Archive of Our Own ^beta

All of 15 minutes ago, it had just been some fucked up ghost story.

Some kid drowned in Crystal Lake years ago and his mom went crazy and killed people and now the kid's back to get revenge for his mother! Teens at Camp Crystal Lake, beware! The ghost of Jason Voorhees especially hated teenagers engaging in drugs and premarital sex! Don't get caught with your pants down and your pussy out or else he was going to cleave you in half!

OoOOoooh, queue jumpscare.

My night had been going so well.

We'd pulled up maybe an hour before sunset so that we could swim in the summer-warm lake and then we teased Omar, our wilderness survival nerd, as he caught fish for dinner and built us a fire. Then Jessica and Tony unpacked their edibles and everything was feeling just a little bit better in the world.

I could hear our friends laughing and the crackling of the fire from one of the rotting cabins, my hand pressed over my boyfriend's mouth while he writhed and whined beneath me. He could get so loud. I loved that about him.

I rode him hard and fast, grinding down and against him so my clit could get in on the action. His hands squeezed my knees and his eyes were big and wet. I told him when he could cum and he did with the most satisfying whimper that finally pushed me all the way there.

The rickety bed made more than enough noise for the both of us. We stumbled back to the fireplace to wicked grins on everyone's faces.

“Enjoy yourselves?” Tony asked, beer in hand. “'Cause I think I speak for all of us when I say we sure did.”

“Did we?” Nala asked. “Because I just felt awkward.”

I let them have their laughs and their jokes. I'd never tell Macy, my boyfriend, but part of the fun of fucking here had been knowing that someone might overhear his desperate noises.

Macy was quick to try and hide his blush by chugging a beer. Danny handed him another one and then they were having a one-sided drinking contest: Macy wasn't good with alcohol, but Danny was a borderline alcoholic.

We loved him anyway.

I loved them all.

While Macy quickly got buzzed and Danny goaded him into drinking more, Nala decided to share her story about Jason Voorhees. Well, it wasn't her story. At this point, it felt like everyone's story. It felt like that rumor someone said was true, but they heard it from a friend of a friend of a boyfriend's fifth cousin twice removed.

Our university wasn't far from here. Everyone knew about Jason, but no one seemed to be sure how they knew, or who it was that wouldn't let the story die with the rest of him.

I felt pity for the kid. Imagine being a child that drowned at camp because your counselors were too busy fucking to notice you needed help? And then, years later, everyone made it sound like you came back as a full grown killer after your mother murdered innocent people?

We booed Nala because the story was just overdone. Tony talked about a man-eating horse in the lake, but he made it rainbow-colored and said the horse didn't really eat the man so much as it ate the man out.

I liked that story, actually.

I was having a great time. I was drinking beer and eating greasy fish and laughing with my friends.

In the morning, we'd all squeeze into Macy's SUV and go back to school just in time for me to have a hangover through my 10 AM biology course with the professor that liked me enough to not bring attention to me if I ended up falling asleep.

Until that 10 AM hangover with Dr. Bartlow, though, I was free to go down the checklist of having a fan-fucking-tastic night.

Next up on the list: Just letting the good times roll.

And then Billy's head rolled. Right through the fire and bumping off of Omar's shoes.

“What the SHIT!?”

“Oh my God!”

Jessica screamed like her soul was being torn in two.

Danny spat his beer all over Macy's face. Macy somehow managed to lunge across the log and sprawl in front of me.

I think that was the only thing that saved my life. I saw the machete go through Macy's chest and my mind just went blank.

There was a feeling of pressure as the very tip of the blade cut into my belly, but no pain. Everything was cold and numb as Macy fumbled his arm behind him, trying to push me away as he wheezed for air. There was blood everywhere. There was a smell of cooked meat that was repulsive. Oh, Billy's headless body had fallen into the fire. Omar was trying to pull him out, but something was wrong with his body.

Oh, Omar was missing an arm.

I missed that.

Jessica was still screaming and Nala was trying to help Omar and Danny just straight up bolted for it. Even odds that he was going for the car or for the woods.

Ghost stories weren't real, right? They were those shitty little tales told around a campfire in the woods with no one else around for miles, just her and her friends and the moonlight reflecting off the black surface of the nearby lake.

