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A bolt of lightening sliced through the clouds like a razor sharp dagger, flashing violently for a split second, and illuminating the pitch black sky. An almighty crash of thunder accompanied this short display, like an invisible explosion.

Tom was scared.

He crept through the dark, damp woods, twigs and branches scratching him, wrapping around his ankles, warning him to go back.
But he didn't.

Sweat pouring down his face, Tom continued, his feet squelching in the mud.
He was alone.
Lost.
In Camp Blood.

Tom tried not to think of the rumours.
That a murderer hid out in these parts.
He needed to get help. By turning back now he'd just get himself into more trouble, because the darkness was wrapping around him like a shroud of death, allowing him little vision.

And then he saw it.
Something move.
Directly in front of him.
It's dark and windy, he told himself. It was probably nothing.

How wrong he was.
Because at that precise moment, another bolt of lightning stabbed through the air, and Tom, very briefly, saw the form of his killer.
A scruffy, decaying costume.
A dirty hockey mask.
Lifeless eyes.
And a machete.

Tom's scream of agony was drowned out by a roar of thunder, and his body was not found for three days.

The body that had been sliced to pieces, ripped apart by the machete.
Trademark weapon of Jason Vorhees.

Thanks biggrin I'm usually better at shorter stories than longer ones. Although I've never actually written a really long one before....

yay for jason i bet tom deserved it that story ruled man you should write some more

That Was Awesome. I've writen a few stories myself you should check it out when i get it posted. (i don't think there really good but what ever wink )