Jason's aura 2

Down in the waters, deep down, it was another world entirely. Fish floated serenely above the lake’s bed, effortlessly negotiating their way through both nature's obstacles and man-made debris.

To them, it was like any other expanse of water.

Apart from the breathing. The low, rhythmic evidence that a heart pumped somewhere within this labyrinth.

Inhale...

..exhale.

There was an edge to it. A dark, foreboding temperament, like a bulging boiler ready to explode.

Inhale...

..exhale.

The sound buzzed sluggishly through the water, giving every sentient life-form pause for thought. An alien was living in the center of their kingdom. Some of the lake's creatures were smart enough to register its location, judging by the sound waves, and give it a wide berth. Others were brainless, careless or both, so traveled wherever their fancy took them.

These latter creatures would venture into the intruder's vicinity and momentarily sense the all-consuming throb of death and decay. Then they would twitch gently as they sank to the lake's base, weighed down by evil's crushing might, landing on top of a pile of equally dead acquaintances.

Sitting amid many such rotting flesh-heaps was the source of this malevolence. From a distance, it looked like just another bump on the lake's floor.

If you were in a position to look closer, you would observe that the bump looked very much like an upright head. Or, at least, it appeared to have eyes and a mouth.

Closer still, you would see that the face was uglier and more twisted than you could have dreamed.

Dangerously close now, you would look at the single eye; that wide, furious eye, twisting next to a dead socket.

Then you would turn and frantically swim for the surface, the thing's breathing now seeming to rattle around inside your own skull.

   Friday the 13th: Hate Kill Repeat, chapter 1

At times, the watery depths seemed to play with your mind, alter your perceptions. Rosen was prepared for this and, after five years on the job, he took it into account. Realizing that underwater searches were, by their nature, disturbing experiences was part of the professional's job, just like identifying formations of rock and weed where human corpses were more likely to become snagged.

In these five years, though, he had never heard a voice inside his head.

The voice wasn't actually saying anything, at least nothing he could discern. It was a soft, sing-song voice, like that of a little kid. A child playing all by itself. A child forced to make its own entertainment when mother wasn't around. The other kids wouldn't play...

Jesus, he thought. Why the merry hell am I thinking like this? I've got to find a new partner until Stratton's fcking foot heals up. All this underwater work must be putting undue pressure on my brain.

He plunged, pointing the torch beneath him, until the lake floor rose up to meet his feet. Was it his imagination, or was the water getting colder?

Now, where was that head?

He turned almost a full circle until the torch beam found the hideously decayed thing, standing upright on the lake's bed, the neck buried in the mud. Rosen guessed it had been here a while. Either that, or the guy was always an ugly fck.

The child's voice was louder, yet still indistinct.

The head opened its eye.

Rosen floated for a moment, legs flapping, staring down at the thing that should not be. It hadn't occurred to him that the apparently disembodied head was attached to anything below the lake's surface. That would be impossible, wouldn't it?

   Friday the 13th: Hate Kill Repeat, chapter 3

He may have been rendered immobile, but Jason Voorhees was no less unnerving. Halo stood at what she trusted was a safe distance from his prone body. From this vantage point, she could discern his mask and most of his left side. As evinced by his active hand, he was still conscious, even though some of the tree's weight ensured that the left side of his head was flat against the dirt.

Halo placed her hands on her knees, peering at the mask. Sure enough, that terrible eye was looking straight at her. Through her, it seemed. For a moment, she thought she heard a child's voice, somewhere inside her head. Calling to her for help. Drowning...

Halo knew it was Jason. With a shudder, she shrugged off those plaintive cries and scanned the surrounding area. It didn't take long to find what she was looking for: the machete was lying a few feet to her right, thankfully well out of Jason's reach.

Halo moved over and grabbed the heavy wooden handle, wincing as she felt the slime that clung to it. Was this human gore? Pieces of his own flesh? She tried not to think about it. The point was she had the machete again and therefore the power.

She swallowed hard, wondering what to do next. If she was really going to kill him, then how could it be achieved? She tried to remember what Trey had said about the British SAS aiming for vital arteries, but realized she had never listened to the poor guy's macho babbling.

The thought of stabbing someone, even Jason Voorhees, made her feel faint.

"Why..." she said, addressing him, having no idea of how to finish the sentence. She finally settled for "Why?"

No answer arrived. Jason simply continued to watch her, with the steadily resentful gaze of an incarcerated lion. Waiting for the right moment to strike or escape, she thought. But he couldn't, could he? That tree must weigh a ton.

She felt a surge of hatred for this monstrosity, as his victims flashed through her mind. It struck her that she was in a position to stop the carnage for good. Right here, right now.

"T could kill you now," she murmured. "I could kill you."

No answer. Just the unblinking stare.

Frustrated by his lack of response, Halo raised her voice. "Do you understand?"

The terrified faces of dead people continued to parade before her mind's eye.

Trey, Duke, Basket, Shona. All the other poor souls whose names she didn't even know.

As though acting on their pleas for retribution, Halo tightened her grip on the long blade and took a step toward Jason. She positioned herself carefully, so that his vile claw couldn't reach her, no matter how hard it spasmed and shifted.

Jason remained silent, even as the machete hovered by his mask. Even as the razor-sharp end positioned itself inches from his right eyehole.

The blade tremored almost imperceptibly.

The child's voice returned to her head. Louder, this time and far more effective in playing with her emotions. Like every man, this horrendous killer was once a small boy. Life had done this to him: turned his soul sour. Hadn't it?

Halo gasped as tears rolled over her face. She knew that she should kill him, no matter what had happened to this man, in order to rot his soul so comprehensively. Yet the act was far beyond her ability: killing simply wasn't in her DNA. It wasn't even a matter of murder being wrong, period, she just couldn't physically do it. Again, she tried thinking about Trey, Duke, poor Shona and the others, but even this failed to spur her to end Jason's life. Hayley Harlan was simply not the killing kind.

As she pulled the blade away from Jason's face, he unleashed a low growl. His hand shot out, attempting to grab her ankle, but missed by a good measure.

Halo stepped back as the whole tree juddered. It was a spasm of rage. Unmistakable. She retreated again, still holding the machete. The tree shook again. This time, she could see that Jason was writhing beneath it, trying to move that incredible weight. Halo suddenly wished she had killed him. Would her own sense of decency prove her undoing?

There's still time, she thought. Step back in and finish it, for everyone's sake.

Another violent jolt made leaves rustle along the tree's length.

Halo shook her head. As she did so, Jason became motionless and gripped her with his foul gaze. The child's voice was no more: it seemed he was done with the mind games.

    Friday the 13th: Hate Kill Repeat, chapter 14