Shower teleport

"Ah, ah, AH, AHHH!" Suddenly, this wasn't such a fun game anymore. There was no pleasure in that last scream. Maybe he was too big, and he was hurting her?

"Uh, uh, oh God! Oh God! No, no! Please God... On any other day of the week, Hank would have said that was one young guy ready to shoot for the moon. Right now his excitement sounded too much like distress. But what was Hank to do? Burst in there on 'em? They'd probably think he was some kinda pervert...

"AHHH! Ahh! Uuh...." Okay, that decided it. They must have had a girl psycho on the premises. No one else had entered the shower, there was just no opportunity.

It was too late for him to try to figure it out. If he'd allowed something bad to happen, it was his balls on the line. "Hey! What's goin’ on in here?" His dark-browed face must have just about been visible through all the steam. It hit him like a sauna turned up to the max. Jeezus, maybe they had gotten scalded in there? He waved away some of the steam, gripping his .48 handgun in the other fist. That's when he saw them for the first time. "Oh, Jesus Christ. Holy Mother of God, no!" It was the most agonizingly offensive sight that would ever greet his eyes. And he had allowed it to happen. "Oh no. Oh no." Every time he broke open a little window in the vapor, it steamed up again to obscure the vision from his eyes. It was almost a blessing, but he had to see what had happened, had to try to understand what was...

Close enough to touch them, the atrocious reality was unbearable. They could still both speak, or rather, they could force themselves to make sounds. Technically, they were still alive.

But they were in the process of dying together. Impaled on a broken shower pipe on which both their twitching bodies hung. Stripped naked, pierced and hung on a hook, like dead pigs in a butcher's crowded showcase. It was the guy who was furthest up the splintered steel pipe, which seemed to enter just above his pubic triangle and exit gorily through his back, leaving scraps of vertebrae spilling into the crimson-tinted water. She was below him, but joined so Close it was as if they were still making love while her bobbing head nodded out of consciousness, into death. The splintered shards of the pipe must have exited somewhere around her navel before penetrating her lover's body. Hank knew it was probably a small mercy that he couldn't see where the instrument of impalement entered.

The sight made him nauseous, he knew he was going to throw up in the shower water, his vomit mixing with their blood and small fragments of broken bone. The misdirected water cascaded all over the shower enclosure, whipping him with its hot spray. He was hot and soaking wet and miserable. He knew this was his fault for allowing it to happen, and yet how, how could...?

It was only as the steam started to clear that he got his answer. Hank saw it all too clearly in the shower mirror that had provided such amusement. It was him.

Hank didn't have time to turn his head around. Didn't have time to demand to know whether the killer was a student dressed up in the garb of something that haunted their nightmares. Didn't have time to discover how that hulking murderous psycho creep had been able to wait in the shower, without either Hank or those kids noticing...

He'd never felt such power in human hands before, as they gripped him by the throat. Hank pointed his handgun, intent on blowing the creep away. But the pressure exerted on his neck and spine caused his nervous system to malfunction, his arms spinning wildly, unable to aim.

By the time he saw the flashing glint of steel in the mirror, and realized it was heading for him, he could no longer even hold his .48. It fell to the tiled floor in a hopeless clatter of despair. Hank's perspiring belly felt a sudden cold flash as the machete ripped open his uniform shirt and slashed through the top layer of skin, then a frenzy of hot and cold sensations as it bit deeper.

He knew these were his final moments. He just wanted to know how, why...?

As the killer in the perforated white mask wrenched him high in the air by his shoulders, Hank could think of no better explanation than that the boogeyman had finally come, a dark promise of childhood realized. As his stomach lesion was brought down hard on the spurting pipe, which entered his slashed gut, he was in far too much agony to speak.

He knew the kids he had joined on the broken pipe for a grotesque threesome were dying with him. As he slid further down, and the pressurized water started to displace his stomach upwards, it was the boy's turn to go limp and be left dangling just above the floor.

With his last breath, Hank wanted to scream an accusation. But he could feel something rising from his throat. As Jason's rancid hand reached in and pulled the wet organ from Hank's mouth, he realized it had been part of his upper intestine.

   Friday the 13th: Hell Lake, chapter 5