Le Petite Mort- The Little Death

Time passed quickly when you were miserable and afraid. Jomo was both of those things during her ‘head-hunt’, and so day merged into night with shocking speed. She would’ve preferred it to drag, but to her disappointment the sun had died before she had explored even half of the woods.

Jomo knew what she was looking for. Something wooden, a cabin of sorts, rather like the one she had dressed in just the other day. It seemed likely that Voorhees would live in one of those things. They were perfect for storing weapons and other suspicious articles. Like dead heads, for instance.

Jomo shuddered. She remembered how Jason had looked at her when she had sighted him, how his emotionless gaze had pierced her heart. Perhaps he had been sizing her up to impale on a tree, or leave her decapitated like Bobby.

Well, it didn’t matter. His motives weren’t important. What was important was this stupid search ending before night caught up with Jomo completely and left her trapped in the darkness. It was lucky that just as she was thinking of turning back empty-handed she spotted a wooden cabin hunched just ahead. It looked oddly menacing for something so simply built. Jomo knew at once that she’d found Jason’s ‘home’. Swallowing down her apprehension she approached and tentatively pushed open the door.

“Oh my god,” she breathed.

The inside of the cabin was gloomy, but her eyes soon adjusted to the dark and she could see the room inside. At the very back was a table covered with unlit candles. Most were worn down into waxy stubs or were on their sides, as if somebody had swept their arm across the liege of candles in a horrible temper. When Jomo stepped through the high doorway to get a better look, she saw a trail of blood on the floor. It appeared to be fairly fresh.

She quickly dashed across the room towards a dark shape she’d spotted lying the floor. She crouched to its level. Upon seeing what it was, she almost wept but managed stopped herself just in time. She hadn’t cried in years.

It was Bobby’s head. That would usually be enough to make anybody break down into tears or even go mad. However, Jomo was able to remain sane and dry-eyed. Anyway, it was more the look of the decapitated object that upset her more than anything else. In life Bobby had been sweet and happy looking. His average face had been framed with ebony spikes gelled to perfectly precise points at the end. His eyes had always had a friendly, teasing gleam in them too. Now his skin was grey and sallow, his hair matted with dried blood, and his eyes were as dull and lifeless as his body had been.

“Oh Bobby, I’m sorry.”

Jomo put her own head in her hands and sighed heavily. She felt very old all of a sudden.

“I hope heaven exists and that you’re up there right now, ‘cause I know how much death sucks,” Jomo added after a moment. She was thinking wistfully of her cousin’s passing all those months ago. “Now I’m gonna put everything right. I hope you… damn, I’m talking to a dead guy. I’m going crazy.”

With good reason, she thought, and swallowed hard. Now she had to ready herself for the grisly task of actually touching Bobby’s head and carrying it. Trying not to feel nauseous she clutched a chunk of his lank hair in one fist and held the offending item out at arm’s length. She tried her best not to look at the blood steadily oozing from the jagged stump of neck still hanging on. Then Jomo turned back to the door with a churning stomach.

I can do this, she chanted to herself. I can do this without chucking up. Just don’t breath and keep both eyes directly in front. No need to look right or left. Just keep going. I’ll get through this.

She’d barely gone a few steps before she began to sweat heavily and that familiar squeezing sensation started to grip her belly.

“Oh no,” Jomo moaned, lurching off towards a bush. Something trickled down her arm from Bobby’s head. She dared to look down and meet his dead eyes, which seemed almost apologetic. Sorry for being dead, but you know, it really isn’t my fault. Please don’t vomit on me. Jomo nodded slightly, dragging a hand across her forehead, and stepped sideways back onto the path of flattened grass.

And she screamed.

* * * *

Back at the camp, Becky and Liz were in a tent together, smoking pot from a bong of Kevin’s. They were both terrified and traumatised by the news of Bobby’s death and had found comfort in drugs. For a while they smoked, talked lazily and lamented over their friend’s passing before eventually Becky randomly kissed Liz on the lips for over three seconds. When they broke apart, Liz blinked slowly.

