I've Heard Stories About You... (REPOST)

A/N: Sorry, I had to repost this. It's been a while since I updated the story, because I've moved to another state and am settling into a relationship with a Jason of my own (http://www.myspace.com/wickedbeard), and managed to fail at remembering my login info. Anyways...so, I am copy/pasting the first seven chapters as they've already been posted, and adding the new 8th chapter, to the end. Enjoy and thank you!

1981-

Her pale, slender fingers squeezed tighter. The throat beneath them convulsed as he tried to call for help...or mercy. The only response is her fingers twitching to grasp tighter around the reddened column of flesh. 'Never again you son of a bitch, you hear me? Never again!' She says, in a raspy voice. This man deserved this. To lose his life slowly by her hands. His dirty fingernails scratched at her upper arms, the only parts of him that he had the energy left to move. Finally, his struggling ended and his body fell limp. His eyes remained open and staring, his mouth left open in the act of gasping for his last breaths. 'Never again,' she whispers, keeping her grip around his neck tight. Under her body, she can feel the last twitches of his nervous system taking hold and leaving in short bursts of random convulsions.

She takes a deep breath and releases her fingers, sure that there's no possible way that he could be alive any longer. Her muscles cramp as she moves off of him and kneels in the mud next to the now lifeless body of her father. He was never her father, really. A man that happened to married to her mother for a decade and provided half of the genes she, herself, is now cursed with. Thankfully, most people remarked how like her mother she looked, rather than any similarities between her and this man. He'd taken to beating both her and her mother until either of them passed out, unsure when or even -if- they'd ever wake again. Soon, the beatings turned to more intimate touches when she was still barely the age of most kindergarteners, and by the fourth grade it was all out rape. The mental and verbal abuse were a constant even before she'd been born. This man had gotten what he'd deserved...for both her's and her mother's sakes.

She felt nothing as she forcibly removed life from the man's body. Her body, mind, emotions...all of it, completely numb. Whether by terror or relief, she can't say. Still, as she stared down at the man, nothing. No tears in her eyes, no clensh in her stomach or lump in her throat. Only the rapid rise and fall of her breathing and the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Her dark red hair clings to her face, wet with rain and mud. The rage she felt causes her nearly nude body to tremble as she stands and looks around for a place to drag the body. The lake. Of course. Her eyes roam over the thick green bushes before catching a glimpse of the reflected moon beyond some thinning trees, on the lake's edge.

With the last bit of strength, fuelled purely by determination, she drags the lifeless body of her father; using his own belt as a dragging noose around his neck, to do so. She doesn't feel the sharp pebbles in the mud, on the naked soles of her feet. Or the rain pelting the rest of her naked skin, aside from a bra and pair of panties. None of it matters to her, right now. She wades through the murky water of Crystal Lake and allows the body to float behind her, as she does so. The lake seems eerily still, aside from her movements, causing the splashing water and rain to sound even louder in the darkness. She wallows back to the bank to find a heavy rock, then drags it out to where the body floats silently. She hauls the rock up and sets it roughly on the dead man's stomach, ensuring that he'll remain on the bottom of the lake forever...or, until someone discovers it. By which time, she'll hardly be around.

She doesn't bother to look back at the water as she wallows out of it. Her breathing regulates itself as she walks, zombie-like, toward a rotting dock. Some of the planks of wood hung down into the water, but she stepped over them as if they were a natural part of how it had been made. A shiver wracks her body and she lowers herself to sit on the edge of the dock. Her legs hang over the edge, but not quite long enough to reach into the water. This lake is surrounded in legends and horror stories. She's added to them, now. But, was she trully a murderer? Or a vindicator? The hero or the villain? Whatever it made her, the act she'd committed, she didn't care. It was done and couldn't be undone. She has no regrets. Would never have them, even if she were found and laid to rot in a jail cell somewhere. It would be better than life with that man. That man and his horrible hands and mouth. The thought sends another shiver along her spine and she brings her knees up to rest her chin on them.

Where would she go, now?

((Firstly! Let me warn anyone that reads this...I know my writing rather sucks. I'm posting this raw; uneditted. And, I have a bad habit of not finishing stories in a quick manner. I'm sorry if some of my chapters are short...I will only be able to write bits and pieces as they come to me. This was just sort of a plot bunny that nagged me. I haven't pre written anything for it. So, if I write myself into a corner..well..fuck me. :) I will do my best not to. This story will take place in 1981, when Jason still has his original body and hasn't been...er...resurrected into a...well..whatever he is, now. So, I don't consider it Necrophilia when my character and Jason end up together (which will be happening.) Also, my character is loosely based on myself...with the abuse and background story. So, don't think I'm poking fun at forced incest, abuse, or any of that. I take it VERY seriously...and this story is sort of a way for me to release some of my pent up frustration in dealing with it, myself. So..anyways...this is the beginning bit.))