Monday, November 2nd
The Present
The sun rose on the morning of November 2nd as it did on any other day, signaling that it was time to start anew, to forget the troubles of the recent past, and to look forward to twenty-four hours of new opportunities and a few good laughs with friends.
For the students attending Clearmont High, however, those twenty-four hours would be filled with nothing but murder and bloodshed.
Of course, no one could have anticipated such a massacre, as the people formerly known as Derek Myers, Coach Harold Callaway, and Mark Chang had disappeared from the face of the earth, their mutilated corpses never to be found.
Only Jason Voorhees could predict the slaughter that would soon follow.
xxx
Jason peered through the trees of the forest, watching as sunlight began to seep in between the bare, skeletal branches, casting strange, writhing shadows on the woodchip-littered ground.
Finally - it was morning.
Moving away from the makeshift grave he had dug for his latest string of victims, Jason crept silently across the forest floor, winding around dying trees and keeping himself hidden from the countless number of students that were filing inside the school building in the distance.
Ah.
Fresh blood.
Shivering with anticipation, Jason eyed the children, soaking each and every one of them in, imagining how grand it would be to cut them open like fish.
Oh, it would certainly be a day to remember.
xxx
Patricia Lynch, a mug filled with piping-hot coffee in her hands, waddled over to her desk just as the shrill bell above her head began to ring.
As the principal of Clearmont High for fifteen years, Miss Lynch's appearance clearly reflected the amount of time she spent arguing with her students: a rather rotund woman, she seemed to gain more and more weight with each passing semester.
Clearly, her job of choice was stressful.
With druggies, pill-poppers, and promiscuous children spreading diseases from one to another, Miss Lynch certainly had her plate full.
Sighing wearily, she sat atop her worn chair, which creaked and groaned beneath her weight.
Taking a few moments to readjust the steel-gray beehive that sat atop her head, Miss Lynch proceeded to check the school's digital attendance list to see how many students had decided to cut class that day.
To her surprise, only Mark Chang and Derek Myers were not accounted for.
Well, honestly, it didn't come as a complete surprise; late last night, she had received a phone call from the police department (which was already busy with the disappearance of Sheriff Haskell) about the two boys listed on her computer screen.
Apparently, they were both somehow connected to the mysterious fire that had destroyed the school's equipment shed the previous night.
Miss Lynch frowned at the thought.
Hmmm... They both must have a guilty conscious...
Upon closing the pages on Mark and Derek, Miss Lynch paused for a moment and eventually opened a new tab, typing in the following name in the search box:
GWEN STEVENSON
Gwen had come up in conversation quite a lot recently; she was a loner, a real individual...
A girl who listened to no one.
A girl who trusted no one.
Truly, she was an odd little child.
Mr. Norwood always complained about her.
At that moment, the door to the front office opened, and in walked Miss Lynch's secretary, a spindly middle-aged woman with long, platinum-blonde hair.
Miss Lynch smiled as she approached.
"Good morning, Ethel." she beamed.
The secretary, clearly the fretful, nervous type, rushed over to Miss Lynch's desk, a look of worry in her widened eyes.
"Oh, I'm so sorry I'm late, Miss Lynch - I got caught up in all the traffic on the interstate. I had a real beastly time trying to find an open parking space, too..."
Miss Lynch carelessly brushed away the woman's worries with a flick of her wrist.
"It's really no problem, I assure you. Oh, but I am having some trouble thinking of how to word my speech for tomorrow's special Board of Education meeting on the district's finances..."
"Well, I think I still have your speech from last year packed away back in storage, if you'd like me to fish it out for you."
Miss Lynch pondered the idea for a moment.
Those drunks on the Board won't even remember one word I spoke...
"That would be wonderful, Ethel, thank you."
xxx
The morning crawled by rather tiredly.
While Miss Lynch sat at her computer, sipping her coffee, her secretary bustled about in the background, sifting through dozens of boxes, desperately searching for her employer's written speech.
Neither of them noticed, however, the masked face that peered in at them through the office windows.
Jason watched as the two women went about their way, politely chattering with one another and carrying out other such office formalities, including stamping paperwork and hunting for missing files.
