Tia held Coop close. They had never been really close in their circle of friends. Tia usually clung to Michelle and Coop was the "love" of Hunter's life as he saw it. But now it seemed as though they needed each other.
The eight black and white photos were spread across the table at the head of the Union. Lucy Malloy, the girl nobody really cared for but now everyone missed; Mickey Roberts, just a regular guy that was working his way through school like most of them; Angela Smith, his sweet girlfriend; Rebecca Long, the girl with attitude who was perhaps the cruelest of all to Lucy; Michelle Gross, nice and quiet with a common concern for everyone; Greg Foster, her somewhat nerdy boyfriend; Ricky Tucker, a clown in the same vein as Coop but with an edge; and Hunter Green, eternally gorgeous and resourceful, she usually held the group together along with her boyfriend Coop.
Now it was just the four of them, Tia, Coop, Gerald and Matt who was still in the hospital.
Even as she held Coop's hand for support, Tia knew she was as good as dead. Before the student vigil, Beth and Nathan had briefed the remaining three on what was happening. It was a truth that they couldn't bear to hear. It was far-fetched, yet it made sense.
But eight deaths, most within a twenty-four hour period?
The PD was up in arms.
The five of them gathered in the blustery courtyard. Until further notice, the university was shut down. Many students were heading home. Tia would as well in due time, but she understood the far-reaching danger of what was happening.
No one could escape dreams. There was no way.
Beth was puffing on a cigarette. She'd been through a lot.
"My first suggestion," she said to the students, "Get as far away from this town as you possibly can. I know it may seem futile, but it's the most you guys can do. At the very least, you won't have Voorhees to worry about."
"But Freddy?" Coop asked. "God I wish I'd listened to Hunter."
They were silent for a moment, then Beth offered, "There was something in Lucy's journal, about how Matt was more important than he knew. I just need to figure out a way to use that and put a stop to all this."
"But Lucy is the only one that knows what that means," Nathan said. "And she's dead."
"What she wrote is our last hope. If we can get Matt--" Beth was interrupted by her ringing cellphone. "Hello?" she answered. "Dr. Sheridan?" Nathan looked up as Beth continued. "Missing? How in the hell does that happen? I thought you guys were keeping an eye on him!" Nathan tried to grab the phone from her, but she stopped him. "I don't think you want either of us to be there! Find him!" She furiously ended the call and gave Nathan a sorrowful look. "That was Dr. Sheridan. Matt has disappeared from the hospital."
•••
The body was successfully hooked to the monitors. The lab was densely guarded throughtout. No one really knew what the danger was, except of course Lucy's father.
When Dr. Charlene Malloy told Dr. Bryce Malloy, he was horrified.
They made a deal. They obviously understood that their daughter had been a genius. They would find out what made this guy tick, then dispose of him, making sure he was properly dismembered.
Surprise number one: This thing was human, but not totally. Lucy had added something to make it stronger. It was robotic almost.
Surprise number two: Since this thing was human, it was still alive. It had a brain. It was smarter -- they looked at the screen that monitored its brainwaves-- and now it was dreaming . . .
•Fifteenth Century America•
The hooded killer stepped forward; Luke the Apprentice was ready.
This thing was quite different from the Kali-kahn he'd defeated before he came to the new world.
Summoning powers he didn't know he had, reciting verses that he'd learned from his master, he defeated the Kali. The demon had dispersed, in a cloud of stinking hellfire.
But once again, this Asmodion was different. The demon was more physical and confrontational, not as cerebral as the Kali. The Asmodion had taken over the body of a local teenager, who was viewed as an outcast amongst his peers.
A perfect envious host for the Asmodion. The silent killer. He'd killed his way through nearly half the small mid-Western town.
He wore an executioner's hood, as if he was scared to show his face. And he weilded a mean-looking ax.
Luke had his own weapon: A long Aztec dagger, specifically made for killing. Specifically made for defeating the Asmodion.
Thunder boomed overhead. Lightening flashed, illuminating the majestic pines that grew in the clearing.
This was the final face-off.
"You evil thing," Luke sneered. "I curse the family that brought you forth."
The killer swung forward, missing Luke by half an inch and embedding the weapon in the trunk of a nearby pine. Luke acted quick, however aware of how lethargic this demon usually worked. Luke had ducked, quickly coming around the back of the killer and wrapping his arm around his neck. Pulling him back. Luke rammed the dagger into the killer's heart.