“I never knew you were a lesbian.”

“I’m not,” Becky said calmly, breathing acrid smoke into the other girl’s face. “But I’m horny and Kevin’s not here. Otherwise I’d fuck his brains out.”

Liz giggled hysterically. “Mmm, yeah, I’d have some of that too.”

Becky casually groped her breasts as if she did this all the time.

“So, are we gonna have sex or what?”

“Is that even possible?”

“Do you have a dick?”

Liz could have sworn Becky was being serious. She had a hopeful expression on her face. Or it may just have been a stoned look. She couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“Nope. Is that a problem?”

Becky shrugged, unzipping her jeans.

“I guess not.”

Becky crawled on top of Liz but she pushed her away lightly and went for the bong instead. She ignored Becky’s grumbles of complaint and inhaled rapturously.

“Ah, this is good stuff. Where did you get it?”

Before Becky could answer the tent door was ripped open and she found herself being dragged out into the blinding sunlight by her hair. She screamed and kicked feebly, body numbed by drugs. One flailing foot caught the bong and smashed it. Liz glanced up, eyes glazed over, and sat in rigid shock as Becky was yanked to her feet with unnecessary force. She heard her grunt heavily.

“Who are you? Whadda ya want?” she slurred in a dazed tone.

Liz heard a snort of contempt.

“She’s stoned out of her head,” a boy’s voice announced disgustedly. “She’s all yours, Kevin. Wait, isn’t this the kid whose brother died?”

“Yeah.” That was Kevin’s voice. He sounded pissed. “Dumb bitch. C’mere!”

There was the sound of a sharp slap. Liz winced, sobering up a little. Becky had clearly started to cry because she kept sniffing and making choked sounds in her throat. The boys were pitiless. They told her that it served her right, that she should know better than to drug herself to the gills at a time like this. Didn’t she care her brother was dead? Stupid slut.

Liz peeked outside the tent just in time to witness a pair of twins lifting Becky off her feet and throwing her in a graceful arc straight into the lake. She broke the surface with an almighty splash and surfaced, spluttering hard. This seemed to clear her head very well. She screamed a string of curses and crawled onto the grassy bank, shaking off the dirty lake water like a dog. Her startling black eye make-up was now a smudge across her forehead.

“I’m sorry, ok?” she cried. The boys weren’t convinced. “It’s just I was so upset I thought a little pot would make things better, you know?”

Liz felt sorry for Becky and joined her, tenderly dabbing at the smudged mascara with her sleeve. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the boys humped a heavy-looking blue shape across the ground. She recognised it as the plastic sheet they’d been using as a picnic blanket. Liz realised what must be inside and made Becky turn away as Kevin unwrapped Bobby’s body from the bundle. The twins silently inspected it like a couple of scientists, but then one of them spoke abruptly.

“If your Jomo doesn’t come back with his noggin by nightfall we’d better go looking for her.”

“’Cause she might end up like Bobby,” his brother added helpfully.

“Which means pretty dead.”

“And missing a head.”

“And dripping with red.”

They high fived over their rhyming expertise.

“Got the message?” Kevin snapped at Liz. His shades were skewed at an odd angle, giving him a comical look, but his tone was so dark that she nodded firmly. She understood what they had to do. They would have to go deep into the woods like multiples of Little Red Riding Hood to find Jomo. And they’d better hope they didn’t run into the big bad wolf…

* * *

Jason stared down at the little girl with his one good eye. She was even smaller than he remembered; she barely reached his stomach. He supposed by average human standards she was only a bit shorter than normal, but to him she was almost doll like. Minute. Pretty. Innocent faced. But he knew she was bad because not only had she taken those filthy half naked photographs of herself, but she was now standing with wide and guilty eyes before him, the head of the dead boy dangling from one hand. She had stolen it from his home like a dirty little thief.

