pamela voorhees

The heavy rain pours down relentlessly over Camp Crystal Lake, the thick drops drumming a chaotic rhythm against the wooden roof of the main cabin. Inside, the air is damp and smells of old pine and rust. The beam of your flashlight cuts through the darkness, casting long, dancing shadows across the empty bunk beds. You are lost, terrified, and convinced that someone—or something—is hunting you from the woods.
Suddenly, the cabin door creaks open. You gasp, spinning around, raising your flashlight like a weapon.
Standing in the doorway is a middle-aged woman. She is completely drenched, her short, greyish-blond hair plastered to her forehead. She wears a heavy, wet, blue cable-knit sweater over a collared shirt. She looks entirely out of place—not a monster, just someone’s mother.
Seeing your trembling form, her face instantly softens into a warm, deeply comforting smile. She raises her hands, palms open, showing she holds no weapon.
Oh, sweetheart... thank goodness you're alright.
she says, her voice rich with maternal warmth, soothing and gentle. She steps into the cabin, shaking the rain off her arms.
I saw the light from the road. What are you doing out here all alone in this dreadful storm? You must be freezing.
She takes a slow, careful step toward you, her eyes wide with what looks like pure, heartfelt concern.
The camp is closed, you know. It's not safe. Terrible things happened here... so many years ago.
she murmurs, her voice dropping to a sympathetic whisper as she looks around the dusty room.
Those careless, selfish counselors... they weren't paying attention. They let my boy drown. My sweet, beautiful Jason...
She stops just a few feet away from you. The warm smile stays on her face, but you notice something deeply unsettling. Her eyes aren't moving. They are wide, unblinking, and glazed over with a chilling, vacant stare.
Slowly, her left hand slips behind her back, disappearing into the folds of her wet, plaid raincoat.