The thunder boomed louder.
The killer threw Luke off of him, attempting to reach for the ax but it was too late. His body began to glow, throwing off a nearly serene light.
Then he just exploded.
Luke covered his eyes as the knife fell to the ground. He regained himself, grabbing the weapon. He knew that this would not be the end. He had to seal the deal.
He knew that should these two demons ever come into form simultaneously, it would be the end of the world as he knew it.
Luke made a deep slash across his left wrist with the knife. "With this blood, I confine these spirits-- Asmodion, Kali-khan-- to these grounds." The blood began to flow, seeping into the dirt with the power that the words gave it. "Never to venture farther." His slit the opposite wrist. "And may all Apprentices that follow be able to defeat them, once and for all."
He fell to the ground in the stain of his own blood.
•The Present•
The spirit inside of the killer remembered the scene all too well. It was his own defeat. Not the first, not the last. How he was being allowed to see this, he couldn't be sure.
It was a dream. But how?
The killer looked up as the scene around him suddenly began to change. The ground rumbled and the trees were sucked into the grounds from which they grew. The minor vegetation sank into the ground as well. He stood still as he always did. Fiery red clouds began to roll in, changing the sky's color to its own.
He stood in what seemed to be a dry, post-apocolyptic landscape, free of all humanity.
His clothing had changed as well, to the familiar garb of the old workman's coveralls. The chrome goalie mask was firm on his face. He was Jason Voorhees.
The wind carried a maniacal cackle with it.
Then the word was whispered: "Asmodian . . ."
It came from above. Voorhees looked up at the red clouds. They formed into the visage of a man's face, scarred and burned with a bitching triumphant grin.
"I was here first," the man in the cloud said.
Suddenly a large arm came swooping down from the cloud, extending a bio-mechanical hand with blades on the end. One of the oversized blades managed to prick through Jason's collar and lift him into the air. Jason's limbs dangled uselessly. "Stay off of my turf," the man said, face to face with Jason. Then he let him go.
Jason plummeted to the ground, which had once more become a grassy field. The sky was dark and starry. He'd landed a few feet from a sparkling lake. Snow-capped mountains stood in the distance.
This was home. This was Camp Crystal Lake.
"Let's make it a fair fight!" the man's voice said.
An ax dropped from the sky, landing near Jason. He regained himself, grabbing the ax and holding it ready.
Now the voice was near- "You want me?" -right behind him. Jason whirled around to see the man in his full form. Same scarred face, dusty brown fedora, long black trench over a red and green striped shirt, and blades for fingers on his right hand. "Come and get me, bitch," he said confidently.
Jason immediately swung for him with the ax. For a moment, it seemed as though the weapon connected, but it only passed through the man's body as if he weren't there, as he cackled once more.
"It's not that easy," the man said, ever confident.
Jason was infuriated. He lifted the ax again, but stopped short when he heard the cry come from the water.
"Help! Somebody help me!"
There was a glimmer of recognition behind the goalie mask. The little boy was him, little Jason Voorhees, drowning as the result of a capsized canoe.
"Aww, would you look at that," the man said again.
When Jason turned to him, he saw that the man's appearance had changed. Before him stood a grungy-looking young man. He was familiar.
"I told you to be careful . . ." The guy looked at the child as he sank into the water. "You didn't listen. Fucking retard."
Jason tried to swing again, but he could feel this reality slowly draining away, everything becoming blurry. He soon faded from the grassy clearing.
He was waking from the dream.
Young Fred Krueger snapped his fingers. "Damn. Almost had him."
"Sad fact," another young male voice suddenly said.
Fred whirled around and sneered at Matthew. The gesture would've been ten times worse if he still bore the un-dead Freddy countenance.
"I was worried when I let you go, but now I'm not so sure that it's a problem-- since I've managed to contain your sorry ass once again!" Matt said. "The only difference this time is, you're in my body. But I'm in your mind."
"Apprentice," young Fred Krueger said. "All this time and I never figured it out. The gift to my savior, the source of all that's good in the world. The key to my reign in Hell."
"I'll never let it happen. You'll die first!"
"On the contrary--" Fred lifted his right arm and Matt's body levitated-- "You'll wait until I need you." He gestured to the lake and Matt's body followed suit. Suddenly, thick, rusted chains shot out of the water, wrapping themselves around Matt's body. "Let's see how long the Apprentice can hold his breath!" The chains pulled Matt into the water with a loud splash.
