We found ourselves with a dilemma. Dan Hollister was willing to meet with us at 1 p.m.; at noon, we were supposed to talk to and pick up Tracy, who would then take us to her father Tommy. Dan had been adamant that we meet him at his house, and while Tracy seemed amenable, I wasn’t keen on taking the chance that she might change her mind. We had been sitting in silence in the van, eating hastily procured McDonald's about a mile outside of town. None of us were eager to try the local diner after Tracy's horror stories from last night. The cockroach tale alone was enough to put me off for good. I hated McDonald's, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, so I was munching on one of their 'Signature' sandwiches—their ridiculous attempt to seem classy. Why couldn’t they just embrace being shitty fast food? Just burgers and fries—enough with the fancy bunned burgers that only tasted alright.
Yes, I had to admit, I didn’t hate it.
“We should just bring her with us,” Adam said. With a mouthful of Angus beef, I stared at him—such a simple solution, and not a single one of us had thought of it.
“You’re brilliant,” I said, my mouth still full, bits of food flying out.
“She might not go for that,” Jeremy said.
“Why not?” I wiped my mouth, trying to feel less like a savage.
“Well, I don’t know. Just from chatting with her, I get the feeling the whole 'J thing' is touchy.”
“Is that why she hardly speaks to him?” I asked.
Adam shrugged. “Seems that way.”
I stuffed another bite in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Can’t hurt to try though, right?”
“Way I see it—” Levi began, “—we don’t have much of a choice. I mean, we’re definitely going to talk to this dude, right?”
Jeremy and I nodded silently. “We’ve got to at least give her the chance to come with us,” I said to Jeremy. He mulled it over, half a breakfast burrito in his mouth. He shoved the rest in and nodded. “Alright, let’s start heading out there.” He turned the key, and the old battle van roared to life.
“How far out is she?” Jeremy asked.
“‘Bout five miles or so,” I replied.
I turned back in my seat. “Levi, you should get the camera out. You might get some good footage of the lake.”
“Are we stopping?” he asked. “Could look like shit from a moving car.”
“You always say that, and it always ends up looking hella artistic,” I reminded him.
He crumpled his wrapper and tossed it playfully at me. “Fair enough.” Levi began getting the camera ready, and Jeremy pulled away from the rest stop. He was cautious, as always. The road was dead, but Jeremy was the kind of driver who preferred safe over sorry. I gave him a hard time whenever we were stuck at a turning lane, but he always responded with the same refrain: “Listen, that’s how my mom got in an accident. Someone thought they could make it. I’d rather not end up with broken legs, thanks.”
The sun was high in the sky as we passed a road sign letting us know that Crystal Lake was the next exit. According to Google Maps, we needed to drive away from the town proper for a mile or two, then take a sharp right down a dirt road. Not the most inviting route, and the thought of it made my stomach tighten. I decided to distract myself by writing. I often scripted much of what we said for the show. It was a collaborative process only in the sense that I’d share it with Jeremy for feedback once I was done. A part of me felt excited at the prospect of changing the narrative—finding out that Jason wasn’t dead, the whole reason Pamela Voorhees had gone mad. But I tried not to get too excited; even if Dan was credible, proof was another matter entirely.
I looked up from my pad as we approached the dirt road. I silently thanked God we were doing this during the day. The only visible landmark was a crooked mile marker—Jeremy would definitely have missed it if not for Levi pointing it out. What a disaster that would have been. I began to play out the scenario in my mind and almost burst out laughing at the thought. Jeremy noticed my reaction out of the corner of his eye and gave me a curious look. I quickly refocused, wanting him to concentrate on the road more than anything.
Nature looked to be in the middle of a long campaign to reclaim this road, but I assumed Tracy’s old car kept fighting the good fight to keep it passable. Looking out the window, I was reminded of how much I loved this time of year. The leaves were in mid-transition, but enough green still remained to give the entire area a vibrant feeling. It was disarming, given these woods were home to so much death, yet you’d never guess it. Whether it was due to the passage of time or the innate beauty it possessed was hard to say. Probably a bit of both. Bad things happened in beautiful places all the time. Maybe that’s what drew me to true crime—the shattering of beauty by a truly horrible act. I stopped short of calling it poetic. I felt pretentious enough as it was, and it wasn’t even noon.
