At the same time, the burning club landed with a thud on the side of his head.

The blow knocked him sideways. He dropped the knife.

It was Russ! He had a thick piece of wood which he had set on fire. He clubbed the man again and again, knocking him down to the rock floor. Summer found the knife. She staggered over to the fallen man. She fell to her knees. While Russ beat him, she sliced away at the fallen man's back. Then Russ pressed the burning stick against the man's orange and black sweater and navy blue pants, setting fire to his clothes.

It sounded like a hundred umbrellas were opening over their heads. Summer looked up. The fire and smoke were helping in another way as well. The fumes were flushing out the bats, sending them screeching.

The flames spread around the fallen man’s tall body, outlining him in orange and red. Summer and Russ stepped back from the heat.

But as they backed away, the flaming figure slowly worked his way to his knees, and then his feet. He started toward them, a walking wall of flame. He didn't need a weapon now, because his entire body was a torch. He staggered after them, lunging for them. They tried to dodge out of his way, but the tiny grotto was cramped. It was as if they were playing some insane game of tag. It. Not it. Dead. Not dead.

Summer could hear the man's flesh crackling and sizzling, she could see him blackening and melting and dripping. She saw his bones showing through, and then she saw those bones turning black, and still he tottered after them. And through it all, the white hockey mask remained pure and uncharred and—

"The mask!" Summer screamed. For she was remembering what Slick had said. The mask possessed people.

Just then, the man lunged. Summer tried to back away from his touch, but she came up against the rock, and the burning fingers closed around her throat, searing her skin like a brand.

Just then, Russ dove onto the man's burning back, bringing him crashing up against the wall right next to Summer.

The man turned, straight-arming his flaming arm into Russ's face. He marched Russ backward, landing fiery blows to Russ's stomach one after another.

"The mask!" Summer screamed again. She jabbed the knife at the back of the man's head where the black strap was, hoping she could cut the mask off.

The strap didn't break.

The man in the mask turned and hugged her to his burning body with both hands.

But just then, Russ closed his powerful hands around the top of the mask and pulled down with all the strength in his arms, all the strength in his fingers, all the strength he had put into those muscles in hour after hour of workouts.

There was a sudden, sickening, ripping sound as the mask— and Teddy's face—came off in his hands.

Friday the 13th: Road Trip, chapter 25