by Simon Hawke
He didin’t move or respond.
Chili set her teeth and bent down to shove him out of the way, but he was dead weight. Then she noticied how very still he was lying. She reached out to touch him and her hand came away stained with blood. She looked at her fingers in the light of the lantern and realized with a dreadful certainty that this wasn’t makeup. It was the real thing.
“Oh, my God . . .”
Screaming, she recoiled from him and ran into the living room. The fireplace was blazing from the logs Chuck had added to it earlier. The flames threw garish shadows on the walls. In her panic, she didn’t notice that there was an iron fireplace poker stuck between the logs.
“Andy! Debbie!” she screamed as she ran up the spiral staircase to the second-floor bedrooms.
“Shelly’s dead! He’s dead!”
Jason’s hand closed around the handle of the iron poker he had heated in the fire. Its tip was glowing red hot.
Chili started screaming uncontrollably as she beheld the horror in Andy and Debbie’s bedroom. Debbie was lying on her back in the net hammock, her eyes bulging, her face twisted into a terrifying grimace, a carving knife sticking up out of her throat as if it had spurted from her neck. Blood was puddled on the floor beneath her. Andy’s body was draped over the rafters, his arm hanging down loosely, his eyes glazed, the blood from his grisly wound draining onto the floor as if he were a side of beef in a kosher slaughterhouse.
She fled screaming from the bedroom to the rail, racked with dry heaves. She hung over the rail, gulping for air, desperately trying to stop the tremors that had seized her.
“Oh, my God . . . Help!”
The lights continued to flash on and off wildly as she staggered down the stairs, knowing she had to get out of the house and flee, run for her life, get as far away from there as possible. She stumbled down the stairs, almost falling head-long, ran straight for the door. It was ajar and a strong gust of wind suddenly blew it open, slamming it against the wall. She screamed, thinking someone had thrown it open, and she turned . . .
With a powerful thrust, the sizzling, red-hot poker was driven straight into her stomach. It penetrated deeply, crisping her skin and sending thin tendrils of smoke curling up from the cauterizing wound. The breath hissed out of her as she felt the shock of the brutal impact and the fiery agony of the glowing iron. She saw the loathsome eyes behind the stark white mask and then her vision blurred. She couldn’t even scream. She was beyond screaming. She was beyond pain. And a moment later, she was beyond caring.
Chapter Eight
Rick played the flashlight beam on the ground before them as they walked down the winding dirt road that ran parallel to the lakeshore. Chris had her arm around his waist. He stopped for a moment as they came to a bend in the road, gently pulled her close, and kissed her. For once, she didn’t pull away, but responded hungrily. Then she broke the kiss and smiled at him.
“Great shortcut, Rick,” she said sarcastically, knowing perfectly well that it would have been quicker for them to take the hiking trail along the lakeshore. But she didn’t really mind. It was a tremendous load off her mind that he understood what she had gone through and she wished now that she’d told him about it before. It had been unfair to him, but things would be better now. She shivered slightly in the cool night air. “Come on,” she said, pulling him along, “let’s move it.”
“Always spoiling my fun,” said Rick, grinning at her.
Something crunched behind them.
“What was that noise?” He spun around, shining the light behing them.
“What?” said Chris, alarmed.
“I don’t know,” Rick replied. “I heard something over there.”
“Come on, let’s get home,” said Chris, her nerves on edge. They weren’t too far from where she had been attacked.
The moon was full, and dark clouds scudded across it. The wind was getting quite strong. They walked quickly down the graded dirt road, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. The leaves were rustling fiercely and the trees were starting to bend. Rick and Chris squinted and leaned forward slightly as they walked.
“This wind sure came up,” Rick said, squeezing his eyes shut against some windblown dust.
They turned off the main road and trotted quickly down the drive leading to the house. They crossed the wooden bridge over the dry streambed and the house came into view as they rounded a stand of pine trees.