The sound of rocks and dirt crunching beneath our tires was oddly hypnotic. I could listen to this all day. It reminded me of those ASMR videos on YouTube—the ones with thunderstorms and rain. If I could, I’d make one that was just rocks being driven over. Hell, it probably already existed. I reached for my phone, only to realize I had no signal. I sighed, resigning myself to assume it did.
“Are we close?” Jeremy asked.
“Uh…” I glanced at my phone. “GPS signal lost.”
He shook his head. “Perfect.”
“Well, if we see a lake, we know we’re close.”
“Yeah, hopefully we’re not in the lake,” Jeremy replied with an eye roll.
I noticed a marker up ahead and pointed. “2556—that’s it. We make a left here. Says it’s half a mile on the right.”
Jeremy drove on cautiously, the van lumbering down the uneven path. Each of us peered ahead, half-expecting a house to materialize out of nowhere. Eventually, a mobile home came into view—a vintage one at that. I recognized it as a 1957 Cana Manana trailer, just like the one my grandfather had. It was surprisingly well-preserved, stretching out under the shade of a patch of trees, with Tracy’s old junker parked behind it.
The screen door opened as we pulled up, and Tracy waved as we all piled out. She was wearing a big green sweater and black jeans. I felt a pang of jealousy—oversized sweaters were my weakness. Immediately following her out was a medium-sized German Shepherd. My heart melted at the sight. The dog had a beautiful black coat with brown markings and a tuft of white on its chest. It darted straight to Adam, who perked up, getting down on one knee to meet it.
“Hello, doggo!” Adam laughed.
“God damn it, Gordon, down!” Tracy shouted. The dog sat immediately, its tongue hanging out as it panted heavily. “She’s well-behaved, I swear.”
“Your lady dog is named Gordon?” I asked.
“My dad named her. I kind of like it.”
“Oh yeah, totally. May I?” I asked, gesturing to the dog.
Tracy nodded, and I bent down, giving Gordon some well-deserved ear scratches. “She’s beautiful,” I said. Tracy smiled and led Gordon back toward the trailer. She commanded her to sit, which she did, and then ordered her to stay. Time would tell if that worked. Tracy brushed her hair from her face and leaned against a weathered picnic table.
“Welcome to Casa Jarvis,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.
“My grandpa had a trailer just like it. I love it, honestly,” I said. Adam walked around it, taking in the trailer's details.
“I’ve dreamed of living in one of these,” he finally said.
“Is that so, bud?” Levi asked.
“Yeah, closest I ever came was the bad summer I slept in a van.”
“Bad summer, huh?” Tracy asked.
“We don’t talk about the bad summer,” Adam replied, and we all laughed. None of us knew the full story of that summer, but it had become legendary in its mystery.
“Tracy, we were wondering if you’d be willing to come back into town with us real quick. A little detour,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual.
She eyed me suspiciously. “Oh? What’s up?”
“Well, we’ve got an anonymous contact in town. He gave us a lead just when we were starting our research.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, and we didn’t know who he was until this morning. He’s agreed to meet us, but it has to be at one,” I explained.
“Ah,” she nodded. “I see the pickle you’re in.”
“Yeah, and we’d like to prove if he’s credible or not—know what I mean?”
She folded her arms and squinted at me. “And what sort of information does this fella have?”
“Well…”
“It’s about Jason Voorhees,” Jeremy said bluntly.
“I see.”
“He claims Jason didn’t drown. That he found the kid washed ashore,” I added.
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty big, if true.”
“If true, yeah.”
She stood silently, clearly weighing her options. I couldn’t get a read on her—she seemed torn between wanting to know and fearing the truth.
“Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll come with you.”
----------------------------------------
Tracy sat cross-legged in the back of the van, her knees pulled up close to her chest, trying to stretch out the cramp forming in her legs. The back of the van was grated off for the bigger equipment, and Adam and Levi were wedged beside her, squished together like sardines. With every bump, Tracy felt the metal floor vibrate beneath her, reminding her how uncomfortable this ride was. She hugged her knees tighter, seeking some kind of relief.