So where did the guy wearing the hockey mask and swinging around a machete come from?

After that, everything happened fast. Too fast.

The guy – was it Jason? It couldn't be Jason. That was just a scary story – tugged his machete free of Macy's body and turned on Jessica.

Later, I'd think about what I could have done differently. I could have jumped on Jason's back the moment he turned it on me. I could have put him in a headlock. I could have kicked him in the backs of the knees, taking him down and then shoving him head-first into the fire. I could have done something. I could have tried.

But, in the moment, I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking at all.

I grabbed Macy and half-pulled, half-dragged him toward the cabins. Why didn't I go for the car? Why didn't I go for the boats? Why didn't I go for the woods? Why didn't I try to fight?

I would ask myself all those questions later and the answer was always the same: I just wasn't thinking.

I pulled Macy back to the same cabin we had fucked in and I pushed him under the rickety bed that was still wet with his cum and then I just stood there, pressed up against the door like that might stop the pscyho killer outside from breaking in. I listened to Macy wheeze and gasp. His hand came out from under the bed, reaching for me. It was soaked with blood.

I should have wrapped his wound somehow. With my shirt, maybe? Omar would have known, but I left him behind. I left everyone behind. My hands were pressed over my mouth. Was I scared of breathing too loud? Was I scared of screaming? I just kept my hands pressed over my mouth and didn't think.

They smelled like iron.

Macy's breathing was getting worse. He tried to say something, I think it was my name. He made a choked off noise and I shook hard as I listened to him struggle to live.

I should get under there with him, right? I should bind his wound. With what? To what end? That machete went right through him like a spoon through warm butter. It was – it was ridiculous.

I had a sudden and overwhelming urge to laugh. There was no way you could just shove a dull, rusty machete straight through a person's body, right? That was some bullshit horror movie logic.

But Macy was bleeding and, oh, I was bleeding.

I rubbed my fingers over the little puncture. It was deeper than a paper cut, that was for sure, but not the intestine-spilling hole that usually happened in these kinds of shitty films. It wasn't bleeding half as much as Macy.

I should do something about that.

But I just stood there, watching Macy flail his hand at me from under the bed and trying to call my name. I felt trapped in a small, dark closet where I could see and hear everything outside, but none of it meant anything to me.

I should move.

But I didn't. I rubbed at the little wound in my belly and I stared at the rickety bed with its saggy, rotting mattress that I had fucked my boyfriend on and I listened to my boyfriend die.

I wasn't able to do anything until I realized he was no longer breathing.

Why? Why was I like that? Why did I do that?

I had no answers. Shock, maybe? That would probably be what a therapist told me if I ever talked to one. The shock of it all just got to me. I pulled myself together just enough to get my boyfriend to a safe place, or something like a safe place, and then I just stopped functioning.

Then Macy did his last gasp and the room was so quiet that I could hear the crickets and the crackling fire outside and was I even breathing?

I sucked in a deep lungful of air and it was metallic with blood. And then I was just... crying. Quietly, too scared to be overheard, but uncontrollably.

I stood there and I shook and I cried for who knew how long. I had left my phone by the fire and I didn't wear a wristwatch and I wasn't like Omar, who could guess the time by looking at the position of the moon in the sky.

I was really, really fucking helpless and kind of weak. No, really weak. I felt like fragile bird bones in a broken body, all the sharp edges jabbing me just under the skin.

I desperately wanted Macy to be alive just so I could feel safer and like I wasn't alone. I wanted to crawl under the bed with him and stay by his side until the sun came up and this all turned out to be a really bad dream.

I pressed my palms into my eyes as hard as I could until they hurt and there were explosions of color.

With a harsh sob that just wouldn't end – and maybe I was hyperventilating – I raised my head and looked at the window.

We had pulled down the moth-eaten curtain earlier. Macy and I. Me and my goofy, lovable, shy Macy who had loved me enough to die for me.

All I could see through the off-white material was the red glow of the fire and some shadows.

I swallowed back my next sob and focused on trying to breathe the right way. I couldn't remember how to do it. Breathing used to be so easy.

Jessica would know what to do. Jessica was so good with people all the time, so good with knowing what they needed.

I couldn't hear Jessica at all.

The thought startled me so much that I went from breathing too fast to not breathing at all again.

