucified to the doorframe, four huge spikes nailed through his hands and feet, a huge gash in the middle of his face.
She whirled around, looking for another way out, seeing the kitchen window above the sink.
Trish didn't have time to unlock it. Jason was coming through the living room, looking for her.
She snatched up a chair from the table, and hurled it at the glass, smashing it on impact. She dropped the chair, clambered up onto the counter, and threw the machete out onto the ground first. Then, she dove through the window, picked up the machete, and she started running towards the Jarvis house just as Jason grabbed at her over the sill.
Jason growled in anger as he watched her run screaming, but then felt the white-hot rage that threatened to consume him subside as he heard her terrified screams.
Scream just like he screamed when no one could come to save him in the lake. Scream just like he screamed. Feel the terror that he felt, feel the horror and the helplessness. Feel the anguish that his mother felt about losing him, feel the anger and the heartbreak. He had watched her see Rob being murdered, just like he watched his mother be decapitated that night on the shore of the lake.
Hearing her screaming eased the rage within him, but it was back in a matter of seconds, and it burned much brighter than before, swelling in him like a balloon.
Jason walked towards the back door and ripped Jimmy from the doorframe, the nails tearing through his hands, and his lifeless body was hurled several feel through the air like it was made of cardboard.
He headed straight for the Jarvis house with the insatiable lust to kill driving him forward.
Tommy heard the frantic hammering on the front door and the screaming, and ran to open it. Trish scrambled inside, slamming the front door and locking it.
She was drenched and hysterical, still clutching the machete in her hand.
"Tommy, I need you to get me a hammer and nails, right now," Trish ordered, setting the machete down by the door.
"Is it Jason?" Tommy asked, his twelve year old eyes filled with terror.
Trish looked at him, confused. How the hell did he know? Then she saw the stack of newspaper clippings that Rob had left on the kitchen table.
Shit, Trish thought. He knew all about it now. And now, he was coming for both of them.
"Yes, Tommy," Trish said, with a horrified resignation.
The color drained from Tommy's face.
"Tommy, go get the hammer and nails now!" she screamed frantically, running into the living room and beginning to make her rounds, locking every window and bolting every door.
Tommy was in and out of the laundry room in two seconds, hurrying into the foyer with the hammer and nails.
Trish took a nail, and began driving it into the front door, securing it to the frame, and then started with another. This front door was old, and Trish could picture Jason being able to break through it like paper.
She kept seeing the blood, and the bodies, and Rob's lifeless form just lying there over and over in her head.
This can't be fucking happening, she thought, as she pounded in the last nail and backed away from the door, shaking with fear.
"Trish…." Tommy started to say, the realization hit him like a truck and he began to cry.
"Tommy, it's going to be ok, just go make sure all the windows are locked," Trish said, trying her best to console him, but even she knew this would all be in vain.
He was going to come for both of them and kill them like he'd kill the others. Trish didn't want to think her own mother was dead, but she knew the horrible truth all too well.
Tommy didn't move. He was standing by the staircase, watching the front door with huge eyes, ravaged with the horror of what he was realizing.
All of a sudden, Trish and Tommy both leaped out of their skin as the huge picture window in the living room smashed through, and Rob's blood-soaked corpse came crashing down on the hardwood floor.
The gardening fork was embedded in his skull.
Trish screamed as Tommy just stood, frozen in shock at the sight of his first dead body.
"Rob…" Trish said, her eyes wet with tears. She bent down and shook him slightly, a tiny sliver of hope in her that he was still alive.
But, he didn't budge.
Then, Trish heard another deafening crash, and she sprang to her feet to see a terrifying sight.
Tommy had backed into the other huge window in the room, and Jason was now reaching through the shattered glass, his arms wrapped around Tommy's tiny form and pulling him through the window.
"Trish! Trish, he's got me Trish!" Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs in his panicky, high-pitched voice.
Trish screamed a battle cry, snatched up the hammer from the floor, and ran to the window. She looked at Jason dead in his hate-filled eyes through the holes of that hockey mask, and she began to swing the hammer at his head, delivering solid blows but Jason didn't budge.
