Suggested Audio Candy
Harry Manfredini “Friday The 13th”
How do you go about stopping a slew of unnecessary sequels and relentless merchandising? The only conceivable way appears to be nipping it in the bud before this cash cow can be milked. Today I wish to look at what would’ve transpired should Sean S. Cunningham’s much-lauded eighties slasher behemoth ended in an entirely different manner? The whole eighties would’ve played out differently no doubt and, I would imagine, aside from creating an irregularity in the space-time continuum, many of you would be thankful for that. Murderous juggernaut Jason Voorhees is easily the genre’s best-known dispatch artist; effortlessly out-stripping his many rivals in the popularity stakes. He inspired countless copycats as every young filmmaker in America attempted to take a slice from this momma’s boy’s lucrative pie. However, In Keeper’s mind, it all plays out very differently indeed.
The Keeper Cut
Camp Crystal Lake in the dead of night. Moonlight shimmers over the tranquil waters accompanied by the sounds of mother nature’s own personal orchestra. Rhythmic crickets chirp in unison as the rain begins to beat down hard on the wooden cabin out by the clearing, which houses our three remaining teens. Alice, Brenda and Bill sit inside playing a round of Strip Monopoly whilst awaiting the unlikely return of their buddies. Bill’s plan has backfired spectacularly. Both females remain fully clothed while poor Bill is down to his yellow briefs. Should he land on one of their properties one more time then his dignity will receive its final conclusive blow.
Bill’s smile isn’t fooling anyone. It’s a decidedly chilly evening and his normally proud member has almost inverted through the harsh nip in the night air. Searching for the vaguest twinge of arousal, Bill uses this time to focuses on the one woman man enough to satisfy his dark desire this night. Pamela Voorhees… mmm… Pamela. Bill isn’t entirely sure why this has gotten his motor revving and puts it down to unresolved detachment issues. Is there something about her polished porcelain tombstones that warms his cockles? Is the desire to lick her teeth that strong? Why do Alice and Brenda leave him with not so much as a semi?
Perhaps it is the intricately woven woolen sweaters which hang from Pamela’s frame suggestively? Are those denims tight enough to reveal a faint hint of camel-toe? Only Bill knows the answers; ever since reading about the Camp Crystal tragedy in a local rag ever he has harbored an unusual fixation with Jason’s mommy. Hopeful that any potential offspring will select his as the dominant gene, Bill daydreams further until he begins to feel the elastic stretch around the waistband. With that, Brenda lands on Income Tax and is forced into removing her first garment of clothing. Game on ladies!
Just as he commences shaking the dice a second time, with not an ounce of coloration to his face, Brenda recalls that she has left her cabin window wide open and jumps to her feet.
“I’ll go erm… check the generator”
This gets Bill out of his fix momentarily as shuffles to the doorway, desperately attempting to keep his erection concealed. He is currently a single Pamela-themed fantasy away from prematurely firing his musket, so hastily spins around, a dizzying endeavor as any remaining blood exits his head and heads south to his aggravated monster. He slips on his waterproofs and grabs his flashlight, holding it over the danger zone in case the raging bull bolts the gates, so to speak. Meanwhile Brenda and Alice have not missed a trick, a knowing glance witnessed by hapless Bill as he knows his game is up.
“I’ll come with you Bill”
Alice attempts not to implode with laughter as she offers him her assistance. They walk towards the door, Bill’s being more of a hobble, and before they can arrive it swings wide open revealing an ominous presence lurking in the shadows. Bill turns his flashlight round to uncover the threat and gets a flash of pearly whites as Pamela Voorhees grins wildly at the teens.
“You gonna let me in dears? I’m soaked right through to the skin”
The thought of Pamela in clinging sodden clothing proves all the encouragement Bill needs to blow his beans and fall into a convulsing heap on the floor. Pamela looks at the girls quizzically as she strides over the twitching lad. He manages to drag himself to the doorway but several arrows have halted him in his tracks. Bill is clearly in a better place now, leaving the ladies all suitably flummoxed by the sudden turn of events.
Brenda decides that she hasn’t the necessary cojones now to go investigate her open window. Instead, the three startled women drag anything of sufficient heft in front of the open doorway to build a barricade against whoever or whatever fired those arrows into hapless Bill. Before they manage to lock down the cabin another stray arrow soars in, hitting Brenda straight in her voice box. Instantly the crimson jettisons from her gargling windpipe, covering both Alice and Pamela in its sticky red solution. She slumps lifelessly back and stumbles over Bill’s carcass on her way down to the cold hard floor. There she remains; life draining from her rapidly.
Alice and Pamela have both managed to fortify the doorway but, unbeknownst to them, a shadowy figure has snuck in through an open window behind them, clutching the same blunt weapon Marcie took full-on in the face earlier. Neither lady is aware of the advancing figure until it is too late. The woodsman’s ax is raised high and, in a swift motion, is brought down into Pamela’s spine, embedding itself a full three inches below her woolen sweater and sending another sickening jet of claret in the direction of Alice, who is now beside herself with terror.
Being of slender frame, she manages to squeeze through a small opening in the blocked-up doorway and makes a dash for freedom, tripping over at least twice as she heads for the nearby canoe. The figure steps forward to claim the ax, callously pulling it free from Pamela’s back and rolling her over with his boot. As her blood-filled eyes attempt to acclimatize the realization sets in that she knows the aggressor far better than she realized.
This senile old fool misplaced every last one of his marbles some time ago and has since become known as the town fruit loop. However, Pamela knew Ralph better than most. She looks towards the man she once loved dearly in utter befuddlement.
“Why Ralph, why?”
“Our little boy drowned in that lake and it was all because of you that he was doomed. Besides, you gave me crabs”
Ralph lies on top of his high-school sweetheart, nestling the blunt edge of the ax on her chest. Then, with a swift tug, he donkey kicks the furniture piled up in the doorway forcing a wooden dresser to topple onto both of them. This pushes the ax into both of them in unison and is just the kind of romantic end he had planned.
Meanwhile on the lake Alice has taken refuge in a small rowing boat which is drifting silently across Camp Crystal Lake. She has one hand free and dips her fingers into the water as she muses over happier times. It’s serene; the sun beats off her and she drifts aimlessly around the lake in an almost catatonic state. With that, Jason lunges from sub-aqua and pulls her free from the boat and into the lake in terrifying slow-motion.
She awakes with a start in her hospital room where the sheriff has the unenviable task of explaining to her that they had in fact found a young boy whilst fishing her out of the swim.
“What about Jason?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, we managed to save him too dear. Now you get yourself some rest, you’ve had quite the ordeal”
The kindly Sheriff tucks her into her bed sheets tightly and exits the room, at which point Annie glances over to her left to see the deformed young boy laying in the bed next to her, staring blankly into her eyes.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013
Kill Her Mommy