Once outside of Philadelphia, I hitched a ride that could only bring me as far as a place called Crystal Lake. Never heard of the place, but according to the driver there's a camp site there. I didn't really care about what the place was, still don't, but it's supposed to be located near Jersey City, another major city, therefor I'm certain to find another ride that would bring me to New York, or at least out of New Jersey.
Something funny: when I took my journal out of my bag, the driver wondered if it's my autograph book, and told me not to be afraid to ask him for his. And why would I ask him for his autograph? Turns out this guy is some famous martial artist around here in the States. He said his name was Jason Lee Scott, thinking it could help me, but I never heard of him, I therefor don't know him, so I wasn't at all interested in his autograph. When I told him exactly that, he insisted to give it to me. I have no idea what's gotten into this guy.
Unfortunately, it didn't end there. So first he was being obstinate, but later he couldn't stop raving on about his life in... some place in California. He kept talking about how he once fought on the wrong side of justice, or to use his own words, fought for evil, and had no control over himself whatsoever. Sounds a little weird, but what's weirder is that he said he still feels sorry for ever having done that, though judging from the look on his face, and the tone he used, he didn't seem sorry about all that at all. But anyway, he said he was lucky to have had friends who defeated him, and thereby turned him good again. Upon asking him what that means, he reminded me that he was turned evil once and therefor his friends turned him back. Now how does one just turn evil? It's not like you can switch your personality from the one to the other, from good to bad. He had no understanding of what that meant, which made him wish some other friend of his were here, some Asian girl judging from what her name sounded. Exactly how dumb is this guy?
Okay, I'll retract that statement. You can switch from one personality to another. Or at least this guy can. At some point during our ride, I was getting a little hungry, so I thought we should stop to eat something. Perhaps, just to be quick, we could stop by this Burger King joint to eat, but the driver said that was a bad idea, as I should treat my body as if it's a temple. Words that sound wise, but were contradicted the moment we stopped at a place called Fuddruckers, another fast-food joint, of which I have never heard of until now. In my opinion, with it's weird name and with the human race dumbed down as it is, I wouldn't be surprised if a point will come that this joint is called Buttfuckers. But I digress. My point is that earlier this guy didn't want to eat any fast-food, but now he doesn't think twice about it? I thought he may be a bit schizophrenic, but this other version of the guy still said his name was Jason. This goes beyond the mundane mood-swings.
This is something interesting that I came across. When we arrived in Crystal Lake, I got out. But when the driver asked some of the locals for directions to a place called Camp Crystal Lake, the mere mention of that name made the locals look up frightened. They didn't even want to give any directions at first. The driver begged, then demanded, then prayed,... Anyway, although it was none of my business, I wondered what's so terrible about Camp Crystal Lake. They told me that a woman once killed all the counsellors there, avenging the death of her son, who just so happened to be named Jason as well, Voorhees, that is. This woman managed to kill all but one counsellor, who chopped off her head in the struggle. Though with her dead, the murders didn't end there. Some believe that Jason actually came back from the dead to avenge his now dead mother. Interesting, as every town has it's own legend about something being out in the woods. I thought I should check that out, so I went along with Jason. Lee Scott, that Jason. Maybe it's best if I keep referring to them both by their last names. Anyway, since Scott couldn't convince them to give any directions, no matter what any of his many personalities said or did, I decided to tell these locals about something I don't understand. So they believe in a man who resurrected from the dead and ascended into heaven, I asked and they answered positive. And how could he resurrect? Because he was the son of God? Fine by me, but couldn't the same apply to Voorhees as well? After all they do believe he resurrected too, so he may as well be the son of God too. That statement made them hesitate no longer to give directions to the camp-site. Scott, of course, followed these directions.