It barely fazed him. She was bashing him as hard as she could, but he didn't seem to feel a thing. She could smell the acrid body odor, and his stinking hot breath through the mask.
She saw his eyes again, and she caught the loathing. The hatred. It chilled her.
She didn't have time to think much about his eyes, because he was reeling back to drag Tommy through the glass shards and outside to do God-knows what to her little brother.
Trish swung the other end of the hammer with all of her might, and the two claws of the hammer buried themselves in the side of Jason's neck.
Jason growled in pain, finally releasing his grip on Tommy and staggering back out into the night. With two hands, he ripped the hammer out and began stalking towards the front door.
Trish saw him walking towards the door, and in a flash, she grabbed Tommy's hand and yanked him towards the staircase.
Just as they stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the front door exploded inwards and Jason came smashing through.
He had just walked right through it.
Trish watched as Jason reared back and hurled the hammer at them. It whistled through the air and impaled itself in the doorframe right beside Trish's head.
Then, he advanced towards them, his hulking figure looming upon them, his crazed eyes boring into Trish's soul.
"Go, go, upstairs, now!" Trish screamed, shoving Tommy forward and they both charged up the staircase, ran to the end of the hallway and went inside the first door they found on an impulse.
It was Tommy's room.
Trish and Tommy heard Jason thundering up the steps after them, and quickly closed the door, bolting it.
Trish frantically searched for a way to barricade the door, and she grabbed Tommy's huge dresser that he used to shelve all of his masks and action figures, sliding it across the floor in front of the door.
"Tommy, help me," she said.
The two of them managed to heave the enormous dresser in front of the door. They backed away from the door, crouching down and hugging each other tightly in the middle of the room, waiting to see what would happen.
There were a few seconds of agonizing silence, and then the door began to rattle and quake violently.
Tommy screamed, tears finding their way down his cheeks, as Trish hugged him tighter, trying to keep him calm.
She was starting to lose it as well, her heart racing, tears streaming.
After a few more seconds of Jason shaking and banging on the door, it suddenly got quiet.
It was an unbearable silence.
"God, what is he doing?" Trish wondered aloud, still holding the petrified Tommy tightly against her chest.
She expected something, anything to happen, but nothing did. Everything was quiet.
And then, out of nowhere, there was the sound of splintering wood and an axe smashed through the door.
Tommy screamed in fright, and Trish tried to cover his mouth with her hands, but it was no use. Jason knew exactly where they were. Trish saw him peer through the hole in the door, and his deranged eyes were staring directly at them.
Jason swung the axe again, and all Trish and Tommy could do was watch in horror as the barrier keeping them inside and Jason outside was being destroyed.
Seeing Jason start to reach his arm into the room, Trish sprang to her feet, looking for some kind of weapon. Nothing would work against that psychopath outside the door.
They were trapped like caged animals. He was going to kill them in this room.
Then Trish saw Tommy's old computer monitor still sitting on his desk. It was the only option she had.
With all of her strength, Trish lifted the computer monitor off of the desk and heaved it into the air, carrying it across the room.
Jason was shoving the dresser out of the way, reaching his head and arm into the room. He never saw it coming.
Trish slammed the monitor down on his head, and watched the sparks fly.
Jason's body convulsed wildly, as smoke began to fill the room. Trish ran back over to Tommy and shielded him from the sparks, putting up her own hands to deflect them from herself.
The monitor crashed to the floor and Jason staggered back into the hallway with a groan, crashing to the floor like a fallen tree.
Then, it was silent again, and Trish and Tommy didn't dare move from their spot, listening and waiting to see if he was really dead.
Jason didn't move or make a sound.
Trish stood to her feet, gestured for Tommy to stay, and inched towards the door, looking through the smashed hole.
Jason was lying motionless, but Trish could see his chest rising. He was just unconscious.
Trish knew she didn't have much time before he would come to. She motioned for Tommy to come to the door, and when he came, she grabbed him by the shoulders and stared at him in the eyes.