The windows were all open and the curtains were billowing out. The house was dark, except for the faint golden glow from the fireplace that kept the house from looking completely deserted.
“Seems awfully quiet around here,” said Chris as they approached the house. “It’s hard to believe the wild bunch is already in bed.”
“Yeah, well, who knows with those guys?” Rick said. After that had happened to his car, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with Chris’ friends. He’d have been just as happy if they weren’t around anymore.
They climbed up the steps to the porch, Rick lighting the way, and Chris reached for the knob on the front door. She turned it and the door opened a couple of inches, then came to a stop, stuck. She frowned and pushed on it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“I can’t get this door open,” she said, glancing at Rick. “There’s something behind it.”
“Here, take this,” said Rick, handing her the flashlight. “Let me do it.”
He grasped the knob and shoved the door, putting his shoulder to it, forcing it open with a scraping sound. He got it open wide enought for them to slip inside.
“Oh, no wonder,” he said as soon as they got in. “Somebody put this chair there.”
He moved the wooden kitchen chair aside, thinking at first that the others put it there as a prank, but then he frowned as she sniffed the air.
“Something’s burning,” he said. “Look at the stove.”
He tried the light switch as Chris went quickly to the kitchen. He flicked the switch several times, up and down, with no result. Something was definitely wrong here, he thought. He followed Chris into the kitchen.
“Oh, real smart!” she said, holding a charred pot with a towel around the handle. Inside it were the remains of blackened, smoking popcorn. She turned off the burner, dumped the smoking pot into the sink and ran cold water over it. She made a face as a cloud of steam rose up from the charred pot.
“The lights aren’t working, either,” RIck said.
Chris stared at him, perplexed. “What’s going on around here?”
“I don’t know,” said Rick sourly. “You tell me. They’re your friends.” His tone clearly indicated his disapproval. “Listen, I’m going to go on out to the living room and check out what’s going on out there.”
He half expected to find them crashed out on the couch, stoned to the gills. And if that was the case, despite the fact that they were Chris’ friends, he was going to give them hell about it. They might’ve burned the house down.
He went into the living room, but it was empty, although the logs in the fireplace were burning brightly. After trying the light switches in the living room, he discovered they didn’t work, either. The power must be out thoughout the house, he thought. The main fuse was probably blown.
“Andy? Debbie?” he called out, glancing up at the second-floor balcony. “You guys up there? Anybody here?”
He went back into the kitchen. Chris was scrubbing out the pot with steel wool by the light of a kerosene lamp.
“Everybody else has taken off and left us,” he said.
She looked up at him with surprise. “They wouldn’t do that.”
Maybe not, he thought. And the van was still parked outside. But he couldn’t think of any other explanation for this kind of strange behavior. In weather like this, they certainly wouldn’t be down by the lake, would they? Perhaps they were outside in the barn. If this was all some sort of prank they were playing, it wasn’t very funny.
“Well, I don’t know what’s going on,” said Rick, “but I�
�m going to go outside and take a look around.”
“Rick, wait!” Chris called after him as he went out the door. “I want to come with you!”
She quickly rinsed off the pot and put it on the counter, then ran after him, wiping her hands on her jeans.
Outside, Rick ran down the porch steps and walked aorund the side of the house, heading toward the barn. He heard the crunch of a heavy footstep on the gravel.
“Andy?” he said. “Is that you?”
He started to turn when he was suddenly seized from behind.
“Rick?” Chris called, coming into the living room. She looked around, but the living room was empty. He must have already gone outside, she thought. She suddenly felt creepy standing all alone in the empty house. She went up to the front door and opened it, hesitating before going out on the front porch. She felt nervous about going outside.
She stepped out onto the front porch and looked around. He was nowhere in sight. “Rick?” she called out nervously.
