The sun was on the verge of setting when Jason Voorhees, stalking along the main road, concealed in the forest shadows, made his way across the quiet town, making sure to avoid the few cars and tourists that zoomed by his hiding spots.
Late afternoon was a dangerous time to be hunting, Jason knew.
Anyone could spot him out in the open.
Blood-stained hatchet still in hand, Jason limped through the bare streets, quickening his pace whenever he risked being seen.
After what seemed to be hours of lurching around, Jason, wheezing heavily, came to a stop outside his newest target, soon to be filled to the brim with potential victims:
Clearmont High.
xxx
The evening sky seemed to turn from a pale pink to a deep, bronzed orange as Derek Myers, in his hockey uniform, complete with knee pads, elbow pads, hockey stick, and, of course, the always-recognizable mask riddled with breathing holes, leapt from his mother's battered SUV, waved her a quick goodbye, and trudged into the high school gymnasium, completely unaware that he was being watched intensely by a shadowy figure hidden behind a large, leafless oak tree in the distance.
Grunting tiredly, Derek made his way inside the high school, hardly ready for a strenuous, time-consuming practice.
He hated how everyone depended on him to win the team's games...popularity did have its cons, despite how Derek relished in being the school's star athlete, only matched by the likes of Nathan and Mark, both of whom excelled at their own sports.
Yet hockey was Derek's game, just like baseball was Nathan's and football was Mark's.
Yawning, he trudged down the empty hallways that made up Clearmont High, turning corners and opening heavy wooden doors until he entered the spacious gymnasium, where most of his team had already gathered.
It would be a long night.
xxx
As silent as the night, Jason Voorhees emerged from behind the bare oak tree, his grotesque, twisted features partially obscured by the evening sun.
With a sudden movement, Jason brought a gloved hand up to his face, delicately touching the patches of burned, rotted flesh that only accentuated his demented look.
Cringing despite himself, Jason could only think how angry he had been when he lost his previous hockey mask to the late Stevie Parker, who was now six or seven feet underground.
Yes...perhaps a new mask would completehis get-up...
xxx
Gwen, her eyes burning and her throat raw, shoved her iPod earphones into her ears, raising the hand-held device's volume to full-power in an attempt to force the horrific, terrifying thoughts that were plaguing her out of her mind.
Sighing tiredly, she stared out her window, watching as the sun seemed to melt behind the bare trees that stood tall facing the sky, embedded in the soggy, green-and-brown earth.
When would the nightmare end...?
Closing her stinging eyes, her iPod falling out of her hands, Gwen allowed herself to lay back atop her pillow and fall asleep...
xxx
Nathan wearily turned his attention towards his silent cell phone, flipping it open and staring intently at the time - 6:04.
Why hadn't anyone responded to his frantic message...?
xxx
Nicole looked from her screaming father to her crying mother, and then to her pink, jewel-encrusted watch; it was getting late.
xxx
Erin stared at the evening paper her mother had shoved in her face, its black, bolded headline reading: Two trespassing teens found dead at local, off-limits lake and surrounding campgrounds - have the killing sprees started again? Authorities haven't disclosed any information except for the fact that four other teens, one the daughter of Steven Goldman, CEO of Olympia and local celebrity, are somehow involved in this gruesome case. More information can be found on L-3 - our hearts go out to the families of the victims...
Erin felt her insides freeze - the story was already spreading around the town!
She'd never live any of this horror down...
xxx
"Myers!" the coach of Clearmont High's hockey team shouted across the gymnasium, his face red and darkened with frustration. "Your mom wants you outside and in the car stat! You're excused for the rest of the practice tonight."
All eyes turned to watch as Derek, defeated, trudged into the men's locker room, embarrassed beyond imagination.
Stupid Aunt Cindy...
xxx
Mark was busy frantically scribbling down ideas for his essay due the following day when his fuming mother dragged him downstairs to get ready for football practice.
"Quick! Quick! Game in forty minutes, yes? And essay still not done?"
Mark grumbled an angry response beneath his breath as he escaped into the bathroom in order to change.
The short, stout Filipino woman shook her head as she banged on the door.