She had insisted Gordon come along, and everyone seemed genuinely excited about it. These people were so nice, she thought, and it brought an unexpected warmth. She was slowly beginning to feel more comfortable around them, especially seeing the way Adam smiled when he noticed her watching. It was a small smile, barely a curve at the corners of his lips, but it made her feel included—like she wasn't just an outsider tagging along.
Still, she couldn't quite get rid of the jitters inside her. Her father's voice echoed in her mind, repeating the same name he'd drilled into her over the years: Jason Voorhees. It was as if that name had carved itself into her subconscious, etched there with painful precision. Anytime it came up, she couldn't help but perk up, curiosity gnawing at her. What if this lead was actually something? What if Jason hadn’t drowned like everyone believed?
Someone claiming Jason hadn't drowned set off all kinds of alarms in her mind. It seemed unlikely—no, impossible. But, in a way, she understood why these people were chasing that idea, why they were so invested in hearing it out. And part of her hoped they'd see the truth—whatever it turned out to be.
She let her thoughts drift to the conversation she’d have with her father later. She’d rehearsed it endlessly in her head, almost obsessively since last night. No matter how many times she ran through it, she knew it wouldn’t play out that way. Things never went according to plan with her dad, and throwing Jason into the mix made things even more complicated. Would this push her even further from her father? Trigger another rebellious streak in her? She had no idea—and that was part of what scared her the most.
When they'd mentioned going back into town, Tracy had assumed they meant the main street—the sad collection of stores that she considered "town." But Dan Hollister’s place was a mile or two south of that. Far enough to feel separate, yet still close enough to remind her of everything she'd left behind.
She asked to see the directions on Google Maps, and the screen confirmed one of her worries—how isolated this place was. She volunteered to navigate, partly to distract herself. "At least I get to do something instead of just sit there," she'd told them, which was mostly true. One did not get lost in Crystal Lake—whether superstitious or not, it was better to avoid taking that risk.
“Okay, so, um, you basically want to go back down this road—the one you came on—and turn right. Like, basically, the opposite of how you got here.” Her instructions were met with silence.
“…how about you point it out when we get closer?” Jeremy suggested, breaking the awkwardness.
“Yeah, alright,” she replied with a grin, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit.
Jeremy started the careful task of maneuvering the old van backward. The thing had a turning radius as wide as a basketball court, lurching and groaning with every adjustment. Tracy watched as Jeremy put way more effort into turning the wheel than she imagined was needed. It was an old Dodge Ram—no power steering. Figures. Finally, the van rolled forward, narrowly missing a tree before finding traction, the tires crunching over leaves and rocks.
Gordon let out a soft whine as the van jolted forward. Tracy pursed her lips, leaning down to pat her dog’s ears. Gordon relaxed beneath her touch, closing her eyes, her body settling in contentment. Adam noticed and spoke up. “How long have you had her?”
“About ten years. She’s becoming an old lady, aren’t you, girl?” Tracy said, her voice warm. Gordon’s ears perked briefly before she lost interest, her eyes drifting shut again.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“And your dad named her Gordon?” Adam asked.
Tracy laughed, her eyes lighting up with the memory. “Yeah. He had a dog named Gordon when he was a kid. I think he wanted to honor him, y'know?”
“You must’ve been confused as a kid,” Adam said, shaking his head.
“Oh, totally,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I think I pouted and told him, ‘Gordon is a girl’s name!’” She crossed her arms, mocking her younger self, then laughed softly. There were still good memories there—she couldn’t deny that. She missed him, despite everything. For a brief moment, the warmth of nostalgia wrapped around her, but it didn’t last. A darker memory washed over her, and she let it out before she could stop herself.
“Jason killed him,” she said flatly.
“Excuse me, Jason?” Adam asked, confusion etched on his face.
She waved it off, trying to brush away the heaviness that had settled in. “That’s what my dad always said.” She sucked her teeth, nodding slowly as if to convince herself. “Yep, Jason killed the dog.”
“Wait, so he had Gordon 1.0 when he was ten? When it happened?” Adam asked.
Tracy nodded exaggeratedly, the absurdity of it all hitting her anew. A fun memory tainted by something so dark—story of her life. She gazed down at Gordon, her heart warming once again. Gordon was her rock, her comfort. She scratched her ears, her fingers digging in a little deeper. “Well, at least it didn’t make me hate this mutt. Having tragedy tied to your dog and still loving them? I was ten myself—Christ.” She laughed, and Adam joined in, his laughter mingling with hers.
