Friday, June 13th, 1980

Alice Hardy had seen enough—everyone was dead. How had this happened? She had only been in town for a few hours, stocking up on provisions like gasoline, bottled water, and other essentials. The girls needed more sanitary napkins, some of the guys wanted disposable razors, and she even grabbed a few giant bags of candy for the kids. When she pulled onto the main camp road and passed under the giant "CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE" sign, she immediately knew something was wrong. The power was out. Yes, it was lights out, but there should have been some sign of life from the main counselor cabin.

Before she left, Bill and Brenda had been in the middle of an impromptu strip monopoly game. She had joined for a while, but the stakes got too rich for her blood. They both promised they’d wait up for her, and while she didn't necessarily believe that, she certainly didn't think they'd already be in bed. She opened the door to the main cabin, fumbling for the light switch. She flipped it, but nothing happened—the power was out. She called out for both of them, only to be met with silence. They might have gone to check the generator, she figured, but before heading that way, she decided to check on the children. If any had woken up, they might be scared.

She made her way to the girls' cabin, approaching the door carefully. It always groaned when opened, so she had to do it a certain way to avoid waking anyone. She turned the knob slightly, pulling up on it to make the door flush with the frame. She pushed it open just enough to peer inside, the door gliding silently over the carpet. She eyed each bed, counting—ten beds, ten girls. All was well. Each one was sound asleep.

She crossed the road to the boys' cabin and went through the same ritual. Both cabins had the same flaw with their doors, which Alice thought was absurd considering this was a children's summer camp. Probably cheap construction, she mused. She scanned the room, counting again—fifteen boys, fifteen beds. All asleep. She had a nagging suspicion someone was pretending, but she didn’t want to risk waking a ten-year-old, so she let it go. Quietly closing the door, she tightly gripped her flashlight and steeled herself for the walk to the generator on the other side of camp. She shined her light around the woods, not sure what she expected but glad to see nothing.

Alice hated this walk during the day, let alone at night with the power out. She picked up her pace, laughing to herself—Bill and Marcie always teased her for her "snail’s pace." She let it slide because she loved those two, along with the rest of the crew: Jack, Ned, Bill, Marcie, Annie, and Brenda.

Six weeks had passed, and they had all really bonded, looking out for each other. The seven of them were tasked with looking after twenty-five kids, and it could be hell sometimes. She doubted she could have handled the sadness of earlier today without them, with the police around searching the lake for Jason. What a tragedy. She still couldn't believe Jack and Marcie had just... stopped watching him. But she could see the look in Mrs. Voorhees' eyes—she must have felt the same way. Alice couldn't blame her for that.

The wind picked up suddenly, and the chill set in. It was going to rain, Alice thought. Just what she needed. She broke into a jog as the trees and cold air whipped past her.

She finally reached the tiny shack that housed the generator. Bill and the camp owner, Steve, had shown her how to operate it "just in case." She mentally ran through the steps as she approached the door. Check the dipstick, pour the gas, flip switch two, pump the big red button—easy-peasy. Alice gently pushed the door, but a gust of wind grabbed it, slamming it open. Her heart pounded at the sudden movement. She laughed at herself—Get it together, Alice. She stepped inside, fumbling for the string to the only light bulb. She found it, giving it a yank. Nothing—just as expected. She tried to mentally place where the generator was, then moved toward it with her arm outstretched. When her hand touched the cold metal, she sighed with relief. Christ, Alice, snap out of it.

She felt around for the cap to the gas tank, unscrewing it, then shined her flashlight to check the dipstick. The tank was a quarter full—at least she wouldn't have to find and pour the gas can in the dark. It must have just shut off, she thought. They had said it did that sometimes. She felt her way around the rough metal exterior, finally finding the lever. She gripped it tightly, her other hand hovering over the big red button. She flipped the lever and slammed the button, and the generator rumbled to life, the noise deafening her in the small room. Moments later, the lone bulb glowed dimly.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Satisfied, Alice turned to leave, only to freeze in her tracks. A scream caught in her throat before turning into a croak, then finally into a full-throated shriek.

"Oh God, Bill! No!" He hung there, limp, a noose tied tightly around his neck, the other end fastened to the rafters. His face was an unnatural shade of blue, but that wasn't why he was dead. An axe was buried in his stomach, the handle pointing at her like a grim exclamation point. Alice stared, horrified. She must have missed him by mere inches. The word lucky crossed her mind, but if this was lucky...?

She shuddered and ran.