"Tommy, I'm going to get him out of the house, and when I do, I want you to run like hell, do you hear me? Run like hell," Trish said, baring her teeth in a hushed whisper, careful not to wake the unconscious maniac sprawled in the hallway just a foot away.
Tommy nodded in response, still shaking like a leaf.
Trish quietly opened what was left of the door, and stepped out into the hallway. She lifted her foot as quietly as she could and stepped over the hulking killer on the floor in front of her. She held her breath and stepped further over him, creeping around him to finally get to the other side.
Just as she passed him, Jason shot upright, picked up the dropped axe, and swung it at Trish as she shrieked.
"Trish!" Tommy cried.
The axe embedded itself in the wall, nicking Trish's right shoulder, tearing her shirt and ripping her flesh.
Trish fell backwards further down the hallway, as she looked incredulously at the blood beginning to flow from the gash on her arm.
Jason struggled to his feet, and started to head for Tommy who backed away in fear, shaking his head, pleading…
"No! Tommy!" Trish screamed. "Chase me you son of a bitch!"
Jason turned to Trish, and then back to Tommy, and then back to Trish, deciding who to chase.
"No, Trish!" Tommy yelled, but Trish kept urging him on.
"Come get me you bastard!" Trish screamed. "Leave him alone!"
Jason complied.
He charged at Trish with full force, and Trish screamed, whirling around and running down the staircase, hearing Tommy urging her on above her.
Trish bolted for the front door, leaping through what was left of it, and ran out into the pouring rain.
She spun around, and saw Jason barreling out of the house towards her.
That's right…chase me you fucker, Trish thought. She had to get him away from the house so Tommy could get out of there.
She ran as fast as she could, keeping as much distance as she could between them. Jason was hot on her trail.
Trish looked over her shoulder to see Jason coming up on her horrifyingly fast-the brute was running now, pissed as hell, and intent on killing her now more than ever.
Trish shrieked at the sight of the hockey mask right behind her, and ran faster; making a mad dash towards the only place she knew to go: back towards the rental house.
She leaped over Tina's bloodied body lying on the porch, and scrambled into the house, not bothering to close the door seeing how close Jason was.
She stopped and turned around, seeing Jason standing there in the doorway, his huge form blocking out the light from the moon outside.
His eyes stared her down, filled with the urge to kill, filled with intense loathing and rage.
It happened so fast. The next thing Trish knew Jason was running at her again, and she screamed.
She bolted for the stairs, Jason just an arm's reach behind her, and ran down the hallway, coming to the end and turning around to see Jason at the top of the stairs, staring her down again, those demented eyes not blinking or leaving Trish.
Trish stared at him with pleading eyes-she wanted to try to talk him out of it, but she knew it was no use. He was an unstoppable monster, and there was nothing she could do. She was trapped. At least Tommy could get out of the house.
Trish backed away, shaking her head, sobbing hysterically.
"Please…" she whimpered.
Jason didn't flinch.
He charged at her.
Trish instinctively turned, looking for a place to run, and she saw the window at the end of the hall.
It was her only shot.
With a scream and a quick split second to brace herself, she ran towards the window, made a flying leap and threw herself at the glass.
Fortunately, the glass smashed through on impact, and Trish went flying through the window and through the air, hitting the porch roof, rolling down and off into a pile of mud.
Jason leaned through the shattered window and looked down at Trish lying on her back on the muddy ground, motionless.
Trish could see him staring down at him, and she held her breath, hoping he would think she was dead. The second she saw him disappear into the rental house, Trish pulled herself to her feet as fast as she could and started running back towards the house.
She could feel the pain in her right leg that was shooting all the way up towards her thigh, but she ignored it, the adrenaline rush completely blocking all other sensations out.
She could see the blood on her arms from where the glass had cut her, but she didn't care; she had to get back to the house and try to get away.
She saw the car sitting under the tree in its usual spot. Maybe Tommy wasn't too far and she could catch up with him in the car, that is, if he made it out of the house.
