Staring into Crystal Lake

November spawned a monster

This post contains graphic violence. Reader discretion is advised.

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And then the dream would begin again, a dream always identical, but with slight variations, like a theme with variations.

- Giorgio de Chirico

Camp Crystal Lake, a once notorious summer camp for kids, was converted into a nice neighbourhood, with houses you could buy on sweet quiet streets that led towards a placid lake. All the neighbours got along. Some of them were young, some of them had families. Like the white young couple with dark hair: the wife pregnant and close to her due date, the husband a proud motorbike owner. I was staying in one of the larger houses, with a group of other young people, and I believe it was there where the killings started.

I’d gone back to the house to make sandwiches and coffee for my housemates while the gang played in the lake. A young, blonde woman followed me to help out. She was Jason Voorhees’ first victim.

Very soon, we were all concerned about how to escape Crystal Lake. Jason was renowned for not letting anyone get away: it didn’t matter if you got into a car or onto a motorbike, or if you ran as fast as you could through the woods; he somehow appeared in front of you and stopped you from leaving in incredibly violent terms.

A small cinema had been built for residents to enjoy and we found Jason sitting inside it, watching a film, alone in the dark. I aimed a gun at his head and shot. The bullets fired out and hit him in slow motion, then bounced off him like gnats. He stood up and moved in my direction.

My pregnant neighbour, in desperation, stabbed her own stomach with a large hunting knife. Blood leaked out of the wound. Jason approached her and then moved on. And I thought to myself: ‘If he sees someone wanting to die, he doesn’t do anything to them.’

Because of that, she looked quite relaxed and relieved when, later on, she waited in front of her house for her husband to bring out the motorbike from their garage. I asked if I could join them on their escape from Crystal Lake. The three of us somehow squeezed onto the bike.

Racing down roads, a call came in through the motorcycle intercom that Jason had put booby traps by all exits and that a biker had had his head cut off by a stretched-out wire. The husband moved the bike off the road, onto the grass, and we lowered our heads, missing a few of these traps.

Now we were scot-free, back in civilization, flying past pedestrians, open shops, cars going about their business. I joked that we could stop anywhere we wanted, we’d got away from Jason. The wife agreed and asked her husband to stop at a shop. He wanted to keep going, however.

His motorbike fell behind a truck. I cried out, pointing at movement coming from the truck’s driver cabin. ‘It’s him!’ Jason had followed us.

The husband upped the bike’s speed and tried to overtake the truck. Jason swung a large chain which he meant to lasso us with. If I jumped off the bike, they’d have a better chance of getting away because Jason would certainly also jump off the truck to catch me.

I slid off the bike and tumbled onto the road’s rough asphalt. Jason’s thrown chain landed beside me, nearly capturing me. He jumped off the truck and landed on his feet. I looked around and saw some woods. I didn’t know if I had the strength to run; I knew I’d find him waiting for me amongst the trees.

Friday 13th (1980)

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I decided to take part in NaNoWriMo in 2023 (National Novel Writing Month.) This used to be a free international competition held every November where participants tried to write a 50K novel in 30 days. I’d taken part in it off and on over the years, with varying results. For 2023, I had an idea in my head, the hint of a story from start to finish, and I thought NaNoWriMo might just be the thing I needed to get the first draft out.

As it was a horror story, I went searching for some inspiration. I wanted to read something by Stephen King and tried Bag of Bones, but it just didn’t grab me. Then I turned to movies, picking a zombie horror from the 80s which I hadn’t seen before, Day of the Dead. Right in its opening scene, Sarah, the main character, has a dream where she crosses out the last day in October (as if she were getting ready for NaNoWriMo) when suddenly zombie hands burst through the wall.

Sarah is part of a small team of scientists trapped with a group of soldiers in an underground bunker. The world has ended and zombies are gathering outside. One of her scientist colleagues has a pet zombie chained in the lab who he’s trying to train, in an obvious nod to Frankenstein. In one scene, he places a Walkman and a book in front of the zombie for him to play with. The book is Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot.

A-ha! That’s the book I’ll read during NaNoWriMo for inspiration!

As if to confirm my choice, Day of the Dead then ended with another scene showing a calendar being crossed out, but this time the 4^th of November... the same day I was watching the movie.

Day of the Dead (1985)

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17 June 2024

Amora caught a mouse. I killed it with a broom after letting her play with it for a while. I asked for its forgiveness then threw it in the grass.

Kikita also killed a mouse. She left it in her Pet Sematary, behind my office computer’s CPU.

We called dad yesterday for Father’s Day. Him and his wife were lying in their conservatory in Northampton, basking in sunshine that finally showed up. I asked if there were birds in their garden, or visiting cats, but dad couldn’t give a straight answer. His mind is far gone now.