I stared at the curtain and strained my ears.

There was only the fire and the crickets. It was almost beautiful. It was so peaceful.

I couldn't hear my friends at all.

My reptilian brain came to a decision and I was moving before I even knew what I was doing.

I was leaving Macy behind, but Macy was dead. I couldn't help Macy. I missed my chance by being, I don't know. Scared or weak or broken or something. As much as I wanted to crawl under the bed with him, I couldn't. I had to find the rest of our friends. I had to get us out of here. And then I could find the cops or someone to come back and get him and Tony and whoever else that freak killed.

Just outside the cabin, I did a complete 180 and went back to that bed.

I trembled as I patted Macy's front pockets, pulling his car keys out.

I was crying again. I loved him. Maybe it wouldn't have been the forever kind of love but now we would never know.

I had to twist myself under the bed to kiss him on his lips. He was still warm. I kissed him again, harder, and cried into his mouth, but this wasn't a fairytale or a love story or any of that kind stuff.

I couldn't bring him back to life with my love. He stayed dead and a part of me stayed shattered.

I finally managed to leave the cabin and Macy behind, keys in my back pocket. I was practically running on my tiptoes, terrified that that monster would hear me gunning for it.

I stopped in my tracks at the sight of the little campfire Omar had set up for us.

Tony's body was still burning and Omar's body was slumped across his legs. Nala was in two parts. Jessica's jaw was missing entirely and so was part of her scalp, one of her feet burning in the flames.

My knees gave out and I hit the ground with a solid thump.

Ah.

Well.

It appeared that they were also beyond my help.

Wait, this wasn't everyone. There was. There was Danny. Danny had also run away.

And maybe I had loved him earlier, but the feeling that suddenly filled me, that gave me life and the will to stand up and fight, was hatred. In that moment, I fucking hated Danny so damn bad that I felt like I could breathe fire and I would have signed my soul to the devil to see Danny burn like Tony.

Because maybe we had both scampered away like cowards while our friends died, but I'd taken Macy with me. I'd chosen someone worth protecting and I had dragged him to shelter. Danny hadn't chosen anyone. No, that was a lie.

Danny had chosen himself.

There were two things I knew, though. One, I had Macy's car keys. Two, Danny didn't know how to hot wire a car.

The only way he was getting out of here alive was if that freak didn't hunt him down before he hit the main road and ran all the way back to the nearest town. Maybe Danny had been a track runner in high school, but years of going no faster than was necessary to get from one class to another and all the beer sloshing inside of him wasn't going to help him.

In that moment, I would have killed Danny myself if it meant Macy could live. I would have killed Danny for a cool ranch Dorito. And cool ranch was my least favorite flavor.

If I was willing to kill Danny for running away and saving himself above everyone else, I thought, then what was I willing to do to the Jason-wannabe that killed Macy?

I stared into the fire, the wind blowing the smoke toward me. My friends were cooking. The worst part was that it wasn't a bad smell. It was like a pig on a spit roast.

I got to my feet and the first thing I did was pull my friends out of the fire – Tony's body and Omar's arm – found it – and Jessica's foot. I dragged them all into a neat line near the fire, but not too close that it could reach them. I stroked their hair – even Tony's, whose head I put above his shoulders – and straightened their clothes and I gave them each a little kiss in the places where there was the least amount of blood.

I loved them and I hurt because I left them. Because I took Macy and ran and then I just froze and I didn't do anyone any good.

I brushed sand off my knees as I got back up – probably one of the most difficult things I had ever done – and looked around.

I wanted that fucker to pay.

He thought he was Jason Voorhees, right? What were some things Jason was said to hate?

Drugs, right. I grabbed the edibles from Jessica's bag. Check. What was I planning on doing with them? Throwing them at the freak?

I dumped some in my mouth. I didn't know how many, I wasn't counting. It was just THC, and I was stressed as hell. I figured I'd be a little less afraid if I could just get high.

What else did Jason hate? Teenagers and premarital sex.

Well, motherfucker, I was a junior in college, a whole whopping 22-years old. I was past the teenage stage. We all were. Nala had been the youngest at 20.

And that last thing. Jason hated premarital sex because he'd died while his counselors had fucked. Or had that been made up? Had it been that his mother had been religious? What story was this freak working with?

