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Chapter One-Friday, June 13, 1979-21 years' later-I
Annie Phillips, 18, was going to Camp Crystal Lake for the money as the cook thanks to Steve Christy. She was thinking about the week at the place which was cursed; she was dreaming of a better future. And, as she reached Burl's Gas Station, a scruffy looking dog was looking bored, as its owner, Brad Koehler, 32, was eating his lunch at the famous Crystal Lake Diner. She had brown hair, blue eyes, and was petite; she wore a plaid shirt, flared blue jeans, black socks, and shoes on her feet. The summer heat didn't bother her; her eyes focused on the dog. 'Hello, boy. Sorry, girl'. The young camper walked towards the Diner, where trucks and cars were parked outside in the car park.
Annie opened the door.
'Excuse me, but can anyone take me to Camp Crystal Lake?', she asked anyone.
'They're re-opening that place up again', Beth Cartwright, a 63 year old woman said. 'Yes', Annie answered.
'What is it Enos? About ten miles', Margaret Franklin, the 47 year old owner, asked the truck driver.
'About that', Enos said.
'Name's Annie', she said.
'Okay, Annie, let's go. I'll take you half-way there', Enos said.
'Thanks!', Annie said.
Before Enos and Annie could get into his truck, Crazy Ralph, the 60 year old doomsayer, said: 'You're going to Camp Blood ain't ya. You'll never come back again. It's got a death curse'.
'Shut up, Ralph'. Enos said.
He rode away to the camp on his 1930's era bicycle.
And knew that if they ignored his warnings, the campers would die.
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'Are girls like you as pretty as you are?', Enos asked her.
'Yes, but others like Ellen Marcovsky is a cheerleader in New York. She is pretty. I intend to be cook for children at camp during the hot summer. I am looking after fifty inner-city kids because Steve Christy offered me the job', she answered. Enos thought for a moment.
'What's the matter?', Annie asked him.
'Did Steve Christy tell you what happened?'.
'No'.
'That boy, Jason Voorhees, drowned in the lake in '57; two campers died in the barn in '58, a year later; mysterious arson fires in '59; the poisoned water in '60. Then the owners closed the camp for 18 years. Christy is spending $25,000 to fix up that camp...and for what! His parents went broke, you know. I heard that Steve and Paul Holt, and Ginny Field, spent their college money to build the camp. Paul owns the Counsellor Training Camp outright that's because his parents gave them $20,000 for the camp near Camp Tomahawk. And it was a loan! Paul re-paid them last May. Hell, that is insane'.
'I don't see why you're worried. It's not like I believe in ghosts. I'm an American original. At least I'm not afraid'.
'I'm an American original You're like my three Granddaughters. They have heads full of rocks. Dumb kids! Here's where I drop you off, Annie. Be safe!'.
'Thanks, Enos!', Annie said.
She grabbed her bag, and undid the belt.
Then she waved at the kind truck driver, who closed the passenger-side door. And he drove back home to be with his wife for the rest of the evening.
The road was gravelly.
Annie was sure that someone would take her to Camp Crystal Lake. The sign was in the dense shrub; a green colored Jeep zoomed faster than a NASCAR driver. It stopped; it nearly killed Annie. 'Camp Crystal Lake'. The driver was silent. Annie frowned; the silence was dreadful. Maybe the driver was on drugs, she thought to herself; she knew the youths were off their heads these days in Los Angeles, California, in Hollywood, and San Francisco. She was roaming the roads to go to the the camp by hitchhiking the American roads. Because of the Zodiac Killer's rampage, no girls, or young mother, dared to go out at night. And the Manson 'Family' murders in August of 1969, was full of horrors. Annie didn't care about that. She was free. She wandered whether she was a speaking board. She talked; the driver wasn't talking. The driver bypassed the camp.
'Hey, wasn't that the camp's sign back there?', she asked the driver.
She opened the door, and jumped.
Pain shot through her right leg.
She hobbled towards the middle of the dark, wet, woods.
The driver grabbed a hunter's knife.
And went after her.
Annie was a child of the 1960's.
She had grown up believing in Elvis, The Beach Boys, the "Beach Movies", and the Beatles; she then had some boyfriends in the 1970's. The "Woodstock" music movie was something new...and she decided to escape her strict parents' upbringing. But, for her, there were consequences for her. Hitchhiking meant talking to strangers about all kinds of subjects. There was a sense of bad karma in the 88 degree air; there was something terrifying in the air that blew northward. Subsequently, over time, today's American youths were none the wiser over the changes that gripped those who partied hard, did drugs, and died before they were 21. The nihilistic behavior was something that dwelled on those who sought danger out. Teenagers who died before their parents did meant the illness was coming. Annie was thinking life was full of stories of karma, of fate, or worse. And, as she did so, she saw the wicked blade of the knife cut her throat, her body slipped into the mud.
The killer moved away, and headed back to the Jeep.
The death curse of Camp Crystal Lake had returned.
Jack Burrell, Marcie Stanler, and Ned Rubenstein, (all 18 years' old), were in Jack's 1976 van. They were hired by Steve Christy to work for the summer at Camp Crystal Lake; they were young, carefree, and used to smoking dope. The pressures of home life was immense. Jack knew what was going on. 'I just hope to meet girls', Ned said. He was Jewish, and were friends with Jack and Marcie since their New York school days. Jack dropped out of school in his last year because he was going to work at a camp's assistant. That, or the idea of marrying Marcie. She knew the money would be good. She didn't want to hear her Mom's rantings about chastity anymore than going to Sunday School. Her Dad wasn't around. He was married to his job. 'There's the camp's sign', Jack said. He drove to the Native American totem poles. The words were: Welcome to Camp Crystal Lake. Est. 1935.
As the three teenagers arrived, Jack saw a man was chopping wood. He was wearing a scarf across his neck; he wore blue shorts. And brown boots on his feet. 'Well. Can you help me?', he asked them. Jack moved the oak tree. 'I thought we wouldn't be working straight away', Ned answered.
And he sighed.
The door of the second cabin opened.
A red haired woman appeared.
'Steve Christy', he said.
'Jack, Marcie, and Ned'.
'Hi, I'm Alice Hardy'.
'Where's Brenda?'.
'At the Archery Range. Bill's painting'.
'No, I prefer Brenda to paint. Bill is taking care of the management of the cabins. He's the Third Assistant; Alice is the Assistant Camp Counsellor', he said. For some reason the campers thought Steve was forcing the problem. He was in a hurry. Once everyone was shown to their cabins, the killer watched them from across the lake. And the shadows didn't arrive until evening.
Steve saw the drawings.
'You draw well', he said to Alice.
'I only wish I had the time', Alice said.
'What's the matter?', Steve asked her.
'It's just some family business I need to do back in California', Alice answered. Steve sighed.
'Please stay a week. If, by next Friday, you don't like it here, I'll pay for the bus ticket myself'.
'Okay, I'll stay Steve'.
'Thanks, Alice', he said.
Page 3.
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