Chapter Text
The night air was thick with the scent of burnt marshmallow and smoke curling into the dark night sky.
The children huddled together sitting on halved logs around a campfire, contently eating the smores they had been given by the counselors. The flames flickered in the moonlight, competing against the bright stars that cluttered the night sky. Michael sat alone on a smaller log away from the others, listening idly as the counselors each told their campfire stories one by one.
Each story garnered stronger reactions as they progressed. One of which, a comedic story shared by Jeff, had reached its conclusion and the giggles of the other children were ending.
Finally, there was one last counselor remaining.
Excited voices lowered to whispers as Scott cleared his throat to catch their attention. He shifted to position himself onto the center of the main log directly across from the children. He held his arms out in a dramatic flair as he leaned forward.
“Alright, before we call it a night,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make the younger campers lean in closer, “I think it’s time to tell you all one last story. One that serves as not only a scary one but also” he paused and scanned the curious eyes around the fire, “as a little… warning.”
The children’s murmurs quieted.
“You see,” the counselor continued, “this camp has a history. A real one.” He glanced toward the woods, where the trees stood tall and unmoving, their trunks vanishing into the night. “And if you think sneaking off into those trees for a little exploring is a good idea—” he let the words hang in the air “—well… you might wanna think again.”
A pause. The other counselors raised their eyebrows, exchanging looks—some impressed, others wary.
“Ever heard of the story of the lost boy of crystal lake?”
Some of the older kids nodded while others exchanged unsure glances.
Scott nodded, as if he expected their uncertainty.
Michael looked up.
He felt it then.
A shift in the air.
It wasn’t just the weight of the story or the tension creeping into the group.
It was something else.
The woods started to feel heavier—watchful.
The shadows stretched deeper, the leaves rustling, A faint rustling stirred from the woods. The wind, perhaps—but it carried an awareness with it.
The same presence he had felt before—lingering behind him when he left with the deputy. The same one that clung to the air when he met the strange boy in the woods.
But now its presence made itself known, as if the mention of the lost boy lured it closer.
As if it wanted Michael to know it was here and to pay heed to the following story.
“His name was Jason Voorhees,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make the firelight feel dimmer.
‘Jason’
Michael felt the name echo through his mind, curling at the edge of his thoughts like a hanging puzzle piece he didn’t know was missing.
“He was just a kid when it happened. A boy. A little younger than some of you. Came to a camp just like this one, even played in that same lake you all were swimming in today.”
Scott let the information settle. Some of the younger campers glanced toward the water’s dark surface, their fingers curling around their knees.
“Jason loved to explore,” the counselor continued, his gaze sweeping the group. “He was a curious kid, always wandering off on his own, sneaking into places he shouldn’t. No one could stop him—he liked being alone in the woods.”
“But one day, he strayed too far.”
Scott’s voice softened, almost as if he were recounting a tragic memory. “The counselors were supposed to be watching him… but they weren’t. They were too busy messing around, not paying attention. And Jason? He got lost. Alone.”
Michael felt the air around him tense and prickle, as if it were a fist clenched in anger.
He paused for a moment, “No one heard his cries. No one came to find him.”
The campers leaned in, breaths held.
“By the time they did realize he was missing, it was too late.” The counselor’s expression darkened. “They found him out there in the lake, floating face down. He had drowned.”
A heavy silence fell over the campfire. Someone shifted on their log, the wood creaking beneath them. A girl swallowed hard, hugging herself.
“They say his mother went mad when she found out,” Scott went on, lowering his voice. “That she took matters into her own hands. No one knows exactly what happened that night, but every counselor who was there… never made it out.”
A few campers gasped. Jeff murmured a compliment for Scott’s storytelling amongst the other counselors sitting around him.
“They say one of the last surviving counselors finally stopped her,” Scott continued. “And after that night, Camp Crystal Lake shut down for good. Left to rot. No one dared reopen it.”
He let the fire flicker in his eyes as he leaned forward.
“But the story doesn’t end there.”
The night air pressed in around them.
“When they went to recover Jason’s body…” He paused, dragging out the moment. “…It was gone .”
A shiver ran through the group. Someone muttered a quiet “ no way” ..
“Some say his spirit still wanders these woods,” the counselor murmured. “That he’s still lost… still trying to find his way back to camp.”
Michael barely noticed the way his breath caught.
The boy he had met.
Could it be him?
“And if you stray too far, if you wander alone …” Scott’s eyes scanned the kids, his voice a near whisper now.
“You might hear footsteps behind you,” Scott murmured. “Or feel something watching from the trees.”