“So was it always a constant thing around the house?” Adam asked after a beat.
“What? You can say his name—Jason.” She sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. “I heard it so much he might as well have been family. It was always there. My dad tried not to make it a thing, but it defined him. It was who he was.”
“Well, at least you turned out okay, eh?” Adam said, trying to keep a straight face but failing as a snort escaped.
“Jury’s still out,” she said, her own grin spreading. The conversation carried them through the ride, making the bumpy journey feel much shorter. Tracy pointed out directions, warned them about road conditions, and let herself drift into the rhythm of it all. Kelsey was scribbling in her notepad, her expression focused. Jeremy gripped the wheel with white-knuckled intensity—Tracy wondered if he was a nervous driver by nature. Levi chimed in every now and then with what he must've thought was wisdom, but it came out garbled. She scrubbed each comment from her mind as soon as he said them—he was nice enough, but something about him rubbed her the wrong way.
The van finally slowed as they neared the last turn—yet another dirt road. The vehicle groaned in protest, clearly no fan of the terrain. Tracy comforted Gordon through each bump until, thankfully, the journey ended as a large colonial-style house loomed into view. It was imposing, yet poorly maintained. Tracy shuddered at the thought of trying to keep up with a house this big.
A thin man with graying black hair sat on the porch swing, watching them as they pulled in. The blue paint on the wrap-around porch was chipped and peeling, tiny piles collecting at the edges. They navigated around two parked cars—one with its hood up and engine missing, the other on cinderblocks, rusted and weathered. The latter looked like a ‘68 Monte Carlo. Crystal Lake must have the highest number of Monte Carlo junkers per capita in the tristate area, Tracy mused.
The man stood, strolling toward them as they parked. Jeremy killed the engine, turning to Kelsey. “Moment of truth,” he said, his voice low.
Kelsey smirked and opened her door as Adam and the others climbed out. Tracy let Gordon out, letting her wander a few steps away from the group to relieve herself. Kelsey approached the man, her arm extended.
“Dan Hollister?” she asked. The man took her hand, shaking it warmly. He nodded.
“I’m Kelsey Sampson, and over there is Jeremy Harris.” She gestured toward Jeremy, who was climbing out of the driver’s side.
Dan squinted at Jeremy before walking over to him. He offered his hand, and Jeremy shook it, smiling. “Good to finally put a face to the name,” Dan said.
“Likewise,” Jeremy replied.
Dan looked over the rest of the group, giving them each a small nod. Tracy gave a wave, followed by the others. “I’m sure I’ll get introduced in due time. Come on inside.” He glanced at Gordon, who was sniffing around. “Is she good?” he asked. “I’ve got an old grump in the back who doesn’t love the excitement a young dog can bring.”
“She’s very well-behaved. He won’t be bothered,” Tracy assured him. He nodded, leading them through a battered screen door.
The entryway was dim, ahead and to the right a set of stairs led to the second floor. The house must've been fancy once, but time had worn it down. On the left was an entry to a living room—floral furniture arranged neatly, surprisingly well-kept compared to the rest of the house. Straight ahead, another doorway led to the rest of the house, likely the kitchen.
Dan led them into the living room, where a pitcher of lemonade sat on the coffee table. Tracy immediately took an open spot on the couch, motioning for Gordon to lie at her feet. Kelsey took a seat at the other end of the couch, facing Dan, who settled into a cushioned chair.
“Is it alright if we set up the camera in here?” Kelsey asked.
“Well, first I gotta know how you found me,” Dan said, leaning back.
“Well,” Kelsey began, “Sheriff Perkins told us. He seemed pretty keen on it.”
Dan swore under his breath. “Figures,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“If you don’t want your identity out there, we can shadow you during the filming,” Kelsey offered.
Dan considered it, then waved his hand dismissively. “No, let’s just do this. Perkins has been talking shit for years. Time to set the record straight.”
Kelsey smiled, leaning forward slightly. “I have a lot of questions, but I’d like to wait until the camera’s rolling. Is that okay?”
