Little Jason Voorhees

What pure luck it was that everyone stopped searching for his body after such a short amount of time. Had the search party continued they may have found him holed up in a Sycamore trunk, or eventually living in the old Smith house. He was never offended by the fact that everyone gave up looking for him and went on with a funeral; rather he was relieved. No more peers, no more councilors and no more of his crazy mother. He had never fit in quite right and his mother’s antics didn’t help. If she had agreed to psychological evaluation she may have been deemed unfit for any number of reasons, the least of which being her absolute obsession with him. Jason could barely flinch and she was asking if he was okay. His father had recognized her insanity shortly after he was born and left immediately. The following years she refused to date or go out justifying it by telling everyone he “needed” her. He didn’t need her, he needed to be left alone.

His life in the woods at Camp Crystal Lake was more than satisfactory. He realized early on that in order to survive he would need to learn to hunt; and boy did he learn to hunt. His first capture was a small cotton tailed rabbit. All he had to skin or gut it with was sharpened sticks but he tore into the body of the little critter without hesitation. It was during this first hunt and kill that he realized the pleasure it brought him. Holding the insides of that rabbit allowed him to experience a new level of consciousness, one where he was in charge and he held power. He carried the desire for that high with him everywhere he went and lived it out every chance he got.

As he got older he became large in stature and capable of killing the biggest animals in the woods with his bare hands. He no longer hunted out of necessity, but for pleasure. He spent all day and many nights creating traps that would allow him dominance against even the fiercest of predators. The walls of the old Smith house were plastered with the hides of every sort of animal you could imagine from those woods. Sometimes he kept the heads of the animals in jars where he would watch them slowly rot; other times he would rip the anatomy of the animals off their bone little by little savoring every bloody piece of flesh that touched his hands. His life was good, and it was about to get better.

Camp Crystal Lake had gone bankrupt and Jason could finally return to the place where his real life began. He left everything he had at the old Smith house and took over cabin number 45 at the camp. Before Jason had a chance to decorate the walls of his new home with decaying flesh a group of rowdy teenagers headed on to the camp grounds for a weekend getaway. The moment he saw them he knew it wouldn’t be the flesh of rabbits, coyotes and foxes that hung from the walls of his new home.