The keys were in the kitchen.
Trish clambered up the front porch steps, dragging her pained ankle behind her, and hobbled into the house.
"Tommy?" she called.
She heard his voice call out from upstairs.
"Tommy, you were supposed to leave!" Trish screamed through tears.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him. Jason, coming through the front door behind her. She could hear his boots thudding softly across the floor, and she smelled him-that awful stench of sweat and filth, and the deep labored breathing…
He was in the house.
Trish froze, searching her surroundings for a weapon.
Rob's machete was leaning against the wall by the door.
She covertly reached down, grabbed the handle, and just as Jason reached out to grab her, Trish swung around, the machete blade slicing through the air and just missing Jason, cutting into the doorframe.
Trish yanked the machete out of the wood and backed into the dining room-Jason advancing menacingly towards her.
She swung it again and missed, smashing a picture frame on the wall. She swung again, and Jason jumped back to avoid the blade.
"Stay away from me!" Trish screamed, swinging at him again.
He reached for her, arms outstretched, eyes filled with a lust to annihilate her. Trish swung and this time she made impact.
The blade sliced into his right hand, right between the knuckles of Jason's middle and ring finger. Jason growled in pain and yanked his arm back instinctively.
He held up his hand, staring at the blood spurting from the gaping wound that was almost splitting his hand in half.
Trish looked on in horror, shock, and relief that she had actually hit him, but that soon faded. The wound hardly fazed him.
He lunged at her again, and Trish screamed, looping around the dining room table and running into the living room
"Tommy, get the hell out of here!" Trish screamed up the staircase, and leaping back to avoid another grab from Jason. She swung the machete, and missed.
Jason kept coming, completely unafraid of the razor sharp blade slashing at him. Trish stared at the monster in the eyes, and bared her teeth.
"You son-of-a-bitch, I'll give you something to remember us by," Trish said angrily, her fear quickly bubbling up into anger.
She reared back like a slugger, and swung the machete like a baseball bat. The blade lodged deep in Jason's chest.
Jason snarled with rage, and with a single swipe of his hand, knocked Trish to the floor. She screamed as Jason lunged at her, climbing on top of her and pinning her to the floor.
Trish hysterically began to fight with everything in her. She kicked, screamed, clawed, but to no avail. HE was huge, and he was too powerful.
He was going to kill her right there. Right there on her own living room floor, leave her bloodied, mangled body there for Tommy to see and have that image of his murdered sister engrained in his brain forever.
Would he do other things to her? Torture her? Rape her?
No, Trish thought in horror. She saw the look in his demented eyes she knew exactly what he was planning to do.
He took both of his hands and wrapped them around Trish's throat, clamping down and strangling the life out of her.
He was going to kill her plain and simple.
Trish couldn't scream, and she felt her body going weak from the loss of oxygen. She clawed at his hands, tried to pry them free from her neck, but it was hopeless.
And then, almost by godsend, a voice rang out, loud and clear.
"Jason! Jason!" the voice bellowed.
It was inhuman…it was filled with anger…but still held the youthfulness of a child. It was Tommy's voice, Trish realized, but something was different.
"Jason!" the voice continued, until finally Jason stopped strangling Trish and looked up at the staircase.
Trish glanced up as well and saw her brother standing there, his head almost completely shaved.
Tommy twisted his face into a horrible grimace, and stared Jason down.
"Jason…remember me?" Tommy asked, walking closer to Jason, talking in a soothing, hypnotic voice.
Tommy…Tommy, what the hell are you doing? Trish thought. She tried to signal to him with her eyes to run and get the fuck out. But Tommy;s eyes were transfixed on Jason.
What was he doing?
She scrunched up her face in bewilderment. Then she realized and was in awe.
He looked like…He looked just like the artist's sketch in the newspaper…of Jason as a little boy.
Trish tried to say something, but Tommy gave her a look. She knew exactly what he was doing.
She saw Tommy's eyes flicker over towards the machete discarded on the rug, and Trish's mind clicked into place.