Bored with the display, it did not take long for Jason to realize that the only way into the main building was through the front office.
xxx
Miss Lynch did not look up from her computer as the office door creaked open.
"Good morning," she said sweetly, though her gaze did not once wander from the glowing screen before her. "How may I be of assistance to you this fine day...?"
The movement was so fast, so sudden that not even a stealthy tiger would have been able to anticipate the attack.
Jason swung his machete through the air as if it weighed only a fraction of its eighteen pounds, striking Miss Lynch in her neck, and effectively lopping off her head.
Blood spattered everywhere, and within moments, the principal's desk was dripping with the crimson liquid.
Miss Lynch's hands flapped helplessly as her body fell from the swiveling chair, landing atop the carpeted floor with a terrific thud.
Before Jason even had time to savor his latest kill, the female secretary came hurrying out of the storage closet, a yellowed piece of paper in hand.
"Miss Lynch, I've found the -" she began, but she got no further.
At the sight Jason, the woman's skin paled, and a blood-curdling scream tore through her body, rocking her like an earthquake.
"Oh - oh my god!" she screeched, clasping her hands over her mouth upon spotting Miss Lynch's corpse lying atop the floor.
Sobbing hysterically, the secretary, barely able to keep her footing, rushed over to her desk, and began to pour out the contents of her overflowing purse, only stopping to grab a canister of what could only be pepper spray, and held it threateningly close to Jason's masked face.
"Sat away…!" she sobbed, her entire body shaking.
Before Jason even had time to react, the women sprayed a cloud of peppery mist in his face, and immediately a shrill scream echoed throughout the office.
Using every precious second to her advantage, the secretary dashed past the desk, and was on her way to the office door when Jason leapt up and lunged at her, grabbing her by her shoulders and immobilizing her.
"Let go of me, you monster!" she shrieked, squirming and writhing in an attempt to free herself.
Jason, however, his red eyes burning, refused to release the woman, merely tightening his grip and digging his fingernails into the woman's flesh.
"Ugh!" she moaned, rapidly losing her energy.
Suddenly, a look of terror filled the woman's eyes.
"Please...p-please d-don't kill me..." she begged, kicking her legs and pounding her hands against Jason's broad frame.
Jason sighed as the secretary continued to protest - this pitiful fight was being dragged on far too long.
Grabbing a pen from Miss Lynch's desk, Jason angled the writing utensil in his hand, and shoved it into the side of the woman's neck.
The secretary's jaw dropped as blood began to gush from her wound.
"Uh…uhhhhh…" she moaned, her eyes rolling back into head.
Slumping forward, the woman fell limp, collapsing atop Jason and rolling down onto the carpeted floor.
Jason, breathing heavily, retrieved his machete from under the front desk, and was just about to slip out into the hallway when he spotted Miss Lynch's computer screen, which still glowed brightly despite the blood that was sprayed across it.
GWEN STEVENSON -
LOCKER #2641-009
Hmmmm…
Perhaps finding new victims would be easier than expected.
With lightning-fast reflexes, Jason made his way over to the office door, and closed the blinds.
xxx
Gwen, tired after the events of the night before, made her way up and down the halls of Clearmont High, not making eye contact with anyone, not even with Erin, who tried to get her attention at least two dozen times throughout first period.
Why should Gwen even pretend to be happy?
Nicole, Chloe, and Gina continued to relentlessly harass her, Mark and Derek had seemingly been wiped off the face of the earth, Nathan wouldn't even look at her, and, to top it all off, she had to endure detention with (shudder) Mr. Norwood later that day.
Great…could life get any worse?
Making her way across the tiled floor, pushing and shoving lumbering jocks out of the way, Gwen trudged down the hall, deciding to make a short stop at her locker on the way to PE.
Locker #2641-009, in all it's rusted, battered glory, was probably the worst locker a student attending Clearmont High could be assigned – with its door hinges ancient and decaying, it looked as if could fall out of the wall at any minute.
Struggling to keep her eyes open, Gwen grabbed the combination lock, and spun the dial around once, twice, three times -
36, 14, 58…
Gwen threw the door open, looked at the spot where her gym bag would have been on any normal day, and screamed.
She screamed, and screamed, and screamed, her trembling arms raised and her fingers pointed at the dripping object that stared back at her.
