A/n: Not my best work, but I had fun thinking about this little idea with Jason :)
When you told your family you wanted to spend a few weeks of your summer at the cabin at Crystal Lake, they thought youâve gone crazy. Your grandfather bought it forty years ago, but no one has been there for at least five. The tale of Jason Voorhees was well known around the surrounding towns, and the periodical killings of teenagers and unfortunate hikers has left its mark on the otherwise beautiful area.
Locals avoided the lake like it was something toxic, and although there were some daring outsiders trying to revive tourism from time to time, it almost always ended in a bloodbath. This meant that barely anyone visited the woods surrounding Crystal Lake. Which is exactly what you needed.
You wanted to get away from city life for a while, go somewhere close to nature where your overwhelmed mind could finally rest. The prospect of cleaning the cabin and doing some maintenance didnât bother you either. The mindless nature of physical labor sounded greatly appealing after the monotony of your office job.
And so, you took off for Crystal Lake on a bright July morning. You rolled down your window as you drove, your fingers tapping out a tune from the radio on the steering wheel. You were in high spirits, looking forward to finally having some much needed alone time away from the constant noise.
At first glance, the cabin was in a surprisingly good condition. The door opened with a creak as you unlocked it, and memories flooded you about childhood and laughter, about summer days spent by the lake with your grandparents and running around in the woods with your cousins. Inside everything was how you remembered it. Except for the years old layer of dust and the cobwebs.
You spent the next couple of days airing out the rooms and the linens, wiping down every surface and sweeping the floors, fixing a few spots where it seemed like rainwater had gotten in. When you were done with the inside, you moved on to the outside, tidying up the small porch and setting out a chair where you could spend your evenings after a long day of work with a glass of iced tea or lemonade and listen to the sounds of the critters.
Between checking off tasks from your to-do list, you went on long walks in the surrounding woods. With the sun filtering through the leaves, the light breeze coming from the water and the complete lack of people, you felt your soul refresh.
There was just one thing. Sometimes, it felt as if someone was watching you.
You saw a shadow move in the treeline when you opened a window â just a play of the light as the wind moved through the greenery. You felt eyes on your back while you were chilling by the lake, soaking your feet in the cool water â itâs probably a deer being curious. You heard the suspiciously deliberate snap of twigs nearby as you were taking a stroll through the woods â your stressed mind being too used to city living and making you overly cautious.
You didnât necessarily feel like you were in danger. Still, when you were sitting on the porch in the evenings, staring out into the trees shrouded in twilight shadows and imagining shapes into the darkness, you wondered about all those stories. About the boy who drowned because of the carelessness and cruelty of others and came back as something else. Some said he was a vengeful spirit, others said he was a zombie, many didnât believe his existence at all. But some, the ones most people dismissed as drunks or crazy, claimed he came back as a man who wanted to clear Crystal Lake of everyone, good or bad alike, to bring peace to the woods.
You went to sleep pondering these thoughts. When you opened the front door early the next morning, there was still dew on the grass, the birds were singing, streaks of gentle sunlight were shining through the trees. And on your doorstep lay a small bouquet of wildflowers.
You were perplexed. Looking around, there was no sign of anyone, just the usual shadows between the thicker parts of the greenery. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you picked up the little arrangement.
You should have been scared. Clearly, you werenât the only one on this side of the lake. But there was just something about these delicate little flowers, the stems slightly crushed, as if the hand holding them wasnât used to such gentleness. It warmed your heart.
With a giddyness you havenât felt in years, you looked out toward the treeline and shouted a thank you.
The next morning, you found another bouquet, left on your doorstep once again. The flowers were slightly different, but you recognised all of them from your long walks as wild species growing around Crystal Lake.
Other things seemed to change too. The strange activity that you dismissed as your mind playing tricks on you before started to look more and more deliberate. You saw a large shape moving in the treeline from your windows on many occasions. You also noticed it from the corner of your eye sometimes while you were out on a walk or down by the lake. When you were by the water however, it seemed to linger further away, like it wanted to stay far away from it.
