The drive back felt like it was taking forever—much longer than the walk to the house. But maybe that was just because of the gnawing anxiety twisting in my gut. I couldn’t shake the look on Tom’s face, that haunted expression that had set my own nerves on edge. The headlights carved out a narrow path through the pitch-black darkness, and Tommy kept the speed to under twenty-five miles per hour. The Grand Cherokee rumbled over bumps and dips, the movement almost soothing, but I could feel my heart pounding faster the closer we got to the spot where Jeremy was supposed to be.
I sat in the back, sandwiched between Adam and Levi. Neither of them seemed overly concerned, but I couldn’t tell if that was genuine or just their way of coping. Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop checking my phone, hoping—praying—that there would be a message from Jeremy. Every minute that ticked by without a response only made me more anxious.
“You said he was on this road, yeah?” Tommy asked Tracy, who sat beside him in the front passenger seat.
“Yeah,” she nodded, glancing out the window, “we turned off the main road here, and that’s when the van broke down. We should be close.”
Tommy’s brow furrowed, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond the headlights. “I don’t see the van,” he murmured, and despite his best efforts, I could hear the edge of panic creeping into his voice. My stomach twisted, and I tried to swallow down my fear. But then, I saw it—a glint of metal in the headlights.
“There it is!” I blurted, pointing ahead. The grille of the van reflected the beams of light, and I squinted, trying to make out any sign of Jeremy inside. But it was no use. The shadows were too deep, too thick. Tommy pulled up beside the van and brought the car to a stop.
We all scrambled out, and I ran straight to the passenger side of the van. My breath caught in my throat as I scanned the inside—it was empty. No Jeremy. My heart started racing faster, and I could feel panic setting in. Tommy moved quietly behind me, his eyes fixed on the woods, his expression unreadable. The others shuffled closer, and I heard Adam let out a shaky breath as he leaned against the side of the van.
“There’s… there’s blood here…” The words slipped out before I even realized I was speaking. I could see a smear of red on the passenger seat, fresh and dark. Adam’s shoulders slumped, his head bowing, his body language betraying the same sinking realization that was hitting me. Something terrible had happened here.
Tommy, meanwhile, continued staring into the darkness. It was as if he was searching for something, or maybe he already knew what was out there. Tracy stepped up beside him, her voice barely above a whisper. “Dad?” she asked, her tone laced with fear.
He didn’t answer her right away, his eyes still locked on some unseen point in the distance. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tense. “He’s out there.”
My breath hitched. I turned sharply. “Jason?”
Tommy looked at me, his face grim, and nodded slowly. “Probably watching us,” he said, his voice steady. A beat passed, the weight of his words sinking in, and then he spoke again, his tone commanding. “We need to go. Now.”
There was no argument. We all moved as one, piling back into the car, my hands trembling as I reached for the door handle. Just as Tommy started the engine, a pair of headlights appeared further down the road. The lights were blinding against the darkness, and for a moment, we all sat there, frozen, staring as the vehicle approached. The beams grew brighter, cutting through the gloom, and I heard Tracy let out a sigh of relief.
“It’s the tow truck,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
Adam was already opening his door. “Let me flag him down,” he called out, stepping into the road.
“No!” I shouted after him, my voice drowned out by the slamming of his door. Tommy’s voice echoed mine, a harsh “Don’t!” that filled the car, but Adam was already halfway to the truck. I watched, feeling helpless, my fingers digging into the seat. Tommy kept his eyes forward, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Adam reached the driver’s side, gesturing toward the broken-down van, and I saw the driver roll down the window, the two of them exchanging words. I felt a momentary surge of hope, like maybe everything was going to be okay. Maybe we were just overreacting. Maybe—
“What… what is that?” Levi’s voice was shaky, his hand pointing past the truck, into the darkness behind it. My eyes followed his gesture, and my heart dropped. A massive shadow moved, shifting in the gloom, almost imperceptible. It was there one moment, then gone, swallowed by the night.
