As morning rapidly wore away, Gwen Stevenson awoke from a rather restless sleep atop her much-too-small mattress.
Yawning tiredly, she rubbed her eyes in a pitiful attempt to ward off the sunbeams that were arcing through her window.
Her hair was wild, giving her a frenzied appearance, and her eyes were still raw after her sudden burst of tears the following night.
Upon leaving the party with Erin in shame, the two young women had hurried over to Gwen's house for a consolation sleepover that had ended with them arguing over Nathan and whether he liked Nicole or Gwen, or whether he simply couldn't make up his mind, as Erin believed. "He's confused," she had demanded.
After about an hour or two of constant bickering, Erin had left in a hurry, allowing Gwen to slink into bed and fall asleep before her parents even knew what had taken place at the lake.
What she had believed would be the best night's sleep of her life was, in actuality, hours on end of turning, writhing, and restlessness.
Gwen could get the image of Nicole smirking at her pain out of her throbbing head.
Groaning as the morning sun suddenly blinded her for a moment, Gwen stumbled out of bed, her entire body swaying unsteadily.
What a great start to a new day.
Checking the alarm clock atop her dresser (it was nearly eleven-thirty), she slowly exited the incredibly-cramped room, emerging atop a landing connected to a flight of oak stairs.
Already, Gwen could hear the sounds of The Today Show drifting up the steps to her ears.
Sniffling slightly (she had just gotten over a slight cold), she began to trudge down the staircase, her legs like blocks of marble, barely able to support her weakened form.
Upon stepping down from the stairway, Gwen entered a large, almost completely bare room, furnished with a single beige couch and an outdated, much-too-small television, resting atop a low bookshelf.
Her mother, a tall, weary-looking woman in her late fifties, was seated atop the couch, wrapped in a rough, worn bath robe, rapidly sifting through a pile of old newspapers.
Gwen's father, Mr. Stevenson, had no doubt already left to purchase a new gallon of milk and other necessities as he did every Sunday morning.
As Gwen moved into the living room, partially blocking the television screen, her mother looked up, a slight frown of worry painted across her semi-wrinkled face.
"Morning." Gwen whispered, forcing a faint smile.
She and her mother had never been exactly close; Mrs. Stevenson, despite her current, disheveled appearance, had been head cheerleader in high school, the daughter of George Orwell, the brilliant entrepreneur who had turned the area around the fabled Crystal Lake into a major-grossing tourist trap.
Thus, due to her lavish upbringing, Mrs. Stevenson clearly did not approve of Gwen's unique form of dress; in fact, she no doubt regretted marrying into the Stevenson family, for her husband, Jack, though he had been her high school sweetheart when he had been on the football team, was now a down-on-his-luck, unemployed bum that could barely afford to keep their own home. Because of this, Sharon had been forced to take up a part-time job at the local pharmaceutical store, as well as manage her pre-existing hair salon, "Ginger & Spice" on Third Avenue.
Today, however, Sharon Stevenson seemed even more distressed and frenzied, if that were possible.
Sighing heavily, she removed two, visibly-worn newspapers from the sorted pile, and held them out for Gwen to see.
Taking both at once, Gwen quickly skimmed through the headlines:
The first article, depicting a smoking ambulance and a scene of devastated wreckage, read, "Local Woman and Two Hospital Attendants Killed in Fatal Highway Accident; Officer Missing From Scene of Crime".
The second, completely taken over by a photograph of a woman's body atop a stretcher, read: "One of the Last Survivors of the Latest Crystal Lake Massacre Found Dead at Bottom of Staircase; Authorities Have Ruled Out Accidental Death Upon Uncovering Scenes of Struggle Within Victim's Bedroom".
Gwen felt her entire body shake; Kristen Greenwald, the heroine of the last set of Crystal Lake killings...dead?
And Stevie Parker, the woman who faced off against what could only be described as a supernatural force, dead as well?
Though Gwen was not a fan of unrealistic explanations, the link between the two "accidents" was so apparent, even she, the quiet, soft-spoken Gothic girl, could barely contain her fear.
Mrs. Stevenson did not contain hers, however.
"If any of what these reporters are saying about the Voorhees boy is true, then you and your friends could have been killed last night!" she snapped, livid.
Gwen solemnly shook her head; she had rubbed elbows with Death itself, and had survived part of a night at Camp Crystal Lake all the same...
Previous to her senior year, she had never believed in the undead monster known as Jason Voorhees. Of course, Gwen had been treated to hundreds of amusing tales involving the fabled resident, including many that she had read about in old articles that she had uncovered online.