"Stupid boy! You not do proper work! No proper work, none, none, none! Stupid, stupid, lazy boy...!"
xxx
As he was busy wiping the sweat from his brow in front of a dust-covered mirror, Derek did not notice the locker room door open ever so gradually, a dark shadow seeping in through the ever-growing opening, enveloping Derek as he bent down to wash his hands.
Why do we always have to go over to Aunt Cindy's for dinner on Sundays...? She hates my guts, anyway, and I hate hers...
Muttering a string of curse words and other profanities, Derek swung around to grab a paper towel for his dripping hands.
Something, however, stood in his way, as Derek only managed to grab a torn shirt sleeve, covered in still-drying blood that tinted Derek's recently-washed hands a pale red.
Taken aback, Derek focused his attention on the wheezing form before him, its monstrous face obscured by the dim lighting of the locker room.
Barely able to speak, Derek stumbled backwards into the hard, rough sink, its double faucets still running, frigid water pouring over the sides of the basin, and trickling down onto the tiled floor.
"C-c-coach...?" Derek stuttered, attempting to take another step back, but only succeeding in ramming his hip into the piping beneath the sink.
Temporarily blinded by the pain of this sudden injury, Derek, gritting his teeth, leaned his weight down atop the sink as the shadow took this opportunity to charge forward, grabbing Derek by his shoulders and forcing him down.
Taken by surprise, Derek barely had time to resist or struggle before his skull crashed down upon the sink, disorienting him and rendering him almost unconscious.
The shadow, relentless, attacked the helpless teen once more, grabbing Derek by his hair and tearing at his scalp.
Too petrified to scream, Derek gasped as blood began to trickle down from his brow, spilling into his eyes and blinding him.
Jason Voorhees watched as Derek feebly struggled, kicking his legs and slashing his arms in a pathetic attempt to escape from his inevitable death.
Rapidly growing tired with the needless torture, Jason decided to end things right then and there, and Derek, though he could barely see through the flowing blood, clearly saw a sharpened knitting needle being pulled out from his attacker's pocket.
Jason took a moment to correctly position the needle in his gloved hand, so as to unsure a proper killing blow.
"Please..." Derek breathed, his watering eyes widening in terror, his heart racing, his head throbbing. "Please..."
Jason cocked his head to one side, enjoying how even an all-star athlete could be reduced to a whimpering, pleading coward.
With a sudden grunt, he thrust the needle into the side of Derek's neck so forcefully that the hockey star nearly collapsed to ground.
Derek's jaw dropped, his world nothing but a black void, spinning in and out of focus.
The bright blood that trickled from the wound suddenly began to cascade down onto Derek's uniform, eventually spilling onto the floor as Derek struggled to breath.
Clawing at the needle that was protruding from out of his neck like a strange growth, Derek felt his mouth fill with blood, the crimson liquid pouring down from his lips like a waterfall.
Jason, satisfied, stepped back and admired his work as Derek's body began to contort as if it were performing some sort of Death dance before its final moments.
Derek, fighting back the pain that threatened to paralyze him, suddenly began to move, his legs trembling and his chest heaving.
He was trying to escape.
Jason leapt forward in order to block the only exit from the locker room, but he quickly realized that he had no reason to be concerned; Derek immediately slipped on the puddles of blood that had been diluted with water, and, rather abruptly, he fell to the ground, his arms and legs spread out, giving him the appearance of a decimated marionette puppet.
Yet the boy was still alive, Jason noted, a bit surprised...
Indeed, Derek's eyes still fluttered open from time to time as a pool of blood began to form around his head.
His lips, too, seemed to part, forming words that he was unable to speak.
Jason knelt down on his knees, watching intently as Derek's body spasmed a final time, his eyes a sickly yellow and his skin waxy and cold...
Following the painful contortion, Derek fell limp, his clenched hands suddenly opening and the sound of his chocked breathing gradually disappearing from the locker room.
Jason stared at the body for minute more before leaping to his feet, and rummaging through Derek's gym bag.
With a shout of joy, Jason pulled the stark-white hockey mask out from hiding beneath a rolled-up sweatshirt.
The prize...