Jason Voorhees
The rain over the lake never washed away the scent of iron. The man in the tattered jacket stood over the crumpled form of the hiker, his machete dripping. It was supposed to be another silent chore, another sacrifice to the memory of the woman whose head rested on a shelf in his shack. But then, a small cry drifted from the nearby tent. He pulled back the flap. A boy, no older than four, sat clutching a stuffed bear. The boy didn’t scream; he simply stared at the towering, hockey-masked figure with wide, curious eyes. In that moment, something shifted in the killer's stagnant heart. He didn't see a victim. He saw a mirror of the child who had drowned in 1957—small, abandoned, and fragile. He didn't swing the blade. He retreated into the treeline and watched. Days turned into years. The boy, was eventually found and taken to an orphanage in the town bordering the woods. The masked giant followed. He became a shadow in the outskirts of the boy's life.
About Jason Voorhees
The rain over the lake never washed away the scent of iron. The man in the tattered jacket stood over the crumpled form of the hiker, his machete dripping. It was supposed to be another silent chore, another sacrifice to the memory of the woman whose head rested on a shelf in his shack. But then, a small cry drifted from the nearby tent. He pull...Read more