Gwen, however, dismissed these far-fetched stories with her usual explanation: "Deranged copy-cat killer. Read about them all the time, terrorizing small communities and trying to pass for the genuine thing. Like those Jack the Ripper fanatics."
It was only after news spread of Kristen Greenwald's narrow escape from the campgrounds that she allowed herself to take some interest in this Jason character.
And now, with two of the camp's four survivors dead, Gwen did not know who or what to believe.
"I never approved of my father cashing in on the deaths of so many innocent people," her mother continued. "Our county becoming a hotspot because of some masked madman...disgusting!"
Gwen shrugged, placing the articles down atop the couch.
"It certainly boosted the area's popularity among tourists." she muttered, a bit nauseated herself.
A machete-wielding lunatic?
Please.
Ridiculous legends...
xxx
Erin Benet was jolted awake by a sudden, thunderous vibrating that emanated from her chestnut nightstand.
Snapping to attention, her heart racing, she fumbled for her coke-bottle glasses, slipping them over her beady eyes as she dodged the silvery strands of sunlight that threatened to temporarily blind her.
Clawing about for the cell phone that she had forgotten to turn off the previous night, Erin flipped open the device and read the text message that was plastered inside the screen: Have u heard about the killings?
The message was from Gwen, yet Erin had absolutely no idea as to what killings her friend was referring to.
There were too many suspicious deaths around Crystal Lake to keep track of.
Thus, Erin responded, as a joke, with: Who's dead this time...?
Chuckling to herself, she placed the cell phone down atop her bed and waited for the vibration.
It came a few moments later.
We need 2 talk NOW.
xxx
Nicole Goldman pressed the twistable rod against her lips, and suddenly her entire mouth was alive, outlined in a deep, golden-scarlet, like a bundle of juicy, freshly-picked cherries.
Moving away from the bathroom mirror that sported an elegant chrome finish, she ran her long, slender fingers through her creamy lemon hair, allowing twirling strands to gently fall down into her jewel-like emerald eyes.
Deciding to keep her hair down instead of up in its normal, casual ponytail, Nicole took a moment to admire her surroundings; even the family's upstairs bathroom, with its tiled floor, marble countertop and matching basin, bronzed faucet, and silver bathtub, tucked away into an arch-top niche, complete with a genuine Italian oil painting hanging above, seemed to shout wealth.
A European paradise in a cold, desolate town full of death and misery.
After all, the Goldmans were the royalty of Crystal Lake, and they expected everyone to remember that distinguishing fact.
Lavishness was not an option; it was a lifestyle.
Every portion of the seven acre mansion glowed with extravagance; clearly, the expense of such luxuries was not an issue.
Especially when Steven Goldman was the CEO of Olympia, the fastest-growing employee/product outsourcing corporation in the state.
Exiting the bathroom, Nicole emerged atop a plush, carpeted landing, a flight of spiraling marble steps directly below her socked feet.
Brushing away the silken locks of hair that threatened to obscure her vision, Nicole gracefully made her way downstairs, hands lightly grasping the rail that led down to solid ground.
Upon reaching the bottom of the staircase, she made her way through an alcove, complete with pulled-back maroon curtains, and entered an overly-spacious, overly-furnished living room.
Her father, Steven, sat atop the plush, beige couch, skimming through the latest issue of TIME magazine. Mrs. Cynthia Goldman sat across from her husband atop a second couch, draped in a luxurious scarlet bathrobe, casually adjusting her sleek, silver eyeglasses.
"Good morning, cupcake." Mr. Goldman called, though he was not directly facing his daughter.
Nicole beamed pleasantly, though her head was throbbing; Nathan should have called her by now.
"Morning, Daddy."
Hurrying over to plant a light kiss on both of her parents' faces, she shot a quick glance at the family answering machine.
The red light was blinking spastically.
One, no...two voicemails.
Nathan!
Avoiding a hug from her father, she picked up the receiver and pressed it against her ear, rapidly jabbing at the dull green PLAY button.
An automated voice took over from there.
"Good morning," it chimed mechanically with no feeling, no life. "This is the law office of Binder, Pratt, & Jones. We apologize for calling at this time, but we thought it was appropriate to inform you that your payment for our service to you and your loved ones is past due. Please return this message promptly, at your earliest convenience. We will send out a follow-up reminder at the end of this week. Our number is 212-713-0095. Thank you."
