Across the Lake

Chapter 10: The Visit

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The encounter from yesterday was very strange. The scene kept repeating over and over in my mind; I couldn't fall asleep last night (Also because it was so hot, I kept getting bitten by mosquitoes). Something wasn't right. Something didn't add up. I couldn't put my finger on it. Were all the stories wrong? I paced the living room, holding a half eaten sandwich.

Everything has been strange ever since I came here. The nightmares, the songs, Jason. What did it all mean? What was I missing from this mystery? This puzzle? After a while I realized I hadn't finished eating my sandwich. I took a few quick bites then wiped my hands on my jean shorts.

After a while, I decided not to dwell on the weird stuff at the moment. It had to be my imagination that it was all connected, and I was part of it. It was just a coincidence...just a coincidence...But even when I pushed the thoughts deep down, they seemed to want to rise back up to the surface again.

I decided to paint outside...while keeping my eye out for Jason. Just because I got away from being murdered once, doesn't mean I could get away from not being murdered again. He was, after all, a killer, according to the townspeople.

I took out my easel, paints, paintbrushes, and a fresh new canvas. I placed them in a slightly different area, but still looking out across the lake. As I painted, my brain went back to the songs and the nightmares. The songs were nothing I could remember. They sounded like camp songs for kids. And the nightmares of me drowning...Was I seeing visions of the last moments when Jason was alive? The idea made me shudder. I tried focusing on my painting, but I found it a bit difficult. I had only painted the underpainting of the lake. Just a solid blue. No shadows or the glittering light dancing on the top of the surface.

Water filling up my nose

Lungs burning. Bubbles escaping my mouth

Sinking deeper into the abyss-

I pulled my eyes away from the canvas, taking breaths. My eyes scanned the scenery in front of me for the white mask. A deer appeared for a moment before disappearing behind a tree. A few squirrels were chasing each other; but no mask. I continued painting in the same spot for a half an hour straight, thinking about Jason.

A dark shadow suddenly loomed over me. I turned around and nearly fell out of my seat.

He came up from behind me silently. I should have heard his footsteps, considering that he was so huge, but I guess he was used to the forest that he knew how to keep quiet...or that he really was a ghost. The idea was chilling.

"O-Oh! H-hi...Jason. I d-didn't see you there," I stumbled over the words as they came out of my mouth. I waited for him to pull out the machete I could see hanging from its sheath, but he never did. Instead, Jason tilted his head to one side as if in confusion. His dark eyes moved from me to the painting behind me.

I hesitated, too scared to tear my eyes away from him; afraid that he was going to chop me to bits once my head was turned. After a few long moments of him not moving at all I eventually turned my head to look at my painting, then back to him.

"M-my painting? I-I'm just painting...the lake," I stuttered. Jason stopped tilting his head then slowly nodded his head. His hands came up in front of him. I stayed very still as I watched his hands. They were covered by dark leather gloves, but the gloves were so old and torn. They were caked with dirt and what looked to be blood.

He made weird hand gestures in front of his chest. It took me a second to realize he was using sign language to communicate to me. I unfortunately had no idea what he was saying. I only knew a few signs, but not to hold a conversation. I assumed he was telling me that he liked the painting. My shoulders relaxed a little. A killer was giving me a compliment on my painting...

With shaky hands, I did the ASL 'thank you' sign, one of the only ones I knew. His mannerisms seemed to change from when I signed to him. He stood up straighter and his eyes seemed to be shining behind his mask. He almost seemed...happy. Eventually my body relaxed more and I straightened up in my seat.

He didn't want to kill me. Was I just jumping to conclusions that he was a killer? Was it only his mom who was the killer?

Awkward silence followed, which always makes me very nervous. Seeing that he was not interested in killing me, I turned back to the painting and tried putting more paint on it.

Jason stood behind me and watched me paint. I am not one who is used to having someone watch me paint. It made me nervous; but he was so quiet, it was like he wasn't there. When I would turn my head to make sure he was there, he would still be standing behind me, still as a statue. After a while, I stopped turning my head around and just continued to paint. Jason took a deep breath and sighed. The first sound I had heard him make. It sounded like the soft winds through the trees.

Ghosts don't breathe I remember telling myself.

When I finished the lake and the trees around it, I placed my paintbrush in the cup of water and turned to him. "What do you think?" I asked him, gesturing to the painting. He nodded his head and made another ASL gesture. When he saw the look of confusion on my face, he gave me a thumbs up instead. I couldn't help but to laugh, then quickly stopped and placed my hand over my mouth.