•••
"Oh shit!" Bryce Malloy screamed when Jason awoke, convulsing and trying to break free. But the "Oh shit" wasn't simply for that . . .
It was for the ax he now fisted in his left hand.
"Where the fuck did that ax come from?"
Voorhees struggled, trying to free himself for the straps that held him, the whole time swinging the ax wildly.
He had two options: Sedate the fucker or make a break for it.
Charlene had already chosen the second option. Bitch!
Voorhees broke free, snatching away the pads that connected him to the monitors. Bryce Malloy was already running for the exit. Jason flung his weapon at the panel of exit controls and hit it Bullseye! The heavy steel down suddenly plummeted down. Bryce made a dive as the door was only a few feet from the ground.
Voorhees silently walked forward.
Bryce scrambled under the opening. He was almost out, but it came crashing down on his right ankle. He howled.
The guards rushed to his side.
"Get me out! Hurry!" he screamed. He knew the killer was closer on the other side, and the fact that he could not see him made it all the worst.
Inside of the lab, Voorhees retrieved his weapon.
In the hall, one of the guards slammed his fist into the control panel. When the door lifted enough for Bryce to free himself, the guard hit it again so it would reverse.
Bryce's eyes widened in horror at the sight of Jason's boots on the other side.
Two more guards dragged him up and helped him away.
"Close it!" Bryce screamed to the guard that freed him. "Lock the sucker in!"
The guard was frustrated. "I'm trying, but--"
Voorhees had gripped the bottom of the door and was pulling it upward.
"Oh shit!" the guard screamed.
The steel surged upward, as if it were a light garage door.
He stood before them, ax primed for action, chrome mask seeming to gleam in victory.
Jason Voorhees was back.
•••
The alarm sounded throughout the entire facility. It was the only sound the SWAT team heard when they arrived. There wasn't an inkling of life. Commander Shaye had his team spread throughout. They had done this before. He thought that Voorhees bastard was dead.
But somehow the creep was back. And from what the Malloys had told them, he was different. Stronger and smarter.
His second-in-command, Cunningham, turned to him with a sickly look on his face. "I don't think it will be so easy this time, commander."
Their radios crackled to life. Reports, one after the other, of carnage on every floor.
Voorhees had wiped out the entire personnel!
The reports were soon followed by random screams over the radio. He could hear the team firing, then screaming, more firing. It went on like that.
Then the lights went out, plummeting them in darkness.
They were prepared for this. They each lowered their helmets equipped with infared visors.
"Let's proceed," Shaye told Cunningham.
Weapons primed and ready, they stalked forward. The radios still crackled with the deaths of the team members.
"Fourth floor," one said. "I'm getting the fuck outta--" Another scream.
They both took the stairs to the fourth floor.
"That sounded like Harland," Cunningham said. "I think his plan was on point."
"We were sent to do a job," Shaye said as they covered the steps breathlessly. "We've done this before!"
They entered the fourth floor hall.
"But our entire team--" Cunningham was saying, until he screamed and slipped to the floor.
"Cunningham!" Shaye hollered. He saw that his partner had fallen in a puddle of blood. He reached out to him.
Grabbing his hand, Cunningham said he was okay.
"I mean," Cunningham continued, "How many times can we go after a guy that won't die?"
"Shut up, Cunningham! I think I hear something."
They cautiously stepped forward.
Shaye had been right, he did hear something. It was like a slow, deliberate dragging. It was followed by a meek "Help! Please!"
The two officers headed in the direction of the call. Their boots had to practically swim through the mass of bodies and blood to get to it. It was one of Shaye's people. He was on his last breath.
Shaye stooped down. He couldn't recall the guy's name; the team was so large. The guy was trembling; Shaye could see the veins of his temple pulsating through the red light. He was horrified when he noticed that the officer's legs were gone.
"He's crazy," the officer said breathlessly. "Kill after kill . . . it's so easy for him."
Shaye turned when Cunningham suddenly said, "Shaye, I think you need to take a look at this."
"What the fuck?"
The corroded body lay in the middle of the pit. Brown, wormy flesh, one eye drooping lower than the other . . . "It's Voorhees," Shaye realized.
"But how?" Cunningham asked.
"There's another one . . ."
The fallen officer tried to reach out for them, to warn them. "Shaye . . ." But the two didn't hear him. He tried to scream, but he was too weak.