He shrugged. “Sure, sure. Take your time.” He gestured to the lemonade. “Help yourselves.” Tracy wasted no time pouring herself a glass. She loved lemonade, and apparently, so did Gordon—her ears perked up as Tracy poured. Tracy caught herself just before letting Gordon lick the glass, a blush rising to her cheeks. She didn’t need the others seeing her share drinks with her dog.
Dan took a slow sip while Levi and Jeremy murmured over the setup, trying to frame Dan correctly. Tracy thought she heard Levi say something about "shit lighting" but quickly dismissed it. Instead, she studied Dan, searching his features, wondering if her father had ever mentioned him.
“You’re Jarvis’ little girl, right?” Dan said suddenly, breaking the silence. Tracy nearly spit out her lemonade, coughing violently.
“Ack—I'm—” she struggled to get the words out, coughing again. “Sorry.” She set her glass down, eyeing Dan quizzically. “You knew my dad?”
Dan nodded, taking another sip. “We spoke a few times. I always told him I believed him.” He took a breath, and Kelsey raised an eyebrow, motioning subtly to Levi and Jeremy. Levi pivoted the camera toward Dan and Tracy, neither of whom noticed.
“Honestly?” Tracy said, her voice softer. “I thought your name sounded familiar. Dad talked about people who believed him.”
Dan grunted, his expression distant. “I can relate,” he said finally, his voice low.
----------------------------------------
Jeremy gave me the go-ahead, and I turned back to face Dan. He was finally done with his lemonade, his fingers now tapping the armrest—restless.
“Okay,” I began, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Think of this as just a conversation. Don’t feel like you need to be nervous or anything.”
He nodded slowly. “Alright…”
“This is Kelsey Sampson. I’m sitting here with Dan Hollister, a longtime resident of Crystal Lake. Is that right?”
“Yes, almost thirty years,” he replied, his gaze holding steady on me.
“That’s amazing. And you’re a former officer with the Crystal Lake PD?”
“Yup, retired for the last fifteen.”
“What was the job like?”
He paused, a nostalgic smile appearing. “Oh, it was pretty easy for the most part. The people are friendly here; the worst we usually dealt with was drunken disorderly conduct, domestic spats—things like that.”
“Until 1980,” I added softly.
His face darkened, his jaw tightening. “Uh, right. Yeah, until that shit happened.” He shook his head as if trying to shake off the memory. “But let me tell you, even those incidents were anomalies. We were way out of our depth—both times.”
“What can you tell us about that time?” I leaned forward, trying to keep my voice even. “Let’s start with the Mrs. Voorhees killings.”
“Well—” He hesitated, collecting his thoughts. “I was pretty new to the force then, maybe a year or two in? Hard to keep track these days.” He chuckled to himself, but there was no humor behind it. “I wasn’t first on the scene, but our radios lit up as word spread about what was happening. I was mostly part of the search for her son… and that’s how I found him.”
“Him?” I asked, my interest piqued.
“The boy—Jason.”
“Alive?” My voice came out almost in a whisper. Dan nodded, and I immediately scrawled the word "ALIVE" in big letters in my notebook, circling it for emphasis.
“Tell us your story, Mr. Hollister. How did you come to be the one who found him?”
“Well, like I said, I wasn’t first on the scene. I was the one who escorted Pam—Mrs. Voorhees—to the station to talk to Robert.”
“Sheriff Perkins.”
“He wasn’t sheriff then, but yes,” Dan clarified, his voice thick with the memory. He paused to pour himself another glass of lemonade, the movement deliberate, almost meditative. I watched the foggy liquid fill the glass, the ice cubes clinking as they settled. He took a long, satisfying gulp before continuing. “By the time I got there, it was getting dark. Honestly, it looked like the boys barely gave a damn—um, can I curse?”
It was a little late to ask, but I just smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”
He cleared his throat. “They said they were waiting on divers from Carpenter County—that the kid was dead. I knew the type well. Fresh out of the service, I’d dealt with guys like that.”
“Guys like what?” I pressed gently.
“The type that sees it as just a job. Their effort only goes as far as their paycheck—admittedly not much.” Dan rubbed his face, looking tired. “I was more idealistic back then. Decided I’d walk the lake, stop when I reached the other side—when I reached the camp.”
“Did the other officers leave?” I asked.
“Hell no—excuse me. No, they stayed behind, just BS’ing.” Dan mimed an unimpressed hand gesture, his lips curling slightly.
