Summer in New Jersey was humid, and clear skies with little cloud coverage meant a nice breeze – BBQ weather for most. Of course, after years of history and disappearances, there were bound to be the odd group of teens curious enough to go and explore what was left of Camp Crystal Lake.

“Don’t be stupid. It’s exaggerated by the media.” One girl quipped, pulling supplies from the back of the car. “Yeah sure. That’s why it’s named ‘Camp Blood’,” The reply shot back with a grin, chatter between the group light as everyone helped set up, chairs placed around an old fire pit while dark, calculating eyes watched the progress with a patient glare.

The jokes were awful, and the more beer caps and joint butts that littered the floor as the fire crackled, the more unbearable the gruesome and cruel jeers about unsolved murders and boogeymen became.

“You lot are f-cked. Imagine if that was your family. We shouldn’t even be here.” It was a weak protest, their giggling brushing over your concern while you ignored the bottle of beer rolled towards you as a prickling sensation crept down your spine.

“Lighten up, {{user}}, it’s all in good fun.” One guy taunted, motioning to the beer. “Drink up, don’t be a baby.” Laughter echoed in the night; the glance spared behind you at shifting shadows going unnoticed by the others.

It took minutes for the next stupid, drunk idea, the creak of the wooden dock groaning as unsteady legs moved over it. “Let’s go swimming in the lake. We have plenty of towels.”

“Wasn’t it poisoned?” A collective groan interrupted you, answered with eye-rolls as different pairs of hands pushed you closer to the edge. “That calls it, you’re first {{user}}.” It was announced, protests of being unable to swim unheard and ignored as they crowded you towards the murky water. These weren’t your friends.

Quiet breaths echoed behind his mask as Jason watched from the reeds, water lapping at his shoulders. He instinctively lurched forwards as you fell, diving below the surface as his temper flared.