Chapter Three
Steve Christy was at the Crystal Lake Diner.
'Late night', Sandy said.
'Yes, unfortunately. I got several campers waiting for me', Steve said.
He ate his cherry pie, and sipped his warm coffee.
'Weather's bad tonight'.
'Yes, it is. How much do I owe you?', Steve asked her.
'Two and a quarter', Sandy answered.
Steve gave her three dollar bills.
'Keep the change'.
'Good bye, Steve. Be careful'.
He smiled at the middle-aged, red haired waitress.
'I will, Sandy. Good bye'.
'Good bye, Sandy'.
He opened the door, and grabbed his rain coat.
He went to the jeep, and to his disappointment, the rain was heavier. Then, as if he had a lot of bad luck, the engine conked out. Sighing, he raised his right hand. To his relief, Sheriff Earl Tierney, the sixty-two year old head of the law in Crystal Lake, arrived.
'Steve, what happened?', the Sheriff asked.
'The engine died, Earl. I'll get it to a mechanic in the morning', Steve answered.
He placed the bags of food and drinks in the vehicle.
And he hopped in.
***
'It's bad enough it's Friday the 13th. Bad things happen. Murders, deaths, bad karma, the usual paranormal, and supernatural stuff, you know. And the full moon bring in the crazies. Old Crazy Ralph was at the camp. Officer Dorf told me'.
'Great, that's all I need. Ralph spouting the Bible'.
'Yeah, I can take you half-way to camp, Steve. I got work to do tonight', the Sheriff stated.
Suddenly the mike squawked.
'Sheriff. There's a three car pile up off Cunningham Road, and Miner Road. Three people are dead...over'.
'This is Sheriff Tierney. ETA, fifteen minutes. Got to let you off here Steve...'.
'Thank you, Sheriff. Good night!'.
'Good night!'.
The Sheriff flashed his sirens, and he drove away to Cunningham Road.
***
Steve trudged upward.
He saw the camp's sign.
Suddenly he blinked his eyes.
He saw the killer.
'Oh, Hi, Pamela. I didn't know you were....'.
The knife came towards his chest.
Fear, and panic, came over him.
Then he knew the horrible truth.
The killer, Pamela Sue Voorhees, now forty-nine, was insane.
She dragged the body of Steve Christy into the woods.
And placed him onto the oak tree.
Then she drove the second jeep towards the cursed camp.
***
Bill was anxious.
'Steve's not here', he said.
'No, he's not', Brenda said.
'Where is he?', Alice asked them.
'He's delayed', Brenda answered.
'Why is he not here?', Bill said.
'We don't know', Alice sighed.
In the Loungeroom, they played Monopoly.
Thunder boomed in the night sky, as they had dinner.
'Where's Jack and Marcie?', Alice said.
'Making out', Bill smiled.
'And Ned?'.
'I don't know', Marcie stated.
'I got to leave. Good night'.
'Good night, Brenda', Alice said.
She grabbed her favorite rain slicker, and opened the door.
When she raced to cabin 4, she closed it.
Then, as she did so, she didn't see the killer watching her.
***
Bill was concerned when the lights went off.
Earlier on, Jack had flicked the Generator Door, and the camp was working. But, sadly, someone was around; someone with murder on her mind. He grabbed a flashlight.
'I want to come too', Alice said.
'Fine', Bill said.
***
Brenda, who was reading a book, heard a boy's voice: 'Help me! Help me!'. She put the book on the bed. Then she opened the cabin door. She ran towards the archery range; she saw the killer. The lights illuminated her face. To her horror, she felt the knife enter her body, and she died knowing that the death curse was back.
***
Bill heard a noise.
To his shock, the killer attacked him.
He died knowing that the person who was seeking revenge was still at large. Alice screamed. She ran to the woods. To her shock, she saw Steve's body. She fled to the other jeep, where Annie Phillips' body was lying in the passenger-side door. Then Brenda's body crashed through the window. She grabbed a baseball bat, and barricaded herself inside.
Jack, Marcie, and Ned, were dead.
In her mind, she knew that was true.
Then she slept on the bed in the Loungeroom.
***
Time passed.
By 9:00 PM, she was hungry.
She was thinking about a hamburger in the fridge. She placed the meat in a bun, and cooked it in the oven kitchen. She made herself some coffee. Suddenly, she saw a bright light in the small window. The Sheriff is here!, she thought to herself. To her disappointment it wasn't the law.
It was a middle-aged, blonde haired, blue eyed, woman in a blue sweater, blue flared jeans, a black belt, grey socks, and brown boots on her feet. And a wedding ring on her right, middle finger.
She had arrived in a Jeep.
There was two of them.
One was the one that was owned by Steve Christy.
The other one was the killer's.
'Who are you?', Alice asked her.
'Why, I'm Mrs. Voorhees. I was the camp cook a long time ago', she answered.
'Steve's dead; they're all dead', Alice cried.
'I'm not afraid', Mrs. Voorhees stated.
She walked towards the cabins.
'Oh My...such innocent lives. I told Steve not to re-open the camp. It has too many bad memories'.
'We have to leave', Alice said.
She saw the knife, and fled towards the pantry.
She grabbed a black frying pan, and smashed it across the killer's head. Mrs. Voorhees fell backwards, and was unconscious.
Alice ran to the cold lake.
It was a long night indeed.
***
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