It was a distraction. And it was working.
Jason was either confused, or intrigued, and was just standing motionless, cocking his head to the side like some kind of animal. Staring at Tommy. Staring at what looked like himself.
Trish, this was your chance, her mind screamed.
Jason rose to his feet, and stared at Tommy, almost in a trance, his head cocked to the side.
"Jason…Remember what you were, Jason? Don't you remember…?" Tommy said, drawing Jason closer and closer until they are an arm's reach apart.
It was working…my God, it was working, Trish thought excitedly. It was putting the bastard in some kind of trance. It was working.
Trish had to act fast before Jason realized this was a set up.
She quietly but quickly snatched the machete up from the floor, and crept behind Jason, slowly bringing the machete back over her shoulder.
"Hey, Jason!" she yelled.
He spun around, snapping out of his trance, just as Trish swung the machete at his head.
She missed her mark, but the machete grazed Jason's mask, knocking it off of his head and sending it flying.
What was under the mask made Trish recoil in pure, unadulterated repulsion and terror, and the machete fall from her hands.
He didn't even look human. His features were distorted and grotesque, his skin was greying and decayed, covered in oozing sores.
It was ten times more horrifying than any of Tommy's masks. This wasn't made of rubber, this was all too real. He was a monster.
Trish cupped her hands to her mouth in sheer shock and disgust and fell backwards onto the floor, scuttling backwards and shaking her head, pleading as Jason advanced towards her.
His mouth opened, revealing a set of broken and yellowed teeth-it was something out of a nightmare.
What happened next, Trish didn't see coming.
She heard Tommy's voice scream Jason's name with a fury that she didn't know Tommy had in him.
When Jason turned to face Tommy, Tommy swung the machete at Jason's head.
This time, it didn't miss.
It buried deep into the side of Jason's skull, slicing through his decaying flesh all the way up to the hilt, and cutting through the side of his right eye. A greenish-brown liquid squirted out and dribbled down Jason's cheek.
Tommy and Trish both stared on in total disbelief.
Jason fell to his knees and pitched forward, landing on the machete protruding from his eye, and burying the blade deeper into his skull.
The grotesque abnormalities of his face were twitching and moving around, and his body began convulsing. A white foam formed at his mouth as the machete was driven even deeper through his head and out at the base of his skull.
Jason finally hit the floor, the machete going all the way through, and lay there, motionless.
There was a moment of silence as Trish and Tommy were frozen in astonishment, both trying to process what had just happened.
Tommy's eyes grew wide, seeing what he had just done to another living thing, stepping back and looking down at the carnage that he inflicted upon this monster.
It was over. It was all over. The initial shock of it slowly resolved into a huge relief that washed over both of them.
Trish sprang to her feet and ran to Tommy, embracing him. Tommy began to cry into Trish's arms, trembling all over with fright.
She wanted to say something, ask him what came over him, but she just wanted to hold him and tell him everything would be alright now. Jason was dead. He was dead and this nightmare was over.
Then, without warning, Jason's hand came to life, grabbing Trish's ankle.
She let out a bone-chilling shriek and yanked her foot away. What happened next was the ultimate shock.
She watched as Tommy picked up the machete and his tiny prepubescent body began to go into a frenzy. He lifted the machete into the air and brought it down on Jason's head.
Again, and again, and, again, and again. Jason's head looked like nothing but a bloody pulp. Like a melon that had been smashed.
"Tommy!" Tommy!" Trish screamed, trying to snap him out of it, but he was in some sort of trance as well, a very violent one.
She didn't even recognize him.
His face was completely distorted, his eyes filled with hate and a lust to kill, a white-hot seething anger boiling out of him, his teeth gritted so hard that he could have bitten off a finger.
He was screaming madly.
"Die! Die! Die, Jason, die! Die!"
Trish never had seen anything like it before. Tommy had never acted this way before.
He was hacking away at Jason, over and over, screaming, spit flying.
With each whack, he yelled.
"Die!"
"Die!"
"Die!"
"Die!"
