The man in the hockey mask quietly stalked the lithe woman in the string bikini. He managed to get within arm’s reach of her without being noticed, and he raised the machete to strike when she turned around at the last moment.
“Seriously? A hockey mask and a machete? Could you get any more cliché?”
The man stepped back and raised both hands in a “What are you talking about?” mute gesture.
“You think just because we’re at Crystal Lake that this,” she gestured up and down at his black outfit, “is going to be scary? Really?”
The man abandoned his curiosity and instead tried to strike a terrifying pose with the machete raised again to strike.
“No, just… don’t,” she said, extending an arm to touch the mask. “Let’s see who’s under there…” she said. He backed up and swatted at her arm with his free hand, waving the machete menacingly in the other. She persisted, and when she touched the edge of the plastic mask, the figure collapsed – black outfit, hockey mask, gloves, machete, all collapsed to the ground, structureless. She regarded the pile in front of her, then turned back to her clothes she had removed to expose her bikini. She reached into a small bag that looked more ballistic than chic and removed a small radio. “We have contact,” she said into the radio. With her free hand, she reached for her sweat pants.
“That was fast! You okay, Coed?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Overwatch. He just… vanished,” she said, setting the radio down for a moment while she used both hands to pull her pants up over her bikini bottoms and then reached for her shirt.
“Is it dry?” the voice on the radio responded.
Coed pulled her t-shirt on and leaned forward to the pile of clothes. She sorted through the material thoroughly, then reached for the radio. “Affirmative, Overwatch. Dry.”
“Makes sense,” The voice came across the radio. “Still too soon, Coed. I’m going to cue Virgin and Horny.”
“Roger that, Overwatch” Coed said. “I’m going to make my way back to the control trailer.”
In a downstairs bedroom, a radio crackled to life on a nightstand. “Virgin? Come in.”
Virgin traded a look with Horny sitting next to her on the bed, then picked up the radio. “Virgin here. Go ahead, Overwatch.”
“Coed just had verified contact.”
“Is she okay?” Virgin asked.
“Affirmative, she’s fine. But you’re on.”
“Roger that, Overwatch. Signing off,” she turned the volume until the radio clicked off and set it back on the night stand. Turning to Horny she said, “Did you hear that?”
“I did,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she said, standing.
“Are you really a virgin?”
“Well,” she said, pulling her top off and unfastening her bra, “Let’s just say you’ve got one job to do…” She dropped her bra to the floor, “Are you going to live up to your code name?”
He leaned in and they started kissing and exploring each other with their hands. She lay back on the bed while he climbed on top of her. Neither saw the man with the hockey mask raise the spear behind them. As she gasped with delight, the man in the hockey mask stabbed down with the spear.
“Ow, shit!” Horny yelled.
Virgin slid out from under Horny, grabbed the taser under her discarded clothes, sprung up and fired at the masked figure. The Taser prongs connected with the figure’s coat and the limp coat, mask, and pants fell to the floor limply.
She turned to Horny who lay on his side, spear protruding from the thick armored vest he wore. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Hurts, but not bad.”
Virgin leaned over him took hold of the spear and yanked it out of the padding. The spear had been deflected by the ceramic plates beneath the padding. She then reached for the radio, turning it on and keying the transmit button. “Overwatch, this is Virgin. We had contact.”
“Are you both okay?”
“Affirmative,” she said. “Checking the clothes,” she said tossing the radio to Horny. Feeling through the clothes she took the radio back. “It’s damp, but not enough to get a sample.”
“Damn,” Overwatch said. “Well, damp is good. Hopefully third time is a charm. Come on back to the trailer.”
“Roger that,” Virgin said as she reached for her bra and shirt.
“Are you sure you don’t want to… you know…”
“Really, dude? Really?” she said, fastening her bra.
In the boathouse the radio crackled to life, “Token, come in.”
He shook his head, “You know I hate that code name, right?”
“It’s been noted. We all have a role to play…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Both Coed and Virgin had contact.”
“Whoa! Before me? Maybe this guy is getting more progressive…”
A chuckle came across the radio. “Just be alert, Token.”
“Roger tha—“ he started but dropped the radio as a chainsaw roared to life. The motor shrieked and Token barely jerked backwards out of the arc of the buzzing sawblade. “Holy crap!” he yelled as the masked man swung the chainsaw again. Token ducked the saw and pulled the collapsible baton off of his belt snapping it to full length as the chainsaw blade bore down on him. He used the baton like a sword to deflect the chainsaw, then followed up by swinging at the torso of his attacker. The chainsaw died as its momentum carried it across the boathouse, and the mask and clothes collapsed to the floor.
“Token? Are you okay? Come in!” the radio called from the floor.
Token ignored it, rushing to the clothes. He picked up the coat, and liquid dripped from the black coat. He grabbed the radio, “Token here, I’m fine. We have liquid, I repeat, we have liquid!”
The door to the boathouse flew open and two women in lab coats and gloves rushed in with tongs and swabs. They immediately went to work on the clothes.
Another woman stood framed in the doorway. “Let’s go, people! Time is of the essence!”
The two coated women hurriedly finished their job and ran out the door.
“Come on, Token, we need all hands for this,” she said, turning towards where the lab coats went.
“Aye Aye, Overwatch,” he said, hurrying to his feet.
Outside the boathouse in a clearing the lab coats. Coed, Virgin, and Horny stood with a black robed figure in a partial circle around the lab coats. Overwatch and Token finished the circle. The lab coats finished placing their samples in the center of an inscribed circle and quickly moved outside the ring of people.
The black robed figure raised his hands and started chanting slowly, quietly, rhythmically. Almost immediately lights started blinking in the inscribed circle. The chanting increased in volume and intensity and the lights in the circle started to resolve. The people in the circle joined hands as the chanting increased. The lights in the inscribed circle began to take the shape of a person. But not just any person but the black clad figure with the hockey mask.
Overwatch stepped forward and yelled over the ongoing chanting. “On this Friday the 13th,” she called, “There will be! No! Sequel!” And the ghost figure in the inscribed circle bloomed into a blinding light and was gone.
The chanting stopped and a stillness fell over the area. A few moments later, “Okay people,” Overwatch broke the silence, “Let’s get moving. We have to get to Elm Street before dawn!”