There was a sharp clicking sound, and all was silent was once more.
Nicole rolled her eyes. Her mother had slipped in the produce aisle of the local Whole Foods when no "wet floor" sign was present.
Suddenly, a second voice, a human voice, blared out of the receiver, jovial and raspy.
"Yeah, Steve, my boy, this is Randy down at Oak Bridge Junction. Just wanted to remind ya that we're still on for that poker game Thursday night. The wife'll be outta town for a few hours, so we got the whole place to ourselves. I think I'll call up Frank and David at the office and see if they can stop by for a bit. Ok, I'll leave you and Cynthia alone now; I know how busy you and her are on the weekends. See you tomorrow at work. Oh, and about that project in Cambodia, I think we oughta scratch the entire thing. Frank agrees, but David says Ol' Maxwell will flip. Maybe we can meet for lunch sometime to discuss the shipment to Cairo? You know my number."
The phone clicked again, and Randy's voice disappeared from Nicole's ear.
Cursing beneath her breath, she threw down the receiver, and stormed into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice.
No message from Nathan, no message from Miranda; she was supposed to have called after she and Kevin got back into town...
Where is everybody?
xxx
Nathan Matthews, just out of bed, slipped the tattered blue jeans over his bare, shivering legs; it had been a frigid evening.
It would have come as no surprise to him if the small community had experienced its first frost of the year overnight.
Yawning, Nathan stretched lazily, and turned his attention to the cell phone tucked securely away beneath his pillow.
Flipping it open, he was slightly shocked to find that no messages had been stored during the early morning.
Huh.
Not even a single text from Kevin...
xxx
Gwen's heart was pounding in her chest as she shoved her arms through the sleeves of her thick coat, her face as pale as ever.
Clearly, something was wrong.
Masked killers, machetes, two unexplainable murders...what's next?
Shouting a quick "goodbye" to her disapproving mother, she threw open the front door and hurried outside, the bone-chilling wind whipping at her cheeks, leaving them red and raw.
Fighting back the supreme cold, Gwen dashed through her front yard, kicking up hundreds of thousands of dew droplets, spraying her shoes and leaving her pants dripping from the knees down.
She needed to speak with Erin.
Yes, Erin would know what to do, not that there was truly anything to be done.
It all seemed more than coincidental that two women, both survivors of a bloody killing spree, should die a single day apart, and mysteriously, at that.
An ambulance crash? Please.
A fall down a flight of stairs? Ridiculous.
She would have to get to the bottom of it all, though it was really none of her concern.
Gwen, however, did not want to end up like her mother, a poor women no doubt suffering from a type of paranoia, isolating herself from the rest of the world.
Hell, Gwen hungered for adventure.
And she would certainly get the adventure of her life, should she live to tell about it.
xxx
Erin was already waiting for her at the local park, seated atop a rusted jungle gym that looked as if it could collapse at any moment.
Smiling faintly, Erin waved Gwen over as a sudden burst of wind sent the dry, lifeless leaves spiraling up into the air.
"You wanted to talk?" Erin asked as innocently as she could, her entire form trembling.
Gwen raised an eyebrow upon noticing that her friend had come to the meeting spot without a jacket.
It had to be at least forty degrees, and getting ever-colder by the second.
"Yeah, we need to talk." Gwen muttered, her voice hoarse and cracked.
Shoving her pale hand into her coat pocket, she removed a crumpled piece of paper, and threw it to Erin.
Erin, though taken by surprise, caught the makeshift wad, and unfolded the sheet, her eyes twinkling eagerly.
"It's...an old newspaper article..." she breathed, rather disappointed.
"From July." Gwen pointed out solemnly.
"Huh... 'Local woman found dead'?" Erin looked up at her shivering friend. "What does this have to do with us?"
"That picture is of Kristen Greenwald!" Gwen snapped. "You know, the one that got away...?"
Erin's frown evaporated and transformed into a sly smile.
"Oh, come on. You can't expect me to fall for such nonsense! I may be gullible, but..."
Gwen's face was immediately distorted with fury as she lashed out for the article, grabbing into from Erin.
"Hey!" Erin cried, pouting.
"We were at this camp last night!" Gwen explained feverishly. "If I had known that Kristen and Stevie Parker had both been murdered, I never would have gone to that damn party!"
"Stevie Parker...? The woman that died in the ambulance crash?"
Gwen allowed herself to calm down for a moment.
"You see? You've read about it, too. Something's going on at that lake, Erin..."
