Crystal Lake, Illinois, Winter, 2004
Thirteen year old Jason Voorhees looked at the man blankly as they stood out on the ice.
“You want what?”
The man smiled “You’re talented kid. I want to get you onboard with our program”
“I’ll have to ask my mom”
“She sent me down here” the man rubbed his hands together to ward off the cold. Jason bounced the puck up and down on the edge of his stick, the man amazed at the dexterity and skill. Jason trapped the puck flat against the ice.
“I’m cruising through the Midwest, talent scouting Jason” the man looked around the quiet frozen lake “And you are on the top of my list”
Jason got all shy and looked down at the ice, digging the toe of his skate “You’re on mine”
The man looked at Jason quizzically. Jason looked up at the man, a smile rippled across his face, devoid of emotion as the hockey stick smashed across the man’s throat, shattering his Adam’s apple! The man fell back onto the ice, gasping and gagging. Jason skated around the man, watching him struggle for breath. He cracked the man in the groin watching him writhe in pain, unable to stand as he’d shuffled out onto the ice to speak to the boy.
Jason looked down on the struggling man and shrugged. Jason lifted his boot and slammed the razor sharp skate down onto the man’s face; again and again and again, the chok chok chok sound echoing across the desolate lake; as if someone was felling a tree.
***
“Jason!”
Jason stopped dead in the kitchen at the sound of his mother’s voice.
“No skates in the house”
“Yes mom” he retraced his steps and went outside, plonking himself down and removing his ice skates.
“Did you see Mr Miller?” asked Mrs Voorhees as she hacked at some ribs with a meat cleaver.
“Uh huh”
“And?” she turned to her son, cleaver in hand.
“He left”
Mrs Voorhees eyes glared at her son “Good!” She slammed the cleaver into the meat and looked down at some brochures from the Maple Leafs, resting under a set of Volvo keys.
***
Mancuso Memorial Ice Rink, Illinois, Spring, 2005
Several dozen boys did drills on the ice; Jason Voorhees was one of them. Several scouts watched them over, hundreds of parents watched them. Mrs Voorhees made herself known to Sean Cunningham, scout for the Red Wings.
“So what about my Jason?”
Sean fumbled his coffee by the abrupt statement by this random woman “And you are?”
Her eyes narrowed “Mrs Voorhees. Jason Voorhees mother. The only talent out in the ice”
Sean looked out onto the rink to see Jason skating “Your son is good…”
“Thank you”
“…I hadn’t finished Mrs Voorhees” Sean got out a red marker and scanned his folder “Jason’s good, big for his age which is what we need in hockey. A good combination of speed and power”
“Jason has all that! And more”
Sean smiled nervously, he’d dealt with ice stage mothers before but not quite like this one “Mrs Voorhees, Jason won’t get picked up this year”
“Bu…”
“He’s thirteen!” Sean interrupted “He’s a boy! Against a full grown man he’s useless. Give it five years and sure, I’ll come back and see him. But right now, he’s a kid and I can’t use a kid in a sport where grown men punch each other in the face and slam them into walls whilst travelling up to twenty miles an hour!”
“You’re making a mistake!” Mrs Voorhees words were cold and direct.
“Let him be a kid Mrs Voorhees! He’s talented, he could be the next Gretzky but Gretzky didn’t hit the NHL until he was EIGHTEEN!”
Jason skidded on the ice near the rail “Hi mom!”
“We’re going home” her words were soft but menacing. Jason hung his head and slowly skated off. Sean began to speak when Mrs Voorhees whirled and grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to her eye level.
“I would rethink your decision” she seethed. Sean struggled before she pushed him back and walked off to get her son.
“YOU CRAZY BITCH!”
Mrs Voorhees covered Jason’s ears and looked straight at Sean, her face etched with a look that if it could kill him, would’ve killed him.
**
After it all ended that evening, Sean Cunningham piled his gear into the boot of his 1982 Blue Chrysler 160, slammed the boot and saw both his back tyres had been slashed.
“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” he yelled. Sean noticed that passenger window had been smashed “How to top off a crap day!” He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and noticed he had 4% battery “Today just keeps getting better and better”
He began to dial Triple A when Mrs Voorhees rolled up next to him in her Volvo station wagon.
“Do you need a hand?” she asked
“Just dialling Triple A, thanks though” Sean tried to brush her off
“I just wanted to apologise Mr Cunningham. I do get very protective of Jason”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m on the…no…no! Aww c’mon!” Sean watched as his phone shut itself down.
“Do you need a hand?” she asked again
Sean sighed, defeated and nodded “Please” Mrs Voorhees opened the door and he got in.
“Seatbelt!” she reminded him in that stern motherly tone.
“Where can I take you Mr Cunningham?” she asked as they drove out of the parking lot
“My hotel is jus…”
“CALL MY MOTHER A BITCH WILL YOU?!?” Jason popped up from the backseat and looped his skate laces around Sean’s neck and pulled, causing him to bend like a banana, held in place by the seat belt. He thrashed and convulsed as the strong boy twisted the laces tighter.
“Strong isn’t he?” said Mrs Voorhees as she calmly drove along, almost obliviously to the convulsing man kicking in the passenger seat “You’re a full grown man aren’t you Mr Cunningham? How would you rate yourself against my thirteen year old boy?”
Sean’s neck and face were turning purple, his eyes bulged. He clawed at his neck like an animal, as Jason held tight.
**
“Did you get everything?”
“Yes Mom” Jason held out his hands, showing his mother a bag of fingers and toes and another one of teeth
“Let’s go home” and she tossed the Molotov cocktail into the car setting it alight. The pair walked away into the night.
**
(Jason Voorhees created by Victor Miller, Ron Kurz, Sean S Cunningham & Tom Savini. Most of the name used in this story are references to people in and around the Friday 13 movie franchise. Rated MA-R just in case. Story is mine, the characters are owned by their respective)
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