Once we arrived, night was already closing in. Though I was told we were going to a place called Crystal Lake, that didn't necessarily mean there actually was a lake. Seeing it, I thought I should take a dive, as it's been so long since I last swam. It's one of the few things I really enjoy doing, so why should I not take my chance? Scott, on the other hand, thought of training a little. When he told me, he suddenly sounded more serious than he ever did before. To use his own exact words, he thought that Voorhees was a evil monster that had to be destroyed. He already figured this guy actually exists? And just as quickly decided that he's a monster? From what I gather, assuming Voorhees is real, he's just a kid that's angry because his mother died. But to Scott, that's no reason to become, and I quote: "an evil monster"
No matter what personality he has, every form of his seemed to think that monsters exist. Surely, I've met with monsters before, but it looked to me that they all had some kind of moral code, or else I would be dead by now. No matter what they look like, what they can or can't do, these monsters were still human in some shape or other. Anyway, I thought I should write all this down before taking a dive, or before it slips my mind.
Tuesday, July 8 2008:
I have no idea how the following will sound to you, all I can say you can either believe this or not. I was, like I said, diving in the lake. Trying to break an old record of mine to stay under the water for twenty-four seconds, I tried to stay under for a while. But when I resurfaced, I saw Scott, facing a big guy who wore a hockey mask, and wielded a long knife in his one hand. Scott, upon seeing the guy, swung his right hand behind his back. At first I thought he was challanging this guy to fight him with only one hand, but then he did... something weird. I don't know what was supposed to happen, but it looked to me as though he expected something to be thrown in his hands. I'm not sure, but that's when he looked really frightened. The big guy raised his knife, with which he stabbed Scott in his gut. After that, he took it out again, while I tried my best not to make even the slightest sound, or to not be seen. That's when Scott tried to punch the guy, who in his defense chopped off Scott's arm, who then fell down in agony. I know I should do something, but what could I do? What can someone of my size do against a man that big? Especially since a trained martial artist can't even deal with him. Trying to think of what to do, Scott crawled away, but the masked guy chopped of his legs. In doing so, he had finally seen me. I turned around, trying to swim away.
I thought of taking my stuff with me, but that would only slow me down, so I decided not to do that. So Jason Voorhees is real after all. But then something else came to me. As I understand it, Voorhees merely killed peopel out of revenge for his killed mother. I think her death is already avenged, so why does he keep killing? Thinking that, it slowed me down enough, so the big guy could catch up with me. He had me in his grip and was about to use his knife on me. Suddenly, I found the courage to say: "Jason?". At the sound of that name, he stopped moving. People have spoken of him as a child, and yet here I see him all grown up. This must mean he's still a child in his mind, so I figured, so maybe if I could speak to that child he may let me live. Anyone else would have screamed their heads off by now, but anyone else never faced those mountain men or vampires and werewolves I faced before. I tried to talk to him, I told him I understand his rage for the death of his mother. I wouldn't be that sad over the death of my own mother, but his mother must have cared for him in ways mine never did. So when somebody took that away from him, how must that not feel for him? How would you react if someone you cared for was taken away from you. In case of Jason, so I guessed, he just wants to be left alone. When I asked him whether I was correct, he merely let go of me and lowered his knife. So I reached that child he once was. With this, I felt I could tell him that all I needed was to get my stuff back together and then I'll leave and never come back. And if I do, he has every right to kill me. I even suggested him to escort me out of the woods, if he doesn't believe me.
So he did. I was out of the woods, where there was an old railroad track. On it, an old cargo-train was moving. Much like I've seen dozens of times in fiction, I noticed this train moved slow enough for me to get aboard. And now it has stopped in Jersey City.
Must say, I have heard of New Jersey before, though I never knew there actually was a city called Jersey here as well. Still, I haven't been here that long, but I still feel it's safe to say that this city wasn't exactly what I expected it would look like. The whole city appeared in ruins, torn down from some kind of battle that took place only recently. There even was this one ruined building where there was a sign which read "Conveniently empty factory". But the strangest part is that the people around here appeared okay with the state of their city. Here in the States, you sure meet the weirdos.
Before I forget, I should remind myself to get something to keep my journal waterproof. When being chased by Jason Voorhees, and I tried to pick up my stuff, I nearly, accidentally dropped my journal in the lake. If it happened to my clothes, it wouldn't have mattered as they can dry, or in the worst case they could be replaced, but my journal isn't. Here in Jersey, I obviously won't find anything, but hopefully I will in New York.