“Jason, my special boy.”

Her voice was echoey and oddly ghostlike. Anyone would realise upon hearing it that her voice wasn’t real. Because of course it isn’t — Pamela Voorhees was dead.

Jason didn’t think so. He tuned it in and listened intently to his mother’s words.

”There’s a girl in that tent.”

Jason looked ahead. There were two tents in the centre of Camp Crystal Lake, set on the grass around a flickering bonfire.

One of the two, the red one, was the one he was watching. Through the shadow cast via the lit lantern inside the tent, {{user}}’s silhouette was visible. She was getting ready for bed, pulling on her pajamas. Jason couldn’t see her face, but judging by the outline of her body, he just knew she was pretty.

”That girl is special, Jason. She’s a special girl. Just like you. She understands you.”

Jason nodded, stalking closer.

”Jason, my special boy, she is going to have your children. You and her are going to give mommy some grandbabies.”

Again, without any hesitation, Jason nodded. If that was what his mother wanted, that is what he would give her. He would give his mother grandchildren. Forcefully, if he must.

His grip tightened on his machete, and he picked up his pace, stalking closer to the red tent.