Michael had already felt that before.
The wind picked up slightly, rustling the leaves overhead.
“And if you’re really unlucky…” He let the words hang. “He might take you with him.”
A log in the fire snapped loudly, making one of the kids yelp.
Michael held a brief breath, thinking of the bright blue eyes he had gazed upon earlier—striking, otherworldly beneath the boy’s mask. They had lingered in his mind.
If the deputy hadn’t interrupted… would those eyes have drawn him further into the woods?
Lured him further away from camp?
The counselor sat back, satisfied, but then added, “Of course… there’s another part to the story.” His voice took on a more sinister edge. “Some say it’s not just Jason’s spirit that haunts the abandoned campgrounds.”
A ripple of tension moved through the group. One of the girls clutched her arms.The tallest of the three, a boy with short brown hair—Wesley, Michael would later learn—surveyed the others, before looking back at his small group around him with a grin.
Michael straightened slightly.
“They say his mother never left ,” he whispered. “That her spirit still roams the ruins of that old camp… looking for revenge. And when she finds lost campers.”
As the counselor’s voice had dropped, drawing out the tension, Wesley subtly pushed himself off the log.
He moved with practiced ease, slipping behind the group until he was just behind Michael.
“—ones who wander too close to the abandoned site—”
Wesley waited. Let the moment build.
A cold hush settled over the group. Some inched closer together. Others nervously glanced toward the dark treeline, their young imaginations picturing figures in the shadows.
“She takes them, just like Jason was taken from her.”
A chill breeze rustled through the trees, slithering up the campers' spines like a cold, whispered warning.
Then—
A sharp crack from the darkness.
"BOO!"
Wesley’s hands clamped onto Michael’s shoulders as he shouted.
Screams erupted. A girl yelped, someone scrambled back off their log. A couple of boys gasped. A few kids scrambled back in alarm before realizing what had happened. Even one of the female counselors jerked in surprise.
Then laughter. Loud, unrestrained, coming from none other than Wesley and his crew. Wesley clutched his stomach, practically howling. “Oh man, you should’ve seen your faces! ”
Vickie shot to her feet, glaring. “Wesley! Enough.”
But some of the male counselors chuckled. Jeff shook his head with mirth, “Gotta admit, that was pretty good!”
Vickie and Terry turned her glare towards Jeff.
Wesley’s group patted themselves on the back for their well timed scare. Wesley smirked at the mixed reactions—some kids were giggling, some still catching their breath. But then his eyes landed on Michael.
No reaction.
Michael sat there, completely still. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t jumped—just slowly turned his head to look at Wesley.
A slow, deliberate movement.
Wesley’s grin stiffened.
Michael’s stare wasn’t angry. It wasn’t scared. It was just… empty.
Something about it made Wesley’s skin prickle.
He forced a scoff, lifting his hands from Michael’s shoulders, “Geez, Myers. You a statue or something?”
A few kids chuckled, but it was quieter now, uncertain.
Michael simply turned his attention back to the fire.
Wesley clenched his jaw and frowned.
Freak, the boy thought internally.
He dropped back to sit on his log back with the rest of his group, but not without one last glance at Michael.
Mark smiled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, that’s enough excitement. I think it’s time for bed.”
The campers settled, the last of the smores had been eaten, the fire’s glow reflecting off the sticky fingers and satisfied grins of the campers.The campers mood lightened from the prank and despite the frightening tale. They began to rise, some even stretching, the last remnants of tension dissolving and followed the counselors as they guided the groups back to their cabins.
Michael stood with them but didn’t move.
His gaze flickered toward the trees.
The image of the boy lingered in his mind. The mask. The eyes—so bright, so otherworldly beneath it. His name still curled at the edges of Michael’s thoughts, etched into his mind like something unfinished.
Jason.
If the lost boy from the story was really him.
The air around him remained heavy.
Unseen, but felt… Familiar.
He searched the woods as if he might glimpse something just beyond the veil of darkness.
It wasn’t Jason. It was something else.
A second presence. Where Jason’s had been focused—watching, waiting—this one was all-encompassing.
Smothering.
A force that pressed in from all sides, lurking just beyond sight.
Could it be her? The vengeful mother from the story?
Michael exhaled slowly, his fingers curling at his sides.
He wasn’t sure.
But he knew one thing.
The whispers stirred at the back of his mind, soft but insistent, urging him forward, teasing at his curiosity with a quiet insistence.
For better or worse, the boy had caught his interest.
Michael couldn’t ignore it.
He couldn’t let this go unanswered.
Michael had to go into the woods.
He had to find the boy.