Miss Lynch's severed head sat there, silent and unmoving, gazing off into the distance, but no matter where Gwen stood in relation to the locker, she could have sworn that the sickening, yellowed eyes were fixed on her.
Gwen suddenly felt her knees buckle, and in order to keep herself from fainting in the middle of the hallway, she slammed the locker door shut, and began to race down the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks as she brushed past the few students remaining in the hall.
"Help!" she wailed, flailing her arms in the air. "Oh, God, somebody – anybody! Please…"
Making a sharp left turn, Gwen emerged in a newer hallway, which had just been designed and built over the summer.
"Please, somebody - ! Help me! Oh, my god…!"
If anyone had heard her, no one bothered to pay any attention to her pleas; rumors had already circulated branding Gwen a freak, so her peers dismissed her cries as the ravings of a lunatic.
"Why won't anyone listen to me?" Gwen moaned, reaching out for someone…
But they all just turned away, too annoyed to even mock Gwen and her hysterics.
This is the end… He's – he's inside the building…
Every last ounce of strength in Gwen's body expired as she struggled to keep herself from fainting.
The others – oh, God, the others! – they needed to be warned, to be saved, before…
Before he found them, too.
Just as Gwen was about to slump up against a row of lockers and take a breather, a strangely-familiar shadow loomed over her, and immediately her insides froze in terror.
Mary, Mother of Jesus…
Not now, not here….
However, instead of plunging a machete into Gwen's backside, the shadow reached out with two hands, grabbed Gwen by her shoulders, and spun her around.
There, frowning in displeasure, stood Mr. Norwood, his lips pursed.
"Miss Stevenson, I hope you have a good reason for prancing around the hall frightening your peers…"
For a moment, Gwen's fears flew out the window as she whispered in a choked voice, "Oh, Mr. Norwood, thank God I found you! Something terrible has happened, and I – I, oh, Miss Lynch is d – dead…!"
Mr. Norwood's eyes widened as Gwen slumped up against him, sobbing hysterically.
Patricia…dead?
"Show me what you found," he ordered, sounding more serious than ever, his voice barely wavering. "Take me to the body."
Gwen, sniffling, nodded her head, and began to retrace her steps back down the hall, with Mr. Norwood right at her heels.
"Was it a heart attack…?" he mused, his head spinning. "She's been under such stress lately, what with the disappearances of Mark and Derek…has an ambulance been called?"
"Believe me, Mr. Norwood, there's nothing anyone can do to help her now," Gwen breathed, her voice hoarse. "I didn't even have a chance to call the police, I was so terrified…"
With cat-like reflexes, Mr. Norwood whipped out a cell phone as he and Gwen turned a corner, the row of identical lockers straight ahead.
Dialing 9-1-1, Mr. Norwood held the mobile device up to his ear.
"Yes, operator, I'll hold – hello?"
Gwen, frantic, ran ahead of her teacher, and stopped dead in front of locker #2641-009, surprised to find that its rusted lock, which she had remembered dropping on the floor, had been retrieved by someone and was now preventing her from opening the locker.
A familiar feeling of dread washed over her as she spun the dial three times with her trembling hands:
36, 14, 58…
With a sharp creak, the locker door swung open, and Gwen was greeted by her old gym bag, which had been missing only five minutes ago.
Meanwhile, in the background, she heard Mr. Norwood say: "Yes, that's right – 665 Maplewood Avenue… Thank you, officer."
Gwen felt her throat clench as Mr. Norwood jogged over to where she stood.
"What's going on?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
"M-m-Mr. Norwood…" Gwen gasped, the world around her reeling.
Oh my God – there was no proof…absolutely nothing…
"Gwen, where did you find the body?"
Unsure of what to say, she stammered, "I-it was right here… Just a minute ago, I swear!"
"This is serious, Gwen – what's going on?"
Unable to speak – hardly even able to think – Gwen spun around and ran back down the hall, desperate to escape Mr. Norwood and his endless questions.
"Gwen! Gwen! Miss Stevenson, where are you going?" Mr. Norwood's voice echoed throughout the corridor.
She had to hide – she had to – if not from her history teacher than from the masked lunatic who was stalking and butchering innocent people all around her.
This was it – do or die.
Well, hopefully not die…