Lightning split the sky, and rain began to pour, soaking her instantly. The lights flickered on across the camp, and the horror became clear. A body was pinned to the archery target—she was sure it was Brenda. She fought back a sob. What was happening? Was this a dream? She kept running as minutes ticked by, the rain unrelenting. Nearing the main cabin, she spotted a body lying on the hood of the jeep she had driven back in. She had to see who it was—she felt compelled.

It was Marcie, her throat slit and a hatchet embedded in her forehead. Alice reached out tentatively, wanting to touch her, to cry for her. What about the others? Were they dead too? She screamed, more out of frustration and hopelessness than fear, though fear was there too. She ran back to the main cabin, slamming her shoulder into the door and locking it behind her. Her heart raced, adrenaline surging. She grabbed her shoulder, shivering. The sudden cold had shocked her system. She wished the fire was still going but was too scared to do anything about it.

Suddenly—pounding at the door. Urgent, forceful. Alice shrieked, the noise shattering the silence. She looked around frantically for something to defend herself. Firewood—it was big, heavy, and checked all the boxes. She scrambled to the fireplace, sliding to her knees, reaching for a piece. She grabbed the first one her hands could fit around and got up slowly, careful not to drop her makeshift weapon.

“Hello?” A voice called from the other side of the door. Alice froze. It sounded familiar, but she wasn’t sure. She gripped the wood tightly, its rough edges biting into her skin. She swallowed hard before stammering, “W-who’s there?”

“Is that you, Alice? It’s Mrs. Voorhees! Let me in, dear—it’s alright.” Mrs. Voorhees? A friendly face. Relief washed over Alice, and she dropped the log, tension draining from her muscles. It landed with a thud, snapping her out of her daze. She stumbled to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open, then hugged Mrs. Voorhees. It was mostly relief but also sorrow for her loss. Mrs. Voorhees returned the hug briefly, then moved Alice to arm’s length, smiling warmly.

“It’s alright, dear. You’re alright,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from Alice’s face. Pamela Voorhees appeared older than her early forties—working so hard to provide for her son had aged her. She kept her hair short to make life a little easier and did a bit of everything around the camp. She mostly cooked but also chopped wood, fixed things—she was Steve’s go-to for just about anything.

“They’re all dead!” Alice cried, giving up on holding back tears. She felt safe enough to cry now.

Mrs. Voorhees' face turned concerned. “Who’s dead, dear?”

Alice choked back a sob. “Bill...Marcie...Brenda...oh God!” She began to cry again, and Mrs. Voorhees embraced her.

“There, there, shh, shh. It’s alright. You don’t have to worry anymore.” Pamela stroked Alice’s hair like a wounded animal, calming her. Alice was so glad she was there—maybe she was right, maybe everything would be okay. But as she felt comforted, she suddenly remembered Mrs. Voorhees' son, Jason. The reminder jolted her.

Alice pulled away, eyeing Mrs. Voorhees fitfully. “W-what are you doing here? Your son...”

“Jason?” Mrs. Voorhees blinked, her eyes distant as she turned away, staring at the dead fireplace. “They said he’s gone, yes. They couldn’t find him.” She took a step toward the fireplace, her voice almost hollow. Alice swallowed, struggling to process. “I came back to ask, you see... I just couldn’t stand not knowing.”

“A-ask what?” Alice managed to whisper. Mrs. Voorhees turned to her suddenly, her eyes wide, blazing with intensity.

“Why was no one paying attention?” she demanded, her voice dripping with fury. The words hung in the air like heavy smoke. Then, in a softer, almost singsong tone, she added, “You know he wasn’t a very good swimmer.” Alice backed away slowly, her instincts shifting to pure flight. She wanted to say something to keep her talking, but nothing came out.

Mrs. Voorhees lunged, grabbing Alice by the shoulders. “Jason should have been watched!” she screamed, slapping Alice hard enough to send her flying to the floor. Dazed, Alice began crawling backward, desperate to escape. Mrs. Voorhees cried out, her voice rising.

“Look what you did to him!” She spun, brandishing a large hunting knife. “LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO HIM!”

With a primal scream, Mrs. Voorhees leaped at Alice, but Alice rolled to the side just in time. The knife plunged into the floor where she had been. Alice scrambled to her feet and ran out into the rain. Mrs. Voorhees sighed as she pulled the blade free, stepping to the doorway, visibly annoyed. Then a smile crept across her face, turning into a twisted grin.

“Kill her, Mommy,” she whispered. “Don’t let her get away.” She looked up at the moon, her expression fierce. “I won’t, Jason,” she said aloud, her voice clear. “I won’t.”