Before I could even register what I was seeing, the shadow moved again, and this time it was unmistakable. It reached out, grabbing Adam and slamming him into the side of the truck. The sound was sickening—a dull thud that seemed to echo in the stillness. I watched in horror as Adam’s body crumpled to the ground, and the driver shrieked, scrambling across the seat, trying to get out of the truck.
My brain seemed to shut down, the world narrowing to that single scene, the horror playing out before me. And then, just as suddenly, we were moving. Tommy threw the Cherokee into reverse, the tires skidding across the dirt as he backed us away from the chaos. My body was jerked backward, my head hitting the seatrest. I twisted around, trying to see, my eyes locking onto the headlights of the tow truck, growing smaller as we sped away.
“What are you doing?!” I screamed, my voice breaking. But Tommy didn’t answer. His focus was on the road, his face set in stone. He turned the wheel sharply, spinning us around, the tires digging into the earth, and suddenly we were speeding away, the truck—and Adam—fading into the distance.
I felt the tears streaming down my face, my hands shaking as I clutched at the door. I wanted to scream, to fight, to do something—anything—but all I could do was sit there, my heart pounding in my chest, my stomach twisting with guilt and fear. A part of me was relieved. Relieved that we were getting away. That we were still alive.
And I hated myself for that.
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Adam lay crumpled on the cold, unforgiving ground, his face half-buried in the dirt, the tang of blood sharp in his mouth. His nose was broken, and dark red dripped steadily from his nostrils, pooling below him, disappearing into the earth like the ground itself was thirsting for his pain. Nearby, a man's screams split the night air, jagged and raw. Adam blinked, his eyes heavy with pain, and managed to peer under the tow truck, seeing two pairs of feet locked in a macabre dance—twisting, struggling. The screaming cut off suddenly, replaced by the distinct, sickening snap of bone. He saw the driver’s body collapse, his head twisted in a grotesque angle, dead eyes vacant, staring right through Adam.
Adam tried to rise, willing his legs to obey, but they gave out under him, and he crumpled back to his knees. The dirt beneath him felt cold and damp, and he tried to wipe the blood from his eyes, only to smear it further, turning everything to a red blur. He heard the distant rumble of the Cherokee’s engine as it roared away, leaving him behind. A flicker of anger touched his heart—had they abandoned him? No, no, he couldn’t blame them. It was easy to think about being brave, to talk about fighting back, but reality was so much different. The truth was, it didn’t matter now. He just had to survive. He had to get up. He tried again, every muscle screaming in protest.
But before he could even get halfway, a massive hand grabbed him by the hair, jerking him upright. The sudden pain ripped a guttural scream from his throat, his hands flying up in a futile attempt to pry the fingers away. It was like trying to pull steel beams apart—the grip didn’t budge, not even a little. He was lifted higher, his toes barely grazing the ground, his scalp burning where his hair was being torn.
And then came the blows.
A fist slammed into his face, snapping his head back, and stars exploded in his vision. Another punch, harder this time, and he felt something crack. His cheekbone, maybe. He wasn’t sure. His entire head felt like it was coming apart, his ears ringing, his vision darkening. Blow after blow rained down, each one more brutal than the last until he hung limp, his body swaying like a rag doll in the creature's grasp.
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Adam felt himself being dragged, his feet scraping along the ground as the mass hauled him toward the tow truck. He tried to fight the fear, tried to steel himself against the pain, but his body was giving up. He was tall, and normally people struggled with his size, but the ease with which he was manhandled now—like he was weightless—was terrifying. Panic surged through him, but he had no strength left to fight it. His muscles wouldn’t respond, his arms hung uselessly at his sides.
The grinding sound of machinery filled the air, a deep, metallic groan. Adam recognized it, even through the haze of pain—the tow winch. The chains rattled and clanged, and Adam was lifted again, held by his armpits like a small kitten. His head lolled forward, his vision blurred by the blood that coated his face, and he could barely make out the hulking shape that held him. But he could feel it staring at him, could sense the eyes behind that cracked, resin mask.
With whatever strength he had left, Adam spat, a thick glob of blood landing uselessly on the creature’s chest, splattering against the mask. It was a last, defiant act. He knew it wouldn’t change anything, but it was all he could do. His punk rock spirit, refusing to be broken.
