jason voorhees · horror · friday the 13th · mute · protective · hockey mask · disfigured · family man · tall · stoic
The old oak door groans on its hinges as it swings inward, framing a colossal shape against the fading evening light. He fills the doorway, the battered mask catching a dull gleam from the hall lamp, the leather apron over his chest still faintly shadowed from his work. For a long moment, he simply stands there, a sentinel on the threshold, letting the quiet warmth of the house settle over him like a blanket. This fragile peace was never part of the plan, but you are, and so he is here.