Jason blinked in surprise, then his eyes lit up in a way that seemed happy. He didn't seem upset that I had laughed at him. I slowly lowered my hand and smiled up at him. He reminded me of a curious puppy. A really big puppy. This was really the man behind all the gruesome legends? I was so confused.

Then he did something that made the back of my hairs prickle. He spelled out my name in ASL. I felt the blood drain from my face. How did he know my name? "H-how do you know my name?" I asked him. He stared at me for what felt like hours. He signed another sign I had no idea what it stood for. He tried signing it again. I shook my head. "I'm sorry...I don't know what that means..." I told him. He stopped signing and lowered his arms.

A sudden gust of wind decided to come up, tilting my easel over. I gasped, quickly grabbing it before it decided to fall completely over into the dirt. I sighed with relief when I caught everything in time. My hands gently righted the easel and placed the painting back on it.

When I looked back up, he was gone.

Ghosts don't breathe...but humans don't move that fast.

"Jason?" I called out.

I stood up and started looking around.

"Hello?" a new voice called back.

Suddenly, Sheriff Jackson appeared, causing me to jump. I did not know he was here. Why was he here? I didn't call him on the radio. His car was parked next to mine. His footsteps crunched loudly against the sand and rocks under his black boots. I felt my blood run cold. Did he see me talking to Jason?

"Hey there," he said smiling. I smiled nervously back as I adjusted the painting on the easel. "H-hey. Is everything ok?" I asked, trying to sound casual. The young sheriff stopped ten feet from me. "I was just going to ask you the same thing. I tried getting in contact with you and you never responded." He looked over at my painting and pointed. "You painted that? That looks amazing."

I blinked in surprise. "You did? Oh... I am not used to the radio..." I told him truthfully. The sheriff chuckled, his shoulders going up and down. "It's alright. You city people aren't used to our ways around here," he said, placing his hands on his hips. "So. Seen any ghosts lately? Specifically Jason's?" he asked.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. He didn't see Jason. I shook my head. "Nope," I lied before I realized I was lying.

Sheriff Jackson's smile faltered. He noticed my bandaged head and the way I was standing with my hurt foot hovering above the dirt. "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked. I hesitated. "I...fell in the lake. But I made it out, just tripped on a rock and fell in," I said. His eyebrows narrowed in a concerned way.

"Ok...just be careful next time. You are all alone up here and I don't want you to be in a situation where we can't help you," he said. I nodded my head. "I'll be more careful," I promised him.

He nodded. "Ok...do you need any help with anything? Want me to grab anything from town?" he asked. I hesitated as I thought for a moment. "No. I'm ok. I mean...if you could stop Ralph Jr. from spreading rumors that I'm a camp counselor for the camp this summer, that would be nice," I said, half joking. Sheriff Jackson smiled a small smile.

"Yeah, unfortunately, we can't keep him in the jail cell all the time. So far he hasn't done anything that would be considered a crime...besides disturbing the peace. I'll keep an eye on him for you; though Carson isn't one who likes when Junior visits the jail. He's a loud talker and won't shut up." I chuckled at that. Jackson smiled again.

"Allright, well. If you don't need anything, then I guess I'll head back to town, got a lot of paperwork to file." Sheriff Jackson started walking back to his car.

"Sheriff J-Jackson. Wait!" I called.

Sheriff Jackson stopped and turned around. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Sheriff...um." I hesitated on the question, fumbling with my hands. My heart was racing inside my ribcage. "H-Has...Has there ever been any reports of Jason killing people around here? I know you said it was just a legend but...if there has been stories, there has to be a reason for those stories...right?"

Sheriff Jackson hesitated where he stood. "I unfortunately don't know if they are true or not...Sheriff Carson...He..." Sheriff Jackson shook his head. "I don't want to start saying things and spread rumors. I don't know if they are true or not. The older people believe that he is real. The younger generation just sees him as a made up story to keep kids from going out into the forest at night... I would suggest asking Sheriff Carson about it but I doubt he would open up and tell you."

Sheriff Jackson turned around and started marching back to his car. Before he got in, he stopped and looked back over at me. "Check the library. I know its a shot in the dark but it's something. It's further down the road near the diner...Good luck." With that, he slipped into his car, turned on the engine, and drove off down the one long road back to the town.

I sighed, turning back around. Right as I did, I ran into the massive chest of Jason. I cried out and jumped back in shock. Jason turned his head down to look at me. He tilted his head with an inquisitive look in his eyes. This guy was going to kill me with an aneurism.

"I need to put a bell on you," I muttered mainly to myself.

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