The creature grunted, a low, guttural sound, and then, without a moment's hesitation, it moved, hoisting Adam onto the winch hook. The rusted metal tip pierced his back, sliding through flesh and muscle, cracking against bone until it found its place lodged between his ribs and spine. Adam’s scream tore through the night, raw and filled with agony, his body writhing as his blood poured from the wound, cascading down his sides. The pain was blinding, like nothing he’d ever felt, and his scream turned into a gurgling choke, blood spilling from his mouth in thick waves.
The creature watched, silent and unmoving as Adam’s body convulsed. Then, as if driven by some dark instinct, it reached out, its hand wrapping around Adam's lower jaw. It gripped tightly, the sharp edges of its nails digging into the soft flesh of his mouth. Adam tried to struggle, his eyes wide with terror, but it was useless. The creature’s other hand moved to his face, gripping his head for leverage. And then, it pulled.
The pressure was immense, unbearable. Adam’s jaw began to stretch, the skin around his mouth splitting, tendons snapping like guitar strings, his teeth breaking loose. The pain reached a crescendo, and with a final, sickening crack, the creature tore his jaw clean off, the bone splintering in its grip, blood spraying in a wide arc. Adam’s tongue hung uselessly, his body twitching, his eyes rolling back. He could feel his lungs filling with blood, could hear the wet, gurgling sounds as he struggled to breathe. And then, mercifully, the darkness took him.
The creature let Adam’s severed jaw fall, the bone hitting the ground with a dull thud. It turned, its gaze shifting to the road, to the direction the Cherokee had fled. The night was silent now, save for the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. Without hesitation, the mass began to move, heavy boots stomping against the dirt as it followed, the darkness swallowing it whole.
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We skidded to a stop in front of the house, the brakes groaning as dirt and gravel sprayed in our wake. Tommy, Tracy, and Levi jumped out of the vehicle, rushing inside. I sat there, still in the backseat, paralyzed by shock. The reality of what had just happened felt too vast to grasp, too brutal to confront. I stared blankly ahead, the weight of what we had done pressing down on my chest like a stone. Tommy circled back, his face pinched with concern as he opened the door to my side.
“Ms. Sampson…” he said, extending his hand to me.
“…you left him.” The words came out of me before I could stop them, a hollow echo of my disbelief.
Tommy’s hand lingered in the air, his eyes searching mine. “I... I’m sorry, but it was either him or us.” His voice was heavy, thick with guilt. I turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. I could see the pain there, a haunted look that told me this was the last thing he ever wanted to do. I tried to understand, to put myself in his shoes. How would I react if my worst nightmare became real? No amount of thought could make me accept it.
He seemed to understand my silence, his outstretched hand unwavering. “We need to get inside.”
Slowly, I nodded, shutting my eyes for a brief moment before taking his hand. I had no choice but to trust him now; there was nowhere else to turn. He helped me out of the car, guiding me toward the house. As we approached the doorway, Levi put a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him, his expression a mix of fear and understanding. We were both caught in the same whirlwind of emotions, neither of us knowing what to do, but we knew we had to be here. I wanted to hug him, to cling to something familiar, but I felt too numb, too disconnected.
Gordon whined, pacing anxiously between Tommy and Tracy until she saw me. She approached, sitting at my feet, her soft eyes looking up at me as if sensing my fear. I knelt, my hand reaching out automatically to scratch her head, the simple act grounding me, making me feel a tiny bit more human again. She was a good dog. She deserved every bit of comfort I could offer.
Tracy stood by her father, waiting for direction, her face pale but determined. Tommy turned to her, his voice calm but urgent. “Upstairs, there's a gun in my bedroom. First door on the right, bedside table, top drawer,” he instructed, his gaze locked on hers. “Say it back to me.”
“First door on the right, bedside table, top drawer,” she repeated.
He nodded. “Good. Go.”