Rick was only about twenty feet away, but he couldn’t answer her. A large, callused hand was clamped over his mouth and nose, holding him so that he couldn’t breath. A powerful arm was wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides and immobilizing him. His feet were off the ground, and though he kicked and struggled with all his might, he couldn’t break loose or even shout out to warn Chris. Jason held him as easily as if he were an infant.
Chris stood out on the front porch for a moment, looking out into the darkness, then decided to go back inside. As she closed the door behind her, Jason placed his hands on either side of Rick’s head and began to squeeze. Rick gulped for air and started to scream, but the pressure was so great that it felt as if his skull were being crushed in a winepress. A keening, high-pitched groan escaped from his throat, and then his skull began to fracture, cracking like a walnut and sending bone splinters deep into his brain. His eyes popped out of their sockets, his jawbones cracked, and his cheek bones shattered as blood spurted from his mouth and nostrils. Chris opened a window on the side of the house and called out his name, but he was hard pressed to answer.
After closing the window, Chris headed back toward the kitchen, wishing Rick would come back soon so that he could do something about the lights. She started and jerked back as something dripped onto her head from above. She looked up. A steady trickle of water was coming down from overhead.
“Oh-oh,” she said. “Where’s that coming from?”
Frowning, she picked up the lantern and went up the spiral staircase to the second-floor balcony. Maybe they were upstairs all along, but they simply weren’t answereing, she thought. Hell, if they were fooling around up in the bathroom and they flooded the damn place . . .
“I don’t know what kind of game you guys are playin’,” she called out, “but I don’t like it!”
There was no response. She reached the top of the stairs and stood still for a moment, listening.
“Debbie? You guys up here?”
She stopped in front of the bathroom door. What the hell were they doing in there in the dark? Her foot stepped into a puddle formed by the water seeping out from underneath the door. Through the door, she could hear the sound of water running.
“Hey, come on, you guys!” she shouted, pushing in the door. “You’re wrecking the house!”
The bathtub was overflowing. She reached out and yanked the shower curtain aside. There were some clothes floating in the tub. Angrily, she reached down and turned off the faucet. Damn that Debbie, she thought, what did she do, throw some sweaters in to soak and then forget to turn the water off? Where the hell were they?
And then she noticied a dark stain in the water. She held the lantern closer and saw that it was blood seeping out of the clothes, turning the water red. With a sharp intake of breath, she lifted the bloody shirt out of the tub, stared at it with a stunned expression, then dropped it back into the tub and raced down the stairs.
“Rick!” she shouted.
She ran across the living room, opened the front door, and raced down the porch steps toward the barn.
“Rick!” she yelled.
Something had happened, something terrible, she knew it! That shirt had been completely soaked with blood. My God, she thought, what could have happened? They couldn’t have gone anywhere, the van is still here, something awful must have . . .
A sharp gust of wind blew through the tree branches and something cracked above her. She screamed as Loco’s blood-soaked body dropped down directly in front of her and hung upside down from a splintered branch overhead.
“Rick!” she shrieked, recoiling from the grisly sight and sobbing hysterically as she ran back to the house. She sped up the porch steps and burst into the house, screaming, “Rick! Where are you?”
The wind outside was building up to hurricane force. A strong gust blew the window open. She shrieked as it slammed against the inside wall, then raced over to the window, forced it shut, and bolted it. Another gust of wind blew open the door and she screamed again, then ran over to the door and slammed it shut, bolting it and barricading it. Her heart was hammering inside her chest, pounding against her rib cage like a wild thing trying to claw its way out. She couldn’t stop sobbing.
“RICK!” she screamed, hysterically. “Help me!”
The large bay window suddenly exploded inward shattering in a rain of glass as Rick’s corpse came flying through it to fall with a soft, wet sound onto the living room floor.
“RICK!” She threw her hands up to her face and screamed as she knelt down beside him, reaching out for him instinctively, then jerking her hands back. Her hands came away covered with blood and she gave a frenzied scream when she saw what had happened to his face. “RICK!”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the porch outside and she looked up, terror-stricken, to see the immense form of Jason Voorhees stepping through the bay window with an ax in his hand.
