Roy Burns had stared down at the bloody sheet that lay on the grass.

He had watched silently as Duke lifted the sheet with a big grin on his face.

He was laughing at it. Amused by it. It didn't faze him a bit.

That's when he knew Duke also had to die.

The thought of committing murder hadn't come to him so easily at first.

It started with Duke.

As his own flesh and blood lay mangled in the back of the Unger Institute ambulance, Roy stayed quiet.

Duke had sat in the passenger seat, smoking a cigar. The smoke wafted into Roy's face.

He hadn't noticed.

He also hadn't heard a word Duke had said.

It was all white noise to him.

All he could think about was what Joey must have felt in his last moments.

The abject terror and helplessness.

No one had even tried to help him.

Just another life lost at Crystal Lake.

Roy Burns first saw the clipping of young Jason Voorhees at the library.

He was drawn to it. He didn't know how.

He had taken it home to read, and then for the next few days, he read some more.

And more.

And more, until he was staying up all night to research Jason.

Jason's name had echoed in his mind ever since he read that newspaper.

It played like a broken record as he lay down to get just a few hours of sleep at night, before waking up and driving to work where he would hear them all snickering and laughing. Making jokes about the patients. Laughing at them.

Just like they laughed at Jason.

Just like they had laughed at Joey.

"Nuts" they called them.

"Another day of driving the loonies around," Billy had said.

That's when he knew Billy had to die.

Then, on the night after Joey's death, on the night of a full moon, Roy drove from his apartment across town, bought a hockey mask at a party store, and drove all the way to Crystal Lake and sat at the edge of the water.

He swore he could hear young Jason's voice calling to him, calling for help, sounding just like Joey.

That's when the unbearable grief and guilt hit him all at once.

That's when he put on the hockey mask.

That's when he began to walk.

He didn't care where he was going.

Something seemed to be pulling him through the night.

He just didn't care anymore. All he wanted to do was walk until he died of exhaustion.

He had nothing to live for.

He had abandoned his only son only for him to end up with them.

The selfish idiots that surrounded him.

His coworkers that thought jabbing and jeering at mental patients was funny.

The doctors who couldn't help him and refused to protect him.

The other patients who excluded him.

As he walked wearing the hockey mask, the more he could hear the voices. Soft at first. Then growing increasingly louder.

"Kill for me, Daddy…kill them all,"

It was Joey's voice. Calling out to him through the wind.

They weren't taking care of you, he had thought.

Just like they never took care of Jason.

This whole godforsaken area of the world had to die.

They let Joey die.

Just like they had let Jason die.

Roy himself had been the one to give Joey up to the people who were supposed to keep him safe. Instead, they belitted him and let him die.

Just like Jason.

The guilt was too much to bear, but he couldn't kill himself.

That was not an option. Someone had to pay for what had happened. He couldn't die before knowing that they would all pay for what they had done.

That's when he heard them, the two kids stranded on the road.

"All those loonies should be killed off one-by-one," one of them had said.

That's when he knew it had to be done.

No matter what. No matter how.

They had to die.

Joey would not die in vain.

He had taken a machete from a nearby abandoned tool shed and took a flare from the trunk of the boy's car when he wasn't looking.

The boy's screams filled him with the elation of sweet vengeance and he knew he had to keep killing, and he wouldn't stop until the doctors and all of the patients were dead.

It was like nothing he had ever felt before.

The sudden urge of ecstasy when he had heard their dying cries was too good to pass up.

They all were to blame. They all let it happen.

He remembered killing Billy next.

It had been so easy.

He had hidden in the trunk of Billy's Charger with the ax that he stole from the scene of his son's vicious murder when the cops weren't looking.

Next was Tina and Eddie.

All they cared about was having sex, so they too had to die.

They hadn't cared about Joey. Nobody cared.

He remembered her long, blood-curdling scream as she lay naked on the forest floor basking in the sun.

And then, she screamed no more.

He remembered the way Eddie had fought back at him against the leather strap that looped around his skull. He remembered the satisfying sound of his facial bones shattering under the weight of the immense pressure from his head being smashed against the tree like a grapefruit.

That's when he had heard Ethel's voice carrying from inside her trailer.

"That better not be you goddamn loonies in my woods! I'll blow your fucking heads off!" she screamed.

She too had to die.

He had felt no compassion or remorse when he buried her own meat cleaver into her skull.

He didn't know why he kept killing. The pleasure of inflicting on someone else the same pain that he knew Joey had felt was too great.

He wanted everyone to suffer the way Joey had suffered.

All he could think was Scream the way Joey had screamed as the ax hacked at him….Feel the terror that he must have felt in his last moments…

Nothing else mattered.

The patients and anyone connected to them had to die next. They treated Joey like nothing.

The pain he felt whenever he heard them talk about Joey like he was some kind of alien was only appeased with bloodshed.

He had heard it for years.

"Hey, did you hear the retarded kid freaking out today?" Billy had said.

"That retard got the axe today," Duke had said.

But all of it was pacified by the sight of red.

The rage would be quelled with their screams, but it always came back. Stronger than the last time.

It all made sense.

He was just trying to do what Pamela Voorhees started.

Kill them.

Kill them all.

Kill all the ones only interested in serving themselves, heedless of their responsibilities. Careless towards other lives.

Make them all pay, he had thought. Make them all pay.

Next was Matt.

He had seen him walking through the woods behind Ethel's trailer, searching for Tina and Eddie who were lying dead in the trunk of Roy's car.

All he could hear in his mind was You never protected Joey. And now, nobody will protect you from me.

Noone will hear your screams.

Noone heard a thing as the machete slashed across Matt's throat, sending a geyser of blood spraying out.

Noone heard a thing as Matt choked on his own blood.

He had staggered back into a tree and that's when Roy drove the spike into his hand, pinning him to the tree.

And then, he started plunging the machete into him again.

And again.

Harder with each thrust.

Feeling better and better with each stab.

Then, he had ripped the spike out of Matt's hand and plunged it into his forehead and hammered it in.

He saw George later, taking the trash out.

George never saw it coming and soon, he was unable to see anything at all.

One death wasn't enough.

Everytime, he always wanted more. He couldn't stop.

And now, Roy Burns felt nothing at all.

He was just another lost soul of Crystal Lake.

Some people around town swore that the curse of Crystal Lake was all nonsense.

But some will tell you straight-forward: it was Jason Voorhees that wreaked havoc at the Pinehurst Center that summer.

Tommy knew it too.

Tommy knew that it was the curse of Crystal Lake. The curse of Jason.

It all went back to Jason.

And Tommy now knew what he had to do.

If he failed, somebody else would be possessed by Jason's curse. It would never end and more innocent people would die.

Unless…

He had to do it.

Somehow, Jason Voorhees had to die.

For good.

THE END