Early October in New Jersey back in the 1980s could be described in one word: cold. These days? Mildly inconvenient at worst. With summer stretching its warmth further into fall each year, an early autumn camping trip seemed like a great idea to Jaime Arnold. The mornings called for a light jacket at most, and in the evenings, a single layer and a sleeping bag did the trick. Why not take advantage? Jaime was a stocky woman with the kind of strength that looked like she could carry ten bundles of firewood if she wanted. She kept her hair in a short buzz cut, hating the hassle of longer hair.
Beside her sat Carly, her new wife, who was about the same height but had a leaner frame. Carly had long, curly hair that she loved to twist around her finger during quiet moments like this one.
Jaime and Carly had recently married, and they shared a love for camping that most people didn’t understand. Carly used to joke that they’d probably die camping one day—not realizing she should’ve considered a career in prophecy. Tonight, they sat by the fire, drinking beers and listening to music, full from the bratwursts they’d seared over the open flame. The best part about Crystal Lake was how truly alone you felt. The lake was remote, visited by few, with a local population so sparse you didn’t have to worry about being interrupted. It was the perfect spot for anyone wanting to escape.
Carly loved to sing, and Jaime loved to listen, so she belted out songs to the music playing on her phone, her voice practically pitch-perfect as it carried over the campsite.
Unfortunately, a beer too many eventually forced Jaime to get up for some relief. She grabbed a flashlight as she ventured farther from the fire, where the forest grew pitch black. There was no moon tonight, and without it, the trees appeared more ominous than inviting. Flies and mosquitos chased her light beam as she staggered to a large rock they’d designated as their makeshift bathroom. Jaime sighed, squatting awkwardly.
Thump Thump
Heavy footfalls echoed to her left, sending a chill through her. She barely had a second to react before something heavy pinned her to the ground, a sudden, cold weight pressing into her. The metallic glint of a long pole caught her eye just as it pierced her back and emerged through her chest. Thick droplets of blood spattered the ground below.
The pole withdrew, and her chest cavity turned into a river of blood. Jaime managed a shriek, but it was cut short with a sickening thud. The sound jolted Carly from her seat by the fire.
“J-Jaime?!”
Heavy footsteps approached. They were the last sounds Carly heard before her head was severed from her body in one swift, brutal motion. Her head landed at the figure’s feet with a wet thud, sinking slightly into the soft dirt. This hulking figure, flesh weathered and skin grayed, had been stalking these woods for decades, its presence felt by those wise enough to steer clear but rarely spoken of aloud.
The creature picked up Carly’s severed head and her body, dragging both deeper into the forest. He deposited them beside Jaime’s prone, blood-soaked form, their screams silenced in the empty night. The figure’s clothes hung in tatters, barely holding together, while its sunken eyes scanned the dense trees and dark expanse.
Mother beckons…
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“Megan Garris?” I called out. A middle-aged woman appeared at the screen door, squinting to make out my face. Her white hair hinted at the blonde locks of her youth. “I’m Kelsey Sampson. We spoke on the phone?”
“Oh yes, from YouTube?”
“Well—” I flushed, a little embarrassed. “We post our show there, but we don’t…actually work for YouTube.”
“Right.” She looked us all over, tired-eyed but polite. It was 8 a.m., so who was I to judge? I probably looked as rough as I felt. “Well, come on in.”
Her house was modest. Honestly, I expected something bigger given all the open land around it, but maybe that’s just my big-city bias. Inside, the living room was on the left, and a staircase led upstairs on the right.
“Have a seat. Coffee?” she offered.
“I’d love some coffee,” Levi replied as she disappeared into the kitchen.
“Set the camera here,” Jeremy said, motioning Levi toward a spot beside the coffee table. “And she should sit here.” He nodded at the loveseat. “Sound good, Kelce?”
“Perfect,” I replied, digging into my bag for notes and a pen. I took a seat on the couch opposite the loveseat, skimming my notes as I tried to figure out where to start.
“I’ve only got two kinds of creamer; I hope that’s okay.” Megan reappeared, carrying a tray.
“That’s perfectly fine,” I said with my best smile. Levi quickly helped himself to coffee while the rest of us set up.
Adam approached Megan, holding a lapel mic. “I’m going to need to mic you up,” he said.
“Oh, right, of course.” She settled into the loveseat as he clipped the mic on. “So you’re just a YouTube show?”
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Jeremy jumped in. “Well, we work for a small media company that produces news content, podcasts, etc. Unresolved Mysteries is one of their shows.”
“Have you heard of Buzzfeed?” I asked.
“Oh, so you work for Buzzfeed?”
“Well, no,” I laughed. “But we’re kind of like that.”
Adam gave Jeremy a thumbs-up, signaling he was all set. Levi, sipping his coffee, had the camera ready.
Megan glanced at me. “Well, I’ve never done anything like this, aside from that little Skype call we did. Is that going in the show?”
“Yes,” Jeremy replied, matter-of-factly.
“Don’t worry, we’re just having a conversation—it doesn’t have to be any harder than that.” Jeremy once told me my smile was my best asset, and he was right; it always seemed to put people at ease.
She relaxed, smiling back. “Alright, where should we start?”
“Good question.” I laughed. “Let’s start with some background. It’ll help us check the equipment, sound levels, all that. Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”
“Well, I grew up here in Crystal Lake, so this case has been part of my life as long as I can remember. Probably didn’t help that my dad was the sheriff.”
“Your father was the sheriff?”
“Yep, from about ’86 to ’92, I think.”
