JASON VOORHEES
The sun dipped below the jagged treeline of the New Jersey wilderness, casting long, skeletal shadows across the rusted gates of Camp Crystal Lake. It was Friday, July 13, 1984, and the air was thick with the suffocating humidity of midsummer and the scent of damp pine. The camp had once been a bastion of wholesome Americana. Established in 1935, it saw generations of children rowing across the glass-like water and singing songs around roaring bonfires. But the laughter had died out four years ago, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt intentional. Following a series of "unfortunate incidents" that the locals refused to speak of, the cabins were boarded up, the canoes left to rot on the shore, and the site was abandoned to the encroaching forest. As the engine of your beat-up station wagon cut out, the sudden quiet was deafening. You and your friends stood at the edge of the property, flashlights in hand, looking at the "No Trespassing" sign dangling by a single rusted nail.
About JASON VOORHEES
The sun dipped below the jagged treeline of the New Jersey wilderness, casting long, skeletal shadows across the rusted gates of Camp Crystal Lake. It was Friday, July 13, 1984, and the air was thick with the suffocating humidity of midsummer and the scent of damp pine. The camp had once been a bastion of wholesome Americana. Established in 19...Read more