Her name was Crystal

Ok, before we start our little story I wanted to point out a few things. First, this is based on the new movie with the new Jason. He's alive, folks. No zombie stuff here. You necros have to look somewhere else for your fix. ^^;;

Secondly, this Jason, as in the new movie, is smarter than the typical Jason from the movies in the 80s. (And FvJ) I'm not trying to make Jason completely out of character here, (despite the fact that this is a romance fanfic).. this is my interpretation of the new, upgraded, living Jason from the new movie, (which was AWESOME btw, GO SEE IT.)


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Hours. For what felt like hours. No.. it felt like forever. Forever the two of them took turns on her.. holding her arms down, pulling her legs apart, beating her about the face when she screamed for mercy and kicking her when she tried her best to fight them off. They raped her over and over again.. for what seemed like forever. They didn't stop when she'd passed out. They didn't stop when she'd stopped breathing. They only stopped when they got tired. When they were spent. When they were finished.

One was fastening up his belt and the other was soaking up blood with a towel when they both noticed her breathing had resumed. Shallow, short little breaths. Her heart was beating. Barely.

She was alive.

They didn't have any sharp objects to kill her with. They also did not want to strangle her. She was nearly dead already, and it was cold outside. They would drive far up into the back country, take her far out into the woods someplace and leave her for the bears. Nature would take it's course, and if by chance the police did find her remains one day there would be no way for them to trace her human killers. They would get away with this crime.


They celebrated their cleverness by stopping at the liquor store for a case of beer before pulling out of town and starting their hours-long journey to the middle of nowhere. More than a few toasts to themselves caused the van to swerve dangerously on the road a few times.. and when they felt they'd driven far enough they managed to drive right into a ditch, and then crunch into a tree when they attempted to park.

The front bumper was badly dented, but it didn't matter. It would still run. All they needed to do was unload their half-dead cargo and they could be on their way. They'd seen a run down, old motel a few miles back in the village they'd passed through. They would stay there to sleep off their hangovers, then leave this northern state and head south.


It was nighttime. They stumbled around awkwardly in the dark, carrying the limp girl between them. They dropped her and stopped to piss out the alcohol they'd consumed. They laughed at themselves, pissing on trees like dogs. One felt sick and stumbled over to a bush to vomit. The other laughed even harder. The laughter drown out the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves nearby.

The laughing one zipped his fly and turned to locate where they'd dropped the girl. In less than a second he was pinned to the tree he'd just pissed on, a machete through his ribcage, severing his spinal cord and buried three inches into the bark. Life drained from his eyes and pooled around his twitching feet.

The other one, careful not to get covered in his own vomit, stood and straightened, wondering why his friend had stopped laughing at him. Perhaps he'd had too much to drink and had passed out. That would be bad, because spending the night in the woods was not an option. He suddenly had a really creepy feeling tickle up his spine and he called his friends name. When he received no answer he too began looking for where they'd dropped the girl, wanting to get their job finished. He heard a sickening snap and suddenly his feild of vision was filled no longer with what had been in front of him.. but with what was behind him. He'd thought he saw a huge man, and then he saw nothing but darkness. His body fell to the ground, his head now facing the wrong way.

Jason rolled his shoulder, his neck cracking. He was going to be sore tomorrow, thanks to the force he'd used to thrust his machete through the first man. He was just a tiny bit rusty. Just a little bit out of practice in the art of killing. He'd been lucky this past year. No one had ventured into his camp. Not even in the summer, those couple of months that attracted the highest numbers of visitors to his lake. Most years he ended up killing at least three or four foolish people. This past year he'd not had to kill even one, and he'd started to feel comfortable in his solice. In the empty, lonely, but peaceful world he'd created for himself. The only world he'd ever known. The only one he remembered.

He'd been there his entire life. At this broken down old campground where children once laughed and played and sang songs around fires and swam in the crystal waters of the lake. Young counsellors ignorantly kept not-so-watchful eyes on their young charges and older staff were interested in the money their camp brought in. This was gorgeous land, and they wanted to mow down a few more acres to expand and allow more children whos parents would pay gorgeous amounts of money to be rid of them for a summer. And to cook for all those children was a middle-aged woman who worked for scraps if only to have enough money to feed and clothe her only beloved son, little Jason Voorhees. She thought the fresh air and the open space would be a wonderful place for her little Jason to grow up in. She agreed to work for next to nothing if only she was allowed to live at the camp year round. The camps only neighbor was a tiny little village a few miles away, and beyond that there was nothing. Not for hundreds of miles. Elias Voorhees would never find them. That great, hulking, beast of a man who hit her and laughed at her deformed, ugly son would never find them here. They would be safe. Jason would be safe.

But he wasn't safe. He'd drown. They'd let him drown. They didn't watch him. So she killed them all. All except one. She lost her head over the one she'd missed. The police had come and taken the children home. The camp was abandoned and left to rot. The owners couldn't wipe the slate clean. No one wanted to send their children to cursed Camp Crystal Lake. And so they gave up on it, left it, and forgot about it. Nothing left but death and bad memories.. and the little boy who did not drown. The little boy who saw his mother die. The little boy...

Jason.


He'd been angry that his year of peace had come to an end. He hated intruders. That was why he drove his machete into the first man with such force. That was why he was going to be sore in the morning.

Jason had a hard time pulling his weapon back out of the tree. It was lodged in pretty good. Eventually it yanked free and the dead man fell into a heap on the forest floor. Jason wiped his machete clean of blood on the mans jacket, then set to work wrapping up the bodies in the tarp he'd stashed a few feet away. With them he would do what he always did with the people he killed.. burn them. He took them to a place he'd set up in the woods just for this purpose. He burned the bodies and buried the bones. Otherwise it attracted animals.

He was nearly finished his work and trying to decide if he was going to carry the men to the burning place one at a time, which would take hours, or if he would try to carry both. An almost silent groan startled him badly. He ripped his machete from the sheath tied at his leg and whirled to face whatever living creature was behind him... but there was nothing. His head tilted slightly, and he wondered if he was hearing things.. but then there it was again. Small and weak.. and a few feet to his left.


Jason pushed the long grasses and bush aside to reveal a broken and bloodied young girl laying on the ground. The eye on her face that was not bruised shut was opened slightly, it's gaze watery and unfocused. The girl twitched and her shallow breathing hitched a tiny bit when huge hands reached for her.

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I've been wanting to write this for awhile now. Hope you guys like it. More to come, I promise.