Tracy hurried upstairs, her footsteps echoing against the old floorboards, and Tommy turned to Levi. “Hey, big guy,” he said, his voice firmer, “help me with this bookshelf.” Levi, his face ashen, nodded, stepping to one side of the large wooden bookcase near the front door. I moved beside Tommy, ready to help. He gave me a grateful look, and together we worked to move it. “Alright, go,” Tommy commanded, and we pushed with all our strength. The bookshelf groaned against the worn floor, each scrape deafening, books and knick-knacks toppling off as we forced it in front of the door.
“Ugh, makes me wish I’d installed the shutters after all,” Tommy muttered, his breath coming in heavy gasps as the bookshelf finally settled in place. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was serious.
Once the barricade was up, Tommy turned to me again. “Do you mind going around and shutting off the lights?”
“Yeah, I can handle that.” It seemed like a good idea—make it look like no one was home. As I moved from room to room, flipping switches, darkness enveloped the house, broken only by the silvery glow of moonlight filtering in through the windows.
When Tracy returned, she handed her father a pistol—small, unassuming, but I hoped effective. Firearms weren’t something I had any experience with, but seeing it in Tommy’s hands brought a small, fleeting sense of security. I hit the last switch, and we all stood in near darkness, the crickets outside filling the silence, their song punctuated only by my own pounding heartbeat.
Tommy checked the windows, ensuring they were locked. He moved with a purpose, though I couldn’t help but wonder what he was feeling inside. Was this déjà vu for him? Was he terrified, facing the monster of his past? If he was, he hid it well. He broke the silence, his voice quiet but edged with dark humor. “Not the way I wanted to test my theory about this house.”
I understood that. Humor was a defense mechanism. It was mine too.
Suddenly, Gordon growled, low and dangerous. Reflexively, we all took a step back, a chill running down my spine. I heard the click of Tommy cocking the gun, readying himself. The front window shattered, a deafening crash as glass sprayed into the room. I instinctively covered my face, peering through my arms as soon as the noise subsided.
It was Jeremy.
His mangled body lay in the shards, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, his face barely recognizable under the moonlight. Horror and sorrow filled me, my chest tightening as I fought back a scream.
But there was no time to grieve. The front door exploded inward, the bookshelf toppling under a massive weight. It stood there—silent, imposing—the mass from every nightmare.
Tommy fired the first shot, the muzzle flash lighting up the room in a blinding flash. For a split second, I saw it clearly—the hockey mask, cracked and scarred, its edges chipped away. A gnarled, scabbed-over wound stretched across the side of its head, where the machete had struck years ago. The face beneath was monstrous, deformed, but it was the eyes that struck me—small, beady, lifeless. They seemed to look right through me, as if seeing everything and nothing all at once. Even as I blinked against the flash, those eyes stayed imprinted in my mind.
The bullet ricocheted off the mask with a spark, and the mass stepped forward, unfazed. It reached Tommy, shoving him hard against a support beam, the wood splintering from the impact.
“DAD!” Tracy screamed, rushing to his side. The mass lifted an axe, its shadow falling over them both. Gordon barked, then charged, leaping toward the intruder, but it swatted the dog away effortlessly. Gordon hit the floor with a whine, crumpled, and the mass stepped toward him, raising its boot.
I stared, paralyzed. Was this really Jason Voorhees? Was I truly seeing him? Levi moved, a shout escaping him as he tried to tackle the monster, but it was like watching someone run into a wall. Jason barely moved, his massive hands grabbing Levi, spinning him effortlessly. He cupped Levi’s head, his fingers digging into the sides of his skull. Levi struggled, punching at the monster, each blow useless. Slowly, Jason’s thumbs pressed into Levi’s eyes, the scream that tore from Levi’s throat unlike anything I had ever heard—pure agony—until, with a sickening squelch, it stopped.
Levi fell, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud, his face mangled beyond recognition.
And then it looked at me.
My entire body locked, fear gripping every muscle. Why was it just standing there? Was it deciding what to do next? Tracy knelt beside her father, her arms around him, shielding him, her face twisted in terror. Gordon lay motionless, her breaths shallow. My eyes darted around, searching for anything—a weapon, a way out. The shattered window was there, but could I make it?
The mass moved, charging toward me.
And I was frozen.
I-