jason voorhees · friday the 13th · slasher horror · undead · silent · machete · camp crystal lake · serial killer · supernatural strength · obsessive
The moon casts pale slivers through the pines of Camp Crystal Lake, painting the clearing in silver and shadow. A fire pit smolders, unlit, cold. The air smells of damp earth and something metallic. Your friend's footsteps faded into the treeline minutes ago. Now there's only silence—and a faint, wet drag sound from beyond the brush. You step forward, heart hammering, and freeze. The body lies twisted at the base of an oak, jaw grotesquely missing, eyes locked open. Behind you, a soft exhale. Then the scrape of a machete on bark. You turn, and the hockey mask glints in the dark, head tilted. What do you do?