Fridat the 13th ( The Actual Story) Introduction One

Fridat the 13th ( The Actual Story) Introduction One

twistedstoryteller123's picture

Friday the 13th


Part One- Opening Day

1. Camp Crystal Lake always gathered children through their last two weeks of Summer and keep them until the first day of Fall. This is the first day of those two weeks and the children were flocking like cattle from a herd; fifties style cars drove through the makeshift wooden squared entrance way reading “ Welcome to Crystal Lake” in bold painted yellow letters. Some campers were already exiting their vehicles in front of the Camp Counselor’s main office, where parents sign in their children for a great two weeks of fun! Young camp counselors were outside to greet the individual children with their faux peppy behavior, which came through waving hands and shouting- an understanding, childish behavior to connect with the children.

Camp Crystal Lake is composed of five cabins- the main office being the biggest- surrounding an open dirt area that will eventually house a bonfire to house spooky campfire stories and marshmallow roasting. Beyond the camp, along a path, is a boathouse with a long wooden dock extending out into the lake partially and towering above it is a single lamp that connects to a generator.

Slipping from the main office is a middle aged man with balding brown hair- that if seen close up, would showcase hints of grey- wearing a brown shorts outfit around his pudgy build. He removes a round brimmed hat from his head and wipes his failing hairline of the approaching sweat. A smile crosses his thick lips in hopes of a good camp season, and from the looks of it, seems to be going very smoothly. This was Jacob Christy, a man that has called Camp Counseling his career for almost thirty-four years, watching with that smile as children pass through his doors to the service desk. He gives his hellos and good mornings as they pass.

Slipping through the doors is an attractive young woman in her early twenties wearing a blue sweater and long white dress, her belly bulging out abnormally to indicate that she was in the later stages of her pregnancy. She has a youthful, angelic face with wide pale blue eyes, a slender nose, and thin lips, which are surrounded by sweat y strands of dark brown hair. She leans against a nearby wall and catches her breath, yearning to stop the aching kicks of her only child. She knew this wasn’t Braxton Hicks , for she was too far into the pregnancy. No, this was the real deal and it didn’t fair well with her.

“ I see you’re fairing well, huh, Pamela?” says Jacob with a concerning smile toward the woman, who chuckles playfully.

“ Yeah, as well as woman about to bust open with child”, she said with a joking smile.

“ How far along are you?” he says curiously.

“ Not far. According to my recent doctor’s visit, they say he’s going to be here in a few months. I definitely believe them on that. This child is killing me and it feels like he’s about to come,” she replies with a wince, as if stabbed in the side by an unseen blade.

“ A beautiful thing, isn’t it? To know that you’re about to give life to a precious baby. Yeah, at first, it is rough, but hang in there long enough and you’ll discover something precious,” assures Jacob with a confident nod, which seem to make Pamela feel slightly better. He was right, this is something precious, regardless of what she’s feeling now.

“ Yeah, inside this annoyed mother is something proud and beam, I’ll let know when I get to that point,” she jokes with a nervous laugh, but it seem agitate the child.

“ Yeah. So, what are the names, if you don’t mind me asking?” interrogates Jacob with a cocked brow.

“ Jason, if it is a boy, and Sarah, if it is a girl. I like those names. They’re homely and typical. I don’t need to give my child some strange name that will later haunt them with clichéd nicknames and horrible childish jokes”, she replies wholeheartedly, smiling when those names plays in her mind. They were perfect names for her, even if no one else likes them.

“ Ah, fine names! Fine names, indeed, Pamela,” he said like a cheerful king to his people.

“ By the way, I managed to fix some pies for tonight’s ceremonies. I am sure the children want something homely to encourage a nice stay at these campgrounds. I know I sure would. The idea of having mother’s comfort when you’re away at camp seems like a good idea. I baked apple, cherry and chocolate pie," she manages through the uncomfortable feeling, which Jacob nods in approval.

She could remember smelling her mother’s pies baking and it made her feel nice and safe, which should translate well to these children, who are not old enough to veer from their mothers. Most of these children are no older than twelve years. If she remembers right, the oldest she seen was a twelve year old boy that came here last year.

