Sunday, January 09, 2011

Prologue From a Short Story

Hey guys! I wanted to share something with all of you from my archives of short stories. I haven't typed up most of my hand-written stories yet and all the ones that are typed are still saved in my parent's computer. I had a hardcopy of Friday the 13th and decided Hey, maybe I should start getting opinions from outside of my circle of friends, just to get a different opinion.

I am still somewhat nervous about sharing something that is really personal. I take alot from my real life, mostly inspired by my friends, and use that as the background to my storylines. The horror/suspense is  just to add that touch of "unreality". 

I don't usually write so much violence and sex into my stories but since I was writing my own version of Friday the 13th, I felt I had to keep what was so associated with that storyline which is violence and sex.

What I really wanted to showcase in this short story was mental illness and how it destroys them and people around them when not treated or accepted.

The names are those of my friends and I (in later chapters) and I took some similarities from us, but it is very much a caricature of who we are and should not be taken seriously ---- LMAO.

So here is the prologue to Friday the 13th! Please note: it is for "mature audience" lol

The water had been agitated all day, creating crescent like waves around the shores of Crystal Lake. The dark clouds looming overhead we’re screaming and cracking with anger. Any moment now, they would send a blistering sheet of rain down on the small community that shared the name of the lake.
The wind was howling monstrously, pushing and shoving at the treetops. The cabins near the eastern shore were creaking as the wind blew past them. All the campers from Crystal Lake Community Camp had fallen prey to the sudden uproar of Mother Nature and they had quickly run for shelter in the cabins. The doors had to be kept shut by piling furniture against them and the windows were threatening to shatter at any given time.
Pamela Voorhees, a religious zealot who managed the camp, was busy soothing a frightened camper in one of the cabins. The little girl was terrified after being left alone in the water. Her counselors had wandered off momentarily, leaving her unattended while the storm threatened overhead. Pamela sing-sung a Christian tune in the child’s ear, rocking her slowly against her chest. She was comforting the child but she was also praying to the Ultimate God above.
Her husband had taken one of the counselors out on the lake for some canoe training. He had left an hour ago with Amanda Williams and she feared the boat might have collapsed. She wrapped the blanket around the little girl and went over to one of the counselor that was gazing impatiently out of the window.
“Can I ask you to watch over Melinda” Pamela asked, with a slight tremble in her voice. “I’m going to go look for Milton”.
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Voorhees” the counselor answered, heading over to the brown plaid couch where the little girl was nestled in her blanket. 
Pamela removed the massive wood table from the door. She lit one of the kerosene lamps and opened the door to brave the storm. The lake was now raging against the sandy beach at the edge of the campground. The dock near the canoe racks was completely submerged. The main lodge was being threatened with the same fate. Pamela began screaming her beloved’s name, running towards the edge of the water. Rain was beating down on her, plastering her bleak brownish hair to her grim face. Waves we’re crashing against the forest wall on the west side of the beach. Trees had been uprooted from the sheer force of the thundering water. Pamela swung the kerosene lamp every which way, squinting through the rain to find her husband.
She edged closer to the forest when she spotted her husband’s canoe, securely attached to a massive oak tree, a few meters inside the woods. “MILTON!” she screamed, staggering her pace through the melee of branches. “MILTON!” Pamela cried out, dangling the gas lamp ahead of her, lighting her way through the muddied ground. She tripped on an exposed root and fell face first in the mud. Her kerosene lamp fell a few feet in front of her, smashing into pieces. The light went out as she screamed her husband’s name once more: “MIIIIIIILTON!” She was soon surrounded by the darkness and the invading sound of the millions of rain drops falling around her.

Inside one of the cabins, the counselor was reading a story to Melinda. It was about a little girl who had ventured too far into the woods and had stumbled onto a cabin; a cabin inhabited by a family of wise talking bears. The little girl giggled throughout the story, forgetting completely about the storm. The counselor noticed half-way through the story that her audience of one had fallen asleep. She closed the book, kissed the child on the forehead and snuffed out the kerosene lamp. She folded her nightgown around her waist and checked out the window for any sign of Pamela or Milton. All she saw was the persistent rage of the storm. She was about to join Melinda in sleep when she heard the high-pitch scream of her boss, Pamela Voorhees.
The timid and usually introverted counselor grabbed the kerosene lamp that was by the door and bolted out and into the storm. The wind was molesting her tanned skin and blond hair. It was lashing at her and groping her. The kerosene lamp only lasted a few more minutes before it went extinct. She was running towards the other cabin when she heard the screams again. This time, it came from the forest. She threw the lamp to the sand below and made a run towards the forest, her nightgown blowing on either side of her compact body, exposing her breasts to the air around her.
“PAMELA!” she shrieked, running past the melee of branches and shrubs and into the full grown forest. She paused by a beefy maple tree and took in a breath. Strands of hair were glued to her face, shadowing her blue eyes from the misty darkness ahead. “PAMELA!” she cooed again. She wrapped the nightgown back around her waist and fancied a knot with one of her socks. She heard some muffled noises followed by another scream just left of where she was. “Pamela” she whispered this time, edging closer to the clearing inside the forest. She gently pushed some shrubbery leafs to the side and found the source of the screaming. It wasn’t Pamela that had been screaming. In fact, Pamela was the cause of the yells that ran with the wind.

Inside the clearing, Pamela was smashing an oar down on her husband’s skull. She had obviously been doing so for a short while; the counselor could barely recognize Mr. Voorhees. She gasped, and then her eyes widened with horror. On the ground besides the naked mutilated corpse of Mr. Voorhees was the lifeless form of her friend and fellow counselor, Amanda. The petrified counselor let out a horrible shriek and began running towards the cabins. Branches with thorns were cutting and opening her legs. The rain was forcing itself in, burning away at the open wound. She could hear Pamela Voorhees screaming out her name from behind. She could feel her anger rushing towards her, diminishing her hope for a safe getaway.
She rushed out of the shrubs and tumbled into the sand that covered the majority of the camp. She struggled to get to her feet when she felt a pair of hands grabbing onto her hair. The pull of the gravity as she was lifted by her mane pained her tremendously. Blood trickled down her forehead and left a copper taste in her mouth. She cried and begged as she faced Pamela Voorhees. “Please don’t hurt me.” Her eyes burned as the red liquid found its way inside her sockets. She chocked up the fowl taste of the blood and gagged at its smell. “Please –“
“You’re all whores!” Pamela replied deviously through gritted teeth. Something glimmered in her hand; then the counselor felt her neck open and the sudden warmth of the liquid gushing down her chest heavily contrasted the cool touch of the rain. She felt her hair being released and the counselor collapsed on the beach, clutching at her throat. She gasped and convulsed, reaching out to an invisible hand as if asking for last minute help. A miracle. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she saw Pamela enter the cabin where Melinda was sleeping. The counselor's body twitched and shook uncontrollably as the life inside her slowly extinguished.


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