AUTHOR'S NOTES: Short and sweet again. BTW, I'm not a huge Friday the 13th fan, so if I screwed up Jason's origin–blame Freddy vs. Jason, which is about all the exposure I've had to Mr. Voorhees (other than the original movie).
Enjoy as Sentinel screws over yet another horror legend...
FRIDAY THE 13TH
Jason Voorhees walked silently through the woods. He had no idea why he was suddenly in an area completely unfamiliar to him–these were not the trees surrounding Camp Crystal Lake, that much he knew–but Jason didn't much care. He existed only to slay, in eternal vengeance on the kids who had abused and drowned him, and the oversexed teenagers who had done nothing to stop it. His kills were gifts to his mother, the one person who had ever cared for him. He didn't question why this was so. He only knew it was his purpose in life to kill, even if it meant coming back from the grave.
In the distance was tonight's prey. It was a teenaged girl, foolishly out by herself, taking a bath. If Jason's tortured brain was still capable of higher thought, he might have wondered why he kept running into naked females. Of course, this would have also necessitated thinking about why he felt the need to kill the aforementioned naked females, usually in the most grisly fashion possible. Since his brain had long since lost all but basic thought patterns–kill every human he came in contact with, especially naked human females–Jason didn't think about it. Nor did he increase his pace, maintaining the same steady plod. After all, he had yet to meet too much prey that had escaped him or his machete.
Soft singing in an unfamiliar language reached his ears. His eyes, flitting behind the hockey mask, spotted the clearing ahead, and the steam rising from a hot springs. He began to circle slowly–Jason did know how to use stealth; no point in alerting his victims until just before the machete fell–using the steam as cover. His heavy shoes betrayed little about his presence.
As he drew closer to the tiny pool, he could see his target. Again, had Jason retained the ability to appreciate it, he would have realized that the girl was rather attractive, though a little skinny. Her black hair was tied up in a bun to keep it dry, and she hummed to herself as she washed her arms and breasts. Her back was to him, and Jason's eyes widened a fraction at the terrible scar across it; for Jason, that was a violent show of emotion. He did not stop, however: whatever this girl had gone through, she was just meat for the slaughter as far as he was concerned.
The problem with Jason Voorhees was that he rarely went up against an equal opponent. Though he could not be reasoned with or killed, he wasn't very subtle, or for that matter, very smart. Otherwise, he would've noticed that his prey had stopped singing and that her pale skin was turning rather red–with anger.
"Damn you, Miroku!" the girl shouted. She turned and covered her breasts with one hand while hurling a rather large rock at Jason with the other. Taken by surprise, Jason was caught squarely between the eyes with the small boulder and went down hard.
"I swear to Buddha and all kami that I have had enough of your crap, monk!" the girl yelled. "I'll beat some sense into that thick skull of yours!" Before Jason could regain his feet, he was assaulted by the girl, who wore only a towel but carried a gigantic boomerang. She proceeded to bash Jason over the head with the boomerang for a solid five minutes, as she swore and raved, then finished the job on the now-comatose undead serial killer by kicking him. Her job finished, the girl turned around and stalked back to the springs, picking up her clothes. "Just once I would like to take a bath without having to worry about a perverted jerk of a houshi spying on me! It's bad enough that you ogle me and grab my butt–but this is the last straw, Miroku! And if you think I'm fooled by your stupid mask and those raggedy clothes, you're even dumber than I thought!" And with one final bludgeon to Jason, she stalked off into the darkness.
Far away, in his castle, Naraku had watched the one-sided battle unfold through Kanna's mirror. He scowled, picked up a pencil, and scratched off Jason Voorhees' name from his scroll. "So much for that idea," Naraku sighed.