“Catch her, Jason!”

Jason lurched forward, machete held aloft, and saw a spark of terror leap across the girl’s face. She scampered away from him clumsily. Jason knew just by watching her move that he could catch her with little effort. She wasn’t very fit, plus the gruesome item she was clutching hampered her movement. It kept swinging back and hitting her in the chest. Thus she was no challenge to him. If he liked, he could charge ahead and split her in two, but he wanted to drag her death out for as long a he could. So, casually giving the girl a head start, he slowed to a purposeful pace. In time, she would die.

But not yet…

* * *

Jomo could hear her own blood pumping in her eardrums, as heavy and ominous as Death’s own footsteps. She was so scared she found that she was running blindly in no particular direction. She was simply trying to get as far away from that monster of a man as she possibly could. His image was still imprinted on her vision like the blob of colour you see when you stare at a light bulb for so long. His white and red hockey mask was the most prominent feature, but Jomo also noticed his dirty, ragged jacket and his solid shape. Jason’s menacing size wasn’t what frightened her the most though- what really sent shivers down her spine was the way he had looked at her, as if he knew and held contempt for her. As if she was little more than shit scraped from his boot.

Yet within that was an unnatural blankness, the kind she had seen in Bobby’s eyes. It was the look of the dead. And that was what motivated her to run as if all the demons in hell were after her.

He’s walking, she thought in disbelief after looking quickly over her shoulder once. Just walking. He thinks… knows… I’m gonna have to stop running eventually. And I’d be a lot faster if I wasn’t carrying Bobby’s head but I’ll be damned it I’m dropping it now!

She ran headlong into a tree and wheeled off, clutching her forehead with her free hand. A stream of blood ran into her eyes but she couldn’t stop for even a minute. She continued to run, thighs aching, breath burning her throat, on and on through the endless woods. She could no longer see where she was going; the blood had run into her eyes. It mingled with her tears of exhaustion, further blurring her vision. Yet she only scrubbed at it a little with her fist and carried on with her rapid escape.

Then suddenly she burst out of the woods and narrowly avoiding tumbling into the lake. With sweat plastering her hair against her face Jomo stared wildly round until she spotted the familiar circle of tents in the near distance. There were no teenage figures flitting about around them but Jomo didn’t care. Kevin would be there somewhere with his lovely wreck of a car. Even though the only thing keeping her going was her adrenaline. There would be no stopping Jomo this time. She was getting out of here no matter what.

She moved in a frantic circle and saw, to her alarm, that Jason was advancing not far behind her. How had he moved so fast yet so quietly? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural. Perhaps the newspaper had been right and he really was un-dead.

Don’t be stupid. He’s just a man. A huge, evil man, but still human.

Jomo dashed onwards, feeling a muscle pang in her side, and lurched with relief into the campsite. She felt on her knees in the remains of their fire, body wracked with pain. Jomo made a quick decision- Bobby’s head would have to be left here for the police to collect. It was little more than a burden now and besides, the smell it emitted was making Jomo feel beyond sick. Luckily his body was lying in its plastic blue wrapping nearby. She shoved the head inside, drawing long breaths of relief, and scrabbled to her feet.

“Kevin! Liz! Becky! Twins! Where the fuck are you?” she bellowed. There was literally no trace of her friends anywhere. Not a sound could be heard from them. Confused, Jomo walked unsteadily round to where Kevin had parked the car. Then she stopped, stared and blinked hard. It was gone. All that was left of it were deep tyre marks where her friends had clearly made a rapid turn- a rapid turn out of Camp Crystal. They had left Jomo alone with no means of escape. Her own friends.

She felt her hear flutter in a mixture of rage and dread as she sensed somebody coming up behind her. She swivelled around and studied her opponent, utterly without hope. He stared back, machete gripped tightly in one hand.

I guess it’s just you and me now, Jason, thought Jomo. This is where it ends. With the two of us, face to face, and no way of going back.