“So he was on the force in ’80 and ’85?”
She nodded. “He was, but he passed about four years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. He might still have notes from that time among his personal effects. I could dig through them if you’re interested.”
“Whenever you have time, we’d really appreciate it.”
She nodded. “Let’s see…what else?” Her gaze drifted thoughtfully. “Oh! I went to high school with Tommy Jarvis. Did you know that?”
“No, we didn’t,” I replied, struggling to hold back a laugh. How would we?
“Yeah.” She looked wistful. “I had a terrible crush on him. My dad had brought him into the station one day—back when I hung out there a lot. I don’t think he was coping well with life.”
Levi snorted, and I shot him a look.
She grinned. “Bit of an understatement, honestly…you won’t include that, will you?”
“Don’t worry,” I assured her.
“He had these haunted eyes—I’m no poet, but you could get lost in them.”
“I understand all too well.”
She laughed. “After high school, I majored in Folklore and came back here after college to take care of my dad. And, well, here I am.”
“So we’re asking everyone this: do you believe Jason Voorhees drowned in 1980?”
“My father always said he did. But we kids didn’t believe it—at least, that’s what everyone whispered. I guess I believed my dad.”
“Believed?”
She sighed. “Well, I hung out with Tommy a lot, so…honestly, I don’t know what I believe anymore.”
I glanced at my notes. “You mentioned on our Skype call that no one really knows how Tommy knew it was Jason. Has he ever told you?”
She shook her head. “We never talked about it. I suppose that’s why things didn’t work out between us. We were too young to let each other in. I mean, he was ten when it happened. God!”
“How has the folklore changed since you were a kid?”
“Oh, it’s evolved constantly. Every year, something new was added. Eventually, I started tuning it out. My degree helped me appreciate it—academically, anyway.”
“What kinds of things got added?”
“One was that Jason did drown, but he somehow rose from the dead when his mother was beheaded.”
“And waited five years?”
“Most of these stories fall apart under scrutiny, dear.” I felt myself blush, which she noticed. She gave me an apologetic smile and continued. “One legend from my high school days wove a real tragedy into the myth.”
I scoffed. “You’re kidding?”
She laughed. “Don’t act so surprised. It’s what people do!”
“True enough,” I admitted.
Megan continued, “The story was that a senior class trip went to the lake. They had this huge boat rented, a real party setup.”
“Okay,” I said, jotting down notes.
“And it sank.”
“Oh my gosh, really?”
“Yep, right to the bottom. No survivors, I think? You’ll need to fact-check that. Terrible, terrible thing.”
“And somehow this tragedy got tied to Jason?”
“Jason Voorhees supposedly sank it, of course,” she said with a nod, her tone almost playful.
I raised an eyebrow. “Ah, right.”
She gave a deadpan look. “Legend has it that Jason Voorhees rose from the lake, boarded the boat full of partying teenagers, slaughtered them one by one, then punctured the hull for good measure.” She finished, staring at me with the straightest face possible.
We sat in silence for a second before laughter erupted from all of us.
“Pfffft! Ha ha ha! I’m sorry!” I managed between laughs.
She laughed along. “I had you going, didn’t I?”
“Wait, so you made that up?”
“Not at all! It happened. People blamed it on Jason the next day. He’s an easy scapegoat around here, whether he exists or not.”
I smiled, thinking it over. “That actually brings me to my next point. This area does have an unusually high number of missing persons cases.”
“Well, with all the woods and back roads around here, that doesn’t surprise me. But yeah, I’ve heard Jason’s name brought up with some disappearances.”
“Anyone come to mind?” I asked.
“Tina Shepard. Her whole family returned to the lake for the summer season. They never went back home.”
I jotted her name down, even though it sounded familiar. Better to be thorough. “When you say ‘returned,’ do you mean they were from here originally?”
She nodded. “They lived here when she was a child. Her father drowned, I think.”
I grimaced. “Jeez.”
“Welcome to Crystal Lake—where tragedy is our bread and butter,” she said with a dry smile.
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Two nights ago, crickets chirped as mosquitos swarmed in thick clouds. Rob Dwyer lay hidden, daring not to breathe for fear of swallowing a mouthful of bugs. But he stayed quiet, perfectly still, waiting for the right moment. Tonight marked the anniversary of his sister Sandra’s death in 1985. She’d been murdered by a backwoods maniac, her life stolen by a spear. Rob had spent years hearing stories about it. The name didn’t matter to him; the only thing that did was revenge. Like Tommy Jarvis, Rob believed one thing: the killer was still out there.
And he was right.
Rob had seen him—proof in the flesh. But the killer had spotted Rob, too, with just the slightest head turn. Rob panicked and ran, but he wasn’t just some chump; he had twelve years of military experience behind him. He’d come here to end it.
Now, he lay prone on the ground, straining to hear anything over the incessant chirping of crickets.
CLUMP CLUMP
The footsteps were sudden, and then he felt the fire axe lodge into his spine. The pain was blinding; he couldn’t even scream. His mouth opened, but only silence spilled out. Gray, weathered hands gripped the handle, pulling it free with a sickening slowness that allowed Rob to finally find his voice.
He thought of Sandra. He wanted to scream her name, but instead, only garbled sounds escaped him. The hulking figure loomed above, its beady white eyes piercing the darkness. The axe came down once more, this time burying into Rob’s skull.
As the massive figure lifted Rob’s lifeless body onto its shoulder, blood dripped heavily from the wound, like molten lead. The creature barely remembered Sandra—or cared.
Mother calls.