“Please continue.”
“Not sure how long I’d been walking when I saw the lights from the camp—the archery field and docks were all lit up by spotlights.” Dan reached for his glass, only to find it empty. I nudged my glass forward, and he took it with a nod of appreciation. He only took a small sip this time, as if steeling himself. I could see this was difficult for him.
“Pamela would already be attacking Alice at this time, if I’m getting the timeline right,” I noted.
“I didn’t know that at the time,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t strike me as too odd, honestly. What did was the sound—a whimpering. I tracked it just offshore, in the thick marsh. And there he was. Big ol’ Jason, huddled up, shivering, still wet. First, I felt relief, then anger, then just frustration. I mean—this close to shore, this close to the docks. Can you believe it?”
I could, actually. “Was it your fellow officers you were upset with?”
“Damn right, I was,” he snapped, his eyes blazing. “We were lucky he wasn’t dead. That’s all I could think.”
“So what happened next?”
Dan paused, his expression hardening. “I heard a scream,” he said, his voice dipping low. He took another drink, a haunted look in his eyes. “I’ve seen and heard a lot in the service. Never heard a scream like that. It was close, and I went to investigate.”
“What about Jason?” I asked, imagining the chaos he must have been dealing with.
“I covered him in my coat, told him to stay put.” Dan’s hand twitched, as if he were still trying to keep the boy there. “I pulled out my revolver and walked further down the shore to the docks.”
“What did you find?”
“Alice Hardy, decapitating Pamela Voorhees,” he replied, his voice almost detached.
“You saw it?” I leaned in, my breath catching.
Dan nodded. “Not just me.” He paused, glancing at me as if gauging my reaction.
I leaned back, my mind spinning at the implication. Hastily, I scribbled in my notebook: "JASON SAW HIS MOTHER DIE?!" The weight of it hung heavy in the air as Dan continued.
“I looked behind me, and there he was. The girl, Alice, screamed—anguish like I’d never heard before. When I turned back… Jason was gone.” He paused, his eyes distant. “I identified myself to Ms. Hardy, secured the scene.”
“What was that like?” I asked, my voice quieter.
“Well, it wasn’t that shocking, really,” he said, shrugging. “Like I said, fresh out of the military—I’d seen some real shit… Sorry. I’d seen worse.”
“Still, these were regular teenagers,” I pressed. “You saw a woman beheaded.”
Dan sighed. “Sure, yeah—it’s different. Plus, when it happens at home, it feels worse, right?” I nodded, and he continued. “Sometimes I think about the one who had an arrow through their neck. There was so much blood.”
“Not Mrs. Voorhees?”
“She killed all those people.”
“Because she thought her son was dead. Considering what you’ve told me, don’t you feel—”
“…Guilty?” He interrupted, his gaze hardening. He stared at me, his intensity almost daring me to push further. I held his gaze until he looked away, his voice softening. “Sure. Sometimes.”
“So what happened?”
“Robert arrived, I told him everything. He told the sheriff, and the sheriff spoke to me.”
“And?”
“Like you said, Pamela killed all those kids because we told her her kid was dead.”
“And not only was he not dead—you lost him.” I could feel my own frustration as I spoke, and I watched as Dan turned away, choosing instead to finish his drink.
“We thought—hoped—he’d just gone home. But he never showed, not as far as I saw.”
“Where did they live?” I asked, scribbling as he spoke.
“Small plot near the lake. Doubt there’s much left but the foundation.”
“So that’s it?” I asked, incredulous. “You just left it at that?”
Dan sighed deeply. “Listen, little lady, don’t think I was happy about it. I was not. But ol’ Sheriff Hopper made it very clear that it’d be a problem for my career—and health—if I made a fuss. So I kept my mouth shut… until I couldn’t anymore.” He stood up, pouring himself another glass, almost celebratory. As if reading my mind, he poured one for me too. I accepted it with a grateful smile.
“Okay,” I said after taking a sip. “Just so I, and our viewers, can understand: You found Jason, alive, just as ‘The Long Night at Camp Blood’ was coming to an end. Is that what you’re saying?”
Dan winced at the mention of the case name, but nodded emphatically. “As God as my witness.”
“Do you have anything that can corroborate this?” I asked, my voice hopeful but skeptical. “Anything at all?”