Erin Benet, not one who enjoyed adventures, jumped off of the jungle gym and hastily began to back away.
"Oh, no... You're not getting me wrapped up in this mess, Gwen... I don't want any part of it."
"Why won't you listen to me?" Gwen pleaded, almost pathetically.
Erin rapidly shook her head.
"The place is literally off-limits. You're absolutely right; we shouldn't have trespassed with the others last night. We made a stand, and we were humiliated. End of story."
Gwen rolled her eyes, and reached out for Erin's hand.
"This has nothing to do with last night! All I'm saying is that Kristen and Stevie both met with unexplained deaths, only a matter of days, a matter of hours, in Stevie's case, after they escaped from Crystal Lake."
Erin snorted.
"Escape, huh? 'Escape' is not the word I would use."
"Then how do you explain the killings there?" Gwen asked, defensively.
"What killings? They searched the place high-and-low, and they only found two bodies."
Gwen nodded.
"The police found that blonde girl and Sheriff Rowland, yes, but there must have been others!"
Erin shrugged carelessly, yet stopped backing away.
"The poor guy probably fell down the stairs, or something. It happened to Kristen Greenwald, didn't it?"
At this comment, Gwen felt the anger boil her blood yet again.
"He was stabbed six goddamn times! He sure as hell didn't fall down any steps."
"Maybe Stevie did him in. Maybe they were having an affair, and he wanted to go back to his wife and kids. Maybe she got pissed and picked up a kitchen knife. Ever think about that?" Erin snapped.
"How can you even suggest such a half-ass idea?"
Erin looked up at the frenzied young woman before her, concerned.
"Why are you acting so hostile? I can believe whatever I want to believe."
Gwen looked away, visibly distraught.
"You're not believing the truth."
Erin sighed heavily and dramatically, pondering whether she ought to leave right then and there.
After a brief silence, Erin spoke timidly and quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll go to the lake with you, if you want. I left my jacket there last night, anyway, and my mother wants me to get it back."
Gwen, though against her better judgment, smiled faintly.
"Sure, you can come along."
Erin looked at the watch strapped to her thin wrist; it was nearly noon.
"Let's go, then. It's starting to get late."
xxx
Nicole Goldman paced about her living room, biting her recently-manicured fingernails anxiously, which was certainly not something she would normally do.
Yet this was no ordinary day.
No call, no text message, no e-mail, not even a simple IM.
Of course, Miranda, if she had not yet returned home, had no access to a computer or laptop, but Nathan most certainly did.
It was peculiar, all of it a tad...odd.
It was already the afternoon, and nobody had bothered to check-in with her.
A simple "Hey, we got back from the cabin safely" would have easily sufficed.
Yet there was nothing.
Perhaps Miranda and Kevin had had a better time than expected.
Perhaps Nathan had gone out of town with his family, maybe on a fishing trip to the lake, or something of that kind.
Still, it would be better to just make sure.
Picking up her sleek, silver cell phone, she flipped it open, and rapidly jabbed at the minute number keyboard.
Within seconds, Nicole could hear a faint ringing in the distance.
Ringing and...something else.
A male voice.
"Hello?" Nathan asked, clearing his throat.
A burst of excitement blossomed within Nicole's chest.
"Natey!" she squealed, barely able to contain herself. "Christ, I was so worried about you! You didn't send me any texts, no voicemails..."
Nathan, on the other line, chuckled slightly.
"I was waiting for a call from you!" he laughed.
Nicole took this time to ask the question that had been discomforting her all morning.
"Did Kevin happen to call you at all this morning?"
Nathan blinked his eyes in rapid succession, uneasy.
"That's the weird part about all of this...he said he'd text me after he and Miranda left the cabin. Maybe he forgot...?"
Nicole shook her head.
"I don't think so. Miranda was supposed to leave me a voicemail. My phone hasn't stored anything since last night when Chloe texted me."
"Listen, Nicole, I know you're still peeved after the party last night, but I wouldn't go around getting myself all worried about this, okay? You know how Miranda and Kevin are; it probably just slipped their minds."
Nicole pouted; she had been longing for a more exciting explanation.
"Well I'm heading down to the lake to sort all of this out. Maybe if they've left already the two of us can use the cabin..."
"Nicole, it's only noon..."
Nathan paused suddenly; he wasn't interested in angering his girlfriend after Gwen and Erin's appearance at the party just yesterday evening.
"...But I'll come with you, anyway; Derek wants me to pick up the lawn chairs that he and Mark left by the shore..."