Nick looked up. A tall man in a white mask was staring down at him, eyes leering through the mask's dark holes. The man had come up behind them from the other side of the tree. He had grabbed the skinny boy by the neck of his ratty white t-shirt. Now, he pulled Nick several inches off of the ground, scraping him upward along the tree's rough bark. It all happened in an instant.

For one second, Nick saw the snake tattoo slithering on the man's hairy forearm. For one second, he had a spasm of guilt. It was about Bernard's wallet which was resting comfortably in his back pocket.

Then the man in the mask raised his other hand. This hand was holding a blowtorch. Nick tried to scream, but as he opened his mouth, the searing flame went past his lips — burning — burning - burning its way through the back of his throat.

Bernard took a step back, hands hanging limply at his sides. His mouth hung open. He felt as if everything inside of him — flesh — bones — organs - feelings, had instantly drained out onto the leafy ground beneath his feet. He felt as if he had become utterly weightless - as light as a feather. And feathers couldn't move. They could not run. So he just watched stupidly while the large man with the tattoos worked away on his friend - the blowtorch hissing.

The skinny boy's flesh was crackling and burning. Then the man let go. Nick crumpled, falling straight down with a thud as if he had dropped out of the tree above. The man in the mask turned and looked at Bernard. Suddenly, with a jolt, the stocky boy's limbs came back to life and he ran.

   Friday the 13th: The Carnival, chapter 11