“ Why don’t you go home, Pamela? You look like you’re having a hard time,” denotes Jacob watching, the poor young woman struggle against her pregnancy. She needed a break from what her child was doing to her and get off of her feet and have a good rest. It’s not good to see a pregnant woman on her feet all the time, it’s unhealthy.

“ No, I’m fine, really. I am just struggling a bit, that’s all,” she argues with a shake of her head. This wasn’t necessary and pointless. She lasted this long, so why not continue through to the end? She will just endure it until the end.

“ Quit being stubborn and heed the advice of your boss. When the boss talks about taking a break, then I suggest you take it while you can,” he retaliates with a shake of his head. She was being silly and needed to relax. He understands that she’s having trouble and acting independent, but she needs to do to help the baby.

“ Alright, alright! I understand what you’re saying. I will go home and relax. See you tomorrow?” she says, giving into his demands. She walks down the stairs and slips through a small crowd to the path going toward the dock, passing it to the woods, which the path cuts through. She follows it for half a mile until she comes upon a simple four room cabin just outside of the campground boundaries, slipping in through the front wooden door.

Her home was made into four rooms with the living room/ kitchen combination being the biggest of any the rooms. It’s a homely little building that would be perfect for a family to live in. The living room had a simple look of three pieces of green furniture, which include a love seat, couch and chair, all sitting around a wooden coffee table. Surrounding the furniture are various pictures of her family, whether they be dead, a fond memory or something that once held purity. One picture always catches her glance when she walks by, the photo of her brother Elias. He used to be a nice, quiet young man that cared for Pamela when no one else would, the perfect older brother. But something happened between them that makes that nothing more than a fond memory yearning to become reality, yet again. She can’t stand to look at that picture, but doesn’t want to let that memory go away. Adjacent to living room is the kitchen and a hall with two other rooms fading behind it, her bedroom and a guest bedroom. Her kitchen is composed of a wooden round table with three chairs with wooden countertops surrounding it. At the end of the counter is a white fridge that holds just enough food for a small family. Over the countertops are hanging cabinets that conceal various plates and glasses.

She walks into her home and grabs the agonizing photo of Elias and sits down in the chair, rubbing her stomach firmly. Her child was slightly kicking and she tries to calm him. Her eyes examine the pure smile he once held in his hey day, a warm insignia that let you know everything will be alright, but that was in the past, it’s always in the past. This moment, this faux truth has been clouded by something horrible he had done, but she never spoke of it, drowning it out with something more charitable and promising. Unbeknownst to her, her eyes begin to water those fond memories of what could have been, rather than what is happening now. The slight pain shifting in her stomach adverts her attention toward the soul in her stomach, tossing the picture aside and singing a soft lullaby:

“ Sleep my weary child and sing your dreams to me. I’m here when you need me during that slumbering. Dream, dream those fantastical dreams and never think about tomorrow. I’m watching you and wavering the harm, my special little baby,” she sings softly to her moving belly as it slowly calms down to the sound of her voice, which she plays off as the song.


She begins to slowly shed tears as both eyes close in mental pain. This is not how she wants her child to live, and yet, she seems to be helpless against this ambition. This life is so unfair and unjustified, it’s something that seems to becoming horrible and an endless nightmare. Her eyes slowly open to reveal a bloodshot, gazing down at her slender wrists that decorate in various weak scars, the scars of someone who can’t handle what has been given to her. It’s not based on what she bares now, but what the past held for her in those weaken times. No one should result to these scars, they promote something demeaning and reckless, but what could she do? She shakes her head of those thoughts and wipes away the burning tears. This is the type of stress she doesn’t need, for it might harm the child she is going to eventually have. Stress might do something unstable to the child and she doesn’t need that right now.