He could see the shadowy outline of the killer off to the side.
His vision was going in and out. He'd lost so much blood. He called for the other two again, but they were so caught up in their theories . . .
The officer looked up again to see the killer standing silently right before him. He said a quick silent Hail Mary.
And it was over as the ax came down.
Cunningham and Shaye jumped at the sound, pumping as many bullets as they could everywhere.
Voorhees walked right into the fire as the officers backed away, trying not to slip in the carnage.
They knew it was hopeless. Shaye withdrew a grenade from his belt.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Cunningham demanded.
"This is his end," Shaye said passionately. "Run!"
"But Shaye--"
"I said get the fuck outta here!" He pulled the tab with his teeth and threw it forward as Cunningham made a break for it.
The tiny bomb landed at Jason's feet. He looked down.
Shaye knew the reaction would be quick for the mini-grenade; he followed Cunningham quickly.
Voorhees kicked the bomb forward . . .
The two officers were rounding a corner when it blew them to bits.
•••
Gerald got up from the couch to grab another beer from the refrigerator, as the television blared loudly. He'd fallen asleep while it was on, something his parents had always told him was bad for him. He'd barely gotten any sleep since what happened to Becky. After grabbing a fresh bottle of Heineken, he plopped right back down in front of the TV. Some old black & white movie was on, and if there was anything he hated, it was black & white movies. He flipped the channels, and settled on Letterman.
Letterman tapped his cards on the desk with the usual goofy grin on his face. "Hey Paul, you ever hear of Camp Crystal Lake?"
"Yeah," the band leader said enthusiastically. "That's where that uhh, killer with the hockey mask slaughtered dozens of teenage counselors for having sex when they should've been paying attention to the kids, right?"
Letterman chuckled. "You're absolutely right, Paul, and coming straight from the bowels of Hell, we have him right here folks-- Jason Voorhees!" The crowd went wild, cheering and whooping as the band played a number that reminded Gerald of a silly game show theme. The killer came out, reveling in the adoration and waving at everyone with his machete. One could almost tell he was grinning behind the hockey mask.
"What the hell?" Gerald said.
"So how are things with ya, Jay?" Letterman asked as Jason sat down. Lettermen faced the camera. "Aren't I cool? I called him Jay!"
"Well, things are going fine, Dave," Jason responded, placing his weapon down on the couch beside him. "I just returned from Hell, temperature's great by the way, and I got into a minor disagreement with another sadistic killer. Very small thing, nothing I can't handle."
Gerald sat up, not believing what he was seeing. All the stories he heard mentioned that Jason never spoke. This was some kind of stunt and he knew it. He chuckled, turning up the volume.
Dave's left eyebrow cocked up. "That individual wouldn't happen to be the Springwood Slasher, better known as Freddy Krueger?"
"Yeah," Jason said. "The little punk!" He chuckled.
"Think you can take him?" Letterman asked manically.
Jason slapped his thigh in laughter. "Take him!" Jason stood, moving towards the camera. "Freddy, I'll grab you by your scrawny burnt little neck and choke slam your ass!"
Choke slam? Gerald thought. That's the Big Show's move.
Jason continued his rants, right in the lens of the camera. "I want you Freddy! In the ring, in front of the entire viewing public! It's on Krueger!"
Suddenly, Jason was pushed aside, his hockey mask falling off the reveal the Big Show of WWF. The camera swung back up, right into the face of--
"Krueger!" Gerald said.
"How's that for primetime, Gerald?" Krueger pulled his claws back and swung forward, the scene on the television becoming a test pattern.
Gerald fumbled with the controls on the remote. "Shit!" he spat. He rose from the couch and went over to it, playing with the buttons and finally slapping the side of it. "Two-hundred and fifty dollars, wasted!" he said.
He suddenly heard a mild sizzling sound coming from the set. Sparks began to fly upwards from it. Gerald took a few steps back.
And fell to the floor when the thing exploded.
Gerald looked up at the fiery mess.
A tall, dark figure rose from the flames. Gerald saw the fedora first. "No!" he said. He hopped to his feet and ran for the door. He didn't get very far.
He was yanked back by his hair.
Krueger turned him around, facing the boy. Gerald had never seen something so hideous in his entire life. Ugly son-of-a-bitch!
"Didn't you know that TV was bad for your vision?" Krueger said, before scooping Gerald's eyes out.