Dan lowered his head, deep in thought. “Well…” He finally looked up. “I took a lot of notes during my career. I still have them all, and I’m certain I wrote something down.”
My heart skipped a beat. Contemporaneous notes. Not proof, but it was something. “We’d love to see them. We’d be willing to help you look?”
“Right now?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, let’s put that on hold for now.” I took a breath, trying to phrase my next question carefully. “Have you told anyone else? I mean, in all these years—your name doesn’t come up at all in connection to this case.”
“I have,” he admitted. “Usually anonymously. Like I tried with you.”
“Sheriff Perkins said—and I quote—‘That guy has been peddling that story for years.’ What do you say to that?” I watched as his face reddened, the color creeping up his neck. He struggled for a moment to contain his anger, but it vanished just as quickly. When he spoke, his voice was calm, controlled.
“Only three people knew I found that boy, and one of us is dead.” His eyes narrowed. “Perkins helped destroy the records. Made sure, as far as anyone was concerned, both Jason and Pamela Voorhees died on Friday the 13th, 1980. He impeaches my credibility because I’m the only one who could implicate him.”
I nodded, deep in thought. It was certainly a plausible story. “So it was Jason who committed the second massacre?” I ventured.
He made a face and waved it off. “No—I don’t know anything about that, y’hear?” He jabbed a dirty finger toward me, and I nodded quickly, feeling a bit uncomfortable.
“Understood.” I tried to smooth over the tension. The shift seemed to work. He looked at his outstretched finger, lowering it sheepishly before leaning back into his chair. He tried to take another sip from his glass, but the ice merely clinked against his lips.
“Just because he didn’t drown doesn’t mean he isn’t dead,” he said, almost to himself. “He likely died in those woods. Fifteen years old, only knowing his mother’s love? Doubt he survived.”
“Was Jason well known in town?” I asked gently. “Did he have a disability? How was he treated?”
“It was the 1980s, little lady. He wasn’t spoken to—more like spoken of, in hushed tones.” He sighed. “It must’ve weighed on Pamela. No wonder she snapped.”
I nodded, my own heart heavy. “Their home… You said it was near the lake?”
He nodded. “Barely a shack. If it’s still there, it’s probably falling apart.”
“I heard the town razed it after the massacre,” Tracy chimed in. She’d stopped petting Gordon, who looked up at her in confusion.
Dan nodded. “Heard the same. Never cared enough to check.”
An idea struck me, and it must’ve shown on my face because Dan fixed me with a serious look. “I wouldn’t do that, lady. Those woods are dangerous. People go missing too often.”
I stared at him, my curiosity battling with a growing sense of dread. “I thought you said Jason Voorhees was dead?”
Dan leaned forward, the last ice cube clinking in his glass. “Stupid is stupid, miss. Someone killed those people, and they were never caught. Sure, they’re likely long dead.” He stood up slowly, stretching his lean frame before setting his glass on the table. “Doesn’t mean I’d take the risk.”
He walked out of the room, leaving his words hanging in the air. I stared down at my notepad, my thoughts churning. Maybe this was what all my choices had led to. This could be the biggest story of my career. Could I really walk away from it?
“Kelsey?” Levi’s voice broke through my thoughts. I turned in my chair, meeting his gaze. “Are we done?”
I nodded, watching as he began packing up. I walked over to Jeremy, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“So?” I asked.
“You want to try and find it, don’t you?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.
“Don’t you?” I countered.
He gave a small nod. “I do.”
“Then we’ve got to…” I turned to look at Adam and Levi. “Right?”
Levi, wrapping up cables, nodded. “I’m down. Plus, you’re the boss.”
Adam pointed at Levi. “What he said.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s bullshit. I’m not forcing anyone. We all need to be on board.”
Adam shrugged, his voice softening. “I’m in, Kelsey. For real.”
“Same here,” Levi added.
“Well, lucky for you guys, my father lives lakeside, eh?” Tracy butted in. I’d almost forgotten she was there, and guilt flooded me.
“Hey, listen, I wasn’t trying to speak for you. I know that’s the last thing you’d want.”
She shrugged. “I never said I wanted to go. Just that you could kill two birds with one stone.” She smirked, and the four of us exchanged a look. We were doing this.