Pamela phone

Glo looked up and down the road, but there wasn't a vehicle in sight, so she took out her cellphone—her mind flooded by sudden memories of Trick dying, choking on his own receiver—and pressed the "on" switch. She hadn't used the cell once since leaving Seattle so the power had to be good, but would she still have a signal?

"Yes!"

Her first thought was to speed dial the local sheriff's office, but then she remembered how well that had gone last night and thumped 911. Her call was answered right away.

"They can't help you, dear," said Pamela Voorhees through the earpiece. "No one can. You're too late."

Glo screamed in shock and threw the phone to the ground. Almost immediately, she made a move to pick it up again, but the cell was broken. She turned and glared in the direction of the severed head.

"This is all your fault, you old bitch!" she snarled and ran back to where the head was lying, fully intending to stomp on Pamela until there was nothing left of her. But when Glo raised her trail boot, she caught sight of the shriveled eye sockets and was transfixed. Her foot hovered in mid-air as the cadaverous gaze held her against her will.

Back on the road, Pamela's laughter rang out of the shattered cellphone.

   Friday the 13th: Carnival of Maniacs, chapter 7