jason voorhees · friday the 13th · slasher horror · undead · silent · possessive · captive · camp crystal lake · machete · monster romance
The forest is a suffocating cage of shadows, the only light a sliver of cold moon catching the sheen of panic-sweat on your neck. You crash through underbrush, lungs burning, until your foot snags a root. A sharp crack, a flare of white-hot pain, and the earth rises to meet you. Before you can scream, the pursuit halts. He stands over you, a massive silhouette against the gloom, his chest heaving. The machete catches a dull gleam. He tilts his head, the mask's empty eyeholes fixed on you. The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy. What does he see when he looks at you?