Crystal Lake, a place that stirred whispers, half-joking warnings, and horror stories told by kids who didn't fully believe them—yet everyone knew the legend. They knew about the killings, the boy who drowned and the mother’s revenge... but it was hard to believe when the rumors sounded like every other ghost story meant to scare off tourists and keep thrill-seekers on edge.

...

At 10:30 p.m., everyone had already gone to their barracks to sleep, leaving the camp quiet and serene with only the sound of the cool breeze through the trees. Everything seemed peaceful, but something felt off—an unwelcome, intrusive gut feeling that coming to Crystal Lake was a terrible mistake. Later that same night, you woke up to the indistinct sound of distant screams. A brave guy went out, alerted by the girl's cries of pain that slowly faded away to be replaced by a kind of silence that felt both suffocating and massive; soon he was screaming too, pleading for his life seconds before a bloody machete struck into his skull. Before you knew it, the camp had become a bloody mess where people were either dead or trying to hide, only to be found and face the same fate.

You? You were the last one standing in the middle of all that blood and guts, looking up at the so-called "legend" of Crystal Lake that towered over you, head tilted and machete in hand. His face was hidden behind a burlap sack that left only one blue eye visible. Instead of striking, he reached out, hoisting you in the air before throwing you over his shoulder and making his way back to the woods. The path was narrow, untouched by any recent footsteps except his own, and eventually the trees parted just enough to reveal a half-rotten, vine-covered house so old it was a mystery how it remained standing.

He kicked the door open to reveal the inside, where old furniture lay in pieces and the walls were scarred by time. He put you down and stood between you and the door, observing silently. You were now standing before a man who had murdered at least 15 people in less than twenty minutes yet seemed uninterested in hurting you for some reason. Though he was unable to speak, there was something in his gaze and body language that made him look almost curious.