She shakes her head again and hangs the photo back on the wall, walking into the kitchen to gather a glass of water, leaning on the counter in deep thought. The soothing water slides down her throat through a slow slip. Her eyes continue to shed tears, as if second nature were kicking in, and she wipes them aggressively away. This seems to always happen when she comes home, those damn pictures provoke traumatic tears that will never heal her emotionally or mentally. She looks at her watch latched around her slender arm, which reads ten till noon. Perhaps a nap is something she definitely needs at this time, slipping to one of the back rooms. Her bedroom had three significant things lying in it: a comfortable queen size bed with thick covers, an oak vanity dresser and a walk in closet. She flips on the light switch and squints into the glowing light, and walks around to the side of the bed and lays gently upon the bed. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, trying to filter out any negative notions. And before too long, she finally gave into the sleep and falls into a quick deep slumber.

She wakes up to the sound of someone singing in her house, slowly opening her eyes in a dark bedroom. She sits up and looks around against a drowsy feeling, listening to the singing, which seems to be coming from her living room. She slips out of bed cautiously and peeks out of her bedroom door to see a strange figure standing in one of the corners in her living room. Had someone followed her to her house and entered her home? She watches in the shadows as this stranger kneels to something in the corner humming gently. What is this person doing in the corner? She wants to shoo them out of her house, but doesn’t know if they’re carrying a weapon of any kind.

“ Do you think that they will know who their real father is, Pamela?” said the shape with a masculine voice, which makes her heart run cold and every muscle tense in her body. That voice sounded eerily familiar. She doesn’t respond, watching as this shape slowly turn toward her, but made no real definition, as if the shadow was there to torment and confuse her. He steps to the side and her eyes widen at the sight of a bloody fetus lying dead in the corner. It starts to pulsate like a heartbeat and the sound of a child screaming could be heard deep in her head. She clenches it and falls to her knees as a pool of blood forms around her dropped knees. Her eyes open to the sight of blood, crawling backwards with a bloodcurdling scream.

Like a scary jack and the box puppet, the frightened young woman jolts up in her bed with sweat streaming down her face and neck, and eyes dilated with a widen trepidation. Tears stream down her soft, round cheeks as eyes wander around her illuminated bedroom. She gets out of bed and walks into the living room to see it empty, sighing with relief at the result. It had been a nightmare, one of many she’d been having since a incident. This one seem to be worse than the others, leaving her scared to go back to sleep in her own house. She looks at the clock on the wall, which reads four in the afternoon. Time to get back to work and forget all this silly sleeping. She slips into the bathroom, a small room with sink and it’s vanity, a toilet and bath tube, running water and cupping her hands under the cool flowing liquid. She splashes the water in her face and enjoys the soothing comfort of it, the electric realism from that horrendous dream that felt so real.



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timothyb's picture

Thanks twisted, I really enjoyed reading that teaser. I can not wait until you post more. Thanks.

twistedstoryteller123's picture

This is actually the story, not a teaser.

timothyb's picture

I'm sorry. I really enjoyed that story. Gives us the insite about Jason and the entire series of movies that followed. Wissh this was thought about sooner. Thanks for sharing twisted I enjoyed reading your story.

twistedstoryteller123's picture

It's nothing. I can understand how you can see it as a teaser, though, but yeah, it is the story. I am just showing page by page. I wanted to give an actual realistic story instead of her being beheaded and him seeking reveng.  I want to do what Victor Miller could of done if he had the time.

timothyb's picture

Thanks, I really enjoyed that. Nice to see somebody who wants to give something other than what was offered in the movies.

twistedstoryteller123's picture

Added some more. Start reading" She could remember smelling her mother’s pies baking and it made her feel nice and safe, which should translate well to these children, who are not old enough to veer from their mothers. Most of these children are no older than twelve years. If she remembers right, the oldest she seen was a twelve year old boy that came here last year" part.

timothyb's picture

I like where this is going. You are a very talented writer. Thanks for sharing.

twistedstoryteller123's picture

Thanks. Does it have the " Friday" vibe to it?

timothyb's picture

HELL YEAH!!!  Thanks.

twistedstoryteller123's picture

I am taking out the sexual part. I am having making out, but that's how far I will go. I will make the revenge sequence more emotional than literal. But I am keeping the graphic violence intact by adding cool death scenes and eerie atmosphere.


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