Whoever your secret admirer was, they seemed content to just watch you from a distance. The closest they ever came to you was when you were asleep. That was the only time they felt confident enough to approach your cabin and leave a little gift for you each night. It was kind of endearing, but at the same time, you couldnât help but wonder why..
Then one morning, you woke earlier than usual. The sun was just barely peeking over the top of the trees, casting a few thin rays of light over your bedroomâs hardwood floors, but the birds were already in a frenzy, singing to their heartsâ content. Your half asleep brain noted how you would never be able to hear such a thing in the city, and you snuggled back into your pillow.
Then, among all of the noise of the wildlife, you heard something else. You blinked your eyes open, concentrating on what it might be, and when you heard it again, it clicked. The creaking of the porch steps.
You sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. Slow footsteps approached the door, and by the groaning of the wood, it sounded like someone big was trying to move as quietly as possible. You tiptoed over to the entrance, heart pounding out of your chest as you reached for the latch. You had a feeling you knew who would be on the other side. With a quick motion you unlocked and opened the door.
In front of you, frozen mid motion, was a hulking bear of a man. You met his wide eyes through the holes of the hockey mask, and although you couldnât see his face, he looked like a deer caught in a headlight. In his huge hand he cradled a small bouquet of wild flowers that he was about to place on your doorstep.
You took in the mask, the tattered clothes, the slightly misshapen dome of his almost bald head. Youâve heard so many stories at this point, you immediately knew who he was.
When you opened your mouth, he flinched back, as if he was sure you were about to scream. In contrast to his size, he looked surprisingly timid. It made something warm bloom in your chest.
Instead of slamming the door in his face, like he seemed to believe you would, you flashed him a reassuring smile, stepped aside, and opened the door wider.
âCome on in, Jason,â you said to him.
He perked up at hearing his name and stared, astonished, when you turned your back to him and walked further inside.
You had no idea whether he would follow. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, you heard him take a few tentative steps behind you.
âPlease be a darling and close the door, will you?â you called from the living room and smiled as the now familiar creak of hinges reached your ear.
Soon, he appeared in the doorway, looking around with what you thought was curiosity at the sofa, the small, old tv, the neat little bookshelves and the little kitchen nook in one corner. He paused as he noticed your window sills. His head tilted to the side in wonder as his eyes wandered over the dozen mismatched jars and glasses, mugs and vases sitting neatly next to each other. They were filled with flower stems, some already wilting, others still fresh, basking in the morning sunlight.
You watched him from your kitchen counter, still in slight disbelief that he was even real. But there he stood, Jason Voorhees, a living campfire tale, in the middle of your living room. You noticed the scrapes on his rough skin, the wear and tear of his clothes â it was clear he was living somewhere out there in the woods, perhaps a small cabin of his own. If the stories you heard about him were true, he must have had a hard life, with no one but his mother to rely on, the only person who truly loved him. It filled you with sorrow for him.
âYou brought those for me?â you asked, motioning to the flowers still clutched in his meaty hand.
He turned to you, then looked at his hand as if he had already forgotten those were there. Finally, he held them out toward you hesitantly with a move that was almost shy. You stepped closer to him. Despite what the stories said, you didnât feel in danger around him at all. How could you, when he was looking so sheepish because the stems got a bit crushed in his hold?
You took them with a gentle smile. âThank you, they are beautiful.â
Jason was beaming under his mask at your compliment, and your lips only curled up further. You took out one of the last remaining cups from the cupboard, filled it with water and gingerly placed the flowers in it. Then you stepped over to the window sill , scooted some of the other jars and mugs over to make room for one more. Once you added the new addition to your little collection, you stepped back to admire them.
You felt his looming presence behind you and as you turned your head toward him, Jason was staring at the flowers with the same wonder as before. When your eyes met, you could see a hint of caution returning to his gaze. He couldnât believe just yet that you didnât want to run away from him or hurt him. But at the same time, you saw a longing there, a desire to be handled with kindness for once.
You decided then and there that if it was up to you, he wouldnât lack that kindness anymore.
