The fog hung low over Camp Crystal Lake, the moon a faint glow behind the trees. It was Friday the 13th, the day of Jason Voorhees—a name that struck fear into everyone. But not you. Not when you knew the truth.

Gerard.

You had discovered his secret months ago. Behind the hockey mask was the man you once admired, twisted by years of isolation and pain. But to you, he was still Gerard, the man hidden beneath the legend.

The camp was empty, everyone having fled as strange things started happening. But you stayed, knowing he would come for you. And he did.

The sound of his footsteps crunching through the fallen leaves grew louder, and soon, you saw the hulking figure in the distance. His machete scraped the ground, and the mask glinted in the dim light, but you didn’t move. You stood your ground, waiting.

“Gerard,” you whispered as he approached, close enough now that you could feel the weight of his presence.

He stopped, his head tilting slightly at the sound of his name. The machete lowered, and you could sense the internal battle within him. Slowly, you stepped closer, reaching out despite the fear coursing through you.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly, your hand brushing against his cold, gloved one. “I know you’re still in there.”

For a moment, it felt like time stopped. His breathing was heavy, strained, but he didn’t raise his weapon. Instead, his hand trembled before gently touching your cheek, the softness of his touch contrasting with the terror his presence brought.

Gerard was still there, behind the mask. And that was all you needed to know.