Terror trip-hammered adrenaline through her system as she scrambled to her feet and bolted for the stairs. She ran up the spiral staircase, hearing his booted feet behind her, crunching the glass on the living room floor. She looked down and saw him at the base of the stairs, holding the ax and looking out from behind the hockey mask with those demented eyes. He started up after her.
She turned to the heavy bookcase that stood against the wall of the blacony, and with all her strength, she pulled on it. The heavy bookcase tipped over, hitting the balcony railing and sending a rain of books down on her pursuer. Jason raised his hand to ward off the heavy books, but the case came crashing down on top of him.
Chris ran down the hall. She tried the bathroom door, then hesitated, realizing that would probably be the first place he would look. She ran down to the end of the hall, desperately trying to think of a place to hide. The closet!
She bolted inside and pulled the door shut behind her, locking it and bending down to peek out through the keyhole. There was no sign of him. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Sobbing and hyperventilating, she bit down on her knuckles to try and keep herself from making any noise. He’ll check the bathroom, then the bedrooms, and when he passes the closet and goes into Shelly’s room, I’ll have a chance to run back down the hall and get downstairs and out the front door . . .
She leaned forward and looked out through the keyhold once again. The hallway was empty, and everything seemed quiet. Maybe the falling bookcase had killed him, she thought, swallowing hard and trying to make herself think straight, fighting the mindless panic that was welling up inside her. But what if it had only knocked him out? What if she went out there and ran into him as he was on his way up the stairs to get her?
She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Then, clenching her hands into fists in an effort to keep herself under control, she squeezed herself back in behind the clothes hanging on the bar. And then she bumped into something . . . someone . . .
She turned and came face-to-face with Debbie’s blood-spattered corpse propped u
p against the closet wall. The carving knife protruded from her throat. She recoiled in terror as the body fell forward onto the floor of the closet and, unable to control herself, she cried out, then immediately slapped her hand over her mouth as she realized what she had done. She quickly bent down and glanced out through the keyhole . . . and saw Jason charging down the hallway, his ax raised, heading directly for the closet!
She jerked back only seconds before the ax came crashing through the wooden door, inches away from her. She screamed as the ax was pulled back for another shuddering blow, splintering the door. There was no way out. She was trapped! And then she glanced down at Debbie’s body, at the carving knife stuck through her throat . . .
She reached down, trembling, and pulled the knife out as the ax crashed through the closet door again, putting a gaping hole in it through which Jason shoved his arm as he groped for the lock. With all her might, Chris drove the knife though the back of his hand.
An ordinary man would have screamed in agony, but Jason merely let out a moan that was muffled by his mask and pulled his hand back. The ax fell to the floor. Pursuing her advantage, Chris lunged out of the closet, flailing at him with the knife, slashing at him furiously. He backed away, slipped on the water in the hall, and went down to one knee. The knife came down, narrowly missing his chest, and became embedded in his thigh. He howled with pain, clutching at his wounded leg. He was still between Chris and the stairway, blocking the hall. She remembered that there was a window in Shelly’s bedroom at the other end of the hall.
She turned and ran down the length of the corridor and grasped the doorknob. But the door was stuck. She shoved her shoulder into it, but it wouldn’t budge. When she threw herself against the door again, then kicked it as hard as she could, it burst open just as Jason plucked the carving knife out of his leg and hurled it at her. It whistled past her head and stuck in the door frame.
“No!” she scremed, and plunged into the bedroom. Without pausing, driven by sheer terror, she picked up a chair and hurled it through the window. It smashed through and fell to the ground below. She kicked out the remaining shards of glass, then squeezed through the window and hung from the sill on the second story. She had no choice, she had to do it. She took a deep breath as she prepared to drop when Jason reached through the broken window and grabbed the collar of her jacket. He started to haul her back in.