What would I even do with this knowledge if it was true? How was I going to hurt this monster that killed all my friends with drugs and sex?

Well, he wasn't getting the THC. I needed that.

But, wait. The stories also said that he had loved his mother a lot.

I don't know if telling this wannabe that he had a mommy kink was going to soothe this rage inside of me. The more I tried to think of how to hurt him, the more ridiculous my ideas sounded. I wanted to hurt him, not just irritate him by calling him a dumbass virgin with a crush on mom. For all I knew, none of that was even true.

Fuck it.

If I wanted to hurt him, really hurt him, the first thing I had to do was catch him. I could figure everything else out after I had him.

I grabbed one of the rocks that Omar had set in a circle around the fire and I set off for the woods.

It just seemed like the place a psycho killer in the middle of nowhere would go. That was where they always went in the movies.

I should have gone to the car. I should have left. But I was angry and I think I didn't want to live. I just picked a direction and wanted the psycho killer to be somewhere ahead of me.

The problem was, I found him. Not at first. I wandered around the woods for awhile. Eventually, I heard someone sobbing.

It was Danny, curled up at the base of a tree, snot and tears running down his face. There was a pool of vomit next to him.

I still had that rock in my hand and I raised it at him. I think I was about to bash his brains in.

But then he saw me. He saw me and he sobbed pitfully. There was nothing quite as heartbreaking as seeing a man cry.

He cried out my name. “I'm s-scared,” he blubbered.

I dropped the rock because I couldn't do it. I couldn't hurt him.

I grabbed him by his hand – and mine were so red, mine were sticky with blood and his were clean because he ran and I stayed behind with Macy and I laid everyone out peacefully, that son of a bitch – and pulled him to his feet.

“I have the keys, Danny,” I told him. “We have to get to the car, okay? We have to go.”

I wasn't thinking about my own survival. I was thinking about his.

But he looked past me and his eyes got wide and he screamed, “Look out!” and he shoved me out of the way.

I landed dangerously close to his vomit. I heard him yell in pain.

When I rolled over, there he was – the wannabe Jason. He had Danny up against the tree, his feet kicking uselessly in the air, at the freak's legs, at his waist, but the killer wasn't letting go.

Danny was choking, his eyes bulging out of his skull, his face turning bright red as tried to breathe around the massive hand squeezing his throat –

And there, behind the wannabe Jason, was his machete. It was just sticking out the ground, as if the killer had decided it wanted to get close and personal for this one instead of bloody.

I was running on sheer terror. I grabbed the machete and I screamed like I had never screamed before and I swung it like a baseball at his skull.

It tank inches into his head and he grunted – with pain? With surprise? He crashed to his knees and Danny wheezed for air as he fell.

I reached out for Danny and I was sure, I was so certain that the psycho killer was done for, I was horrifically positive that I had just murdered someone and I was so scared, I thought I was going to go to jail, I thought that was the end of my life –

But the psycho killer got back to his feet and he backhanded me so hard that my feet left the ground.

When I hit the ground, I was in shock. I gasped for air and my head was ringing.

I lifted my head and Jason – and it had to be the real Jason, as impossible as that was, it had to be because there was a fucking machete sticking out of his head and he was still moving – was stalking toward me.

I was about to die.

I was about to die.

I didn't want to die.

Danny gave a warcry and lunged for Jason, wrapping himself around the monster's back like a koala. He looked so pitifully small compared to the monster we were just telling ghost stories about. Jason waved his arms around trying to get Danny off and it would have been funny if all of my friends weren't already dead or about to die.

“RUN!” Danny stared at me desperately. “RUN!”

Jason – still with that machete sticking out of his fucking head – backed up until he was near a tree.

I watched on, my skull buzzing with just how impossible it all was, as Jason began to throw himself backward against the tree, Danny caught between him and the wood.

I could hear Danny's bones cracking. I could hear it when he started choking on his own blood. But Jason kept bashing him against the wood using the mass of his own body, over and over and over again. When Danny's arms went loose around his shoulders, Jason simply grabbed him by the wrists and held him there.

By the time Jason stopped, there was absolutely no chance that Danny had even one full rib left, and I completely believed that his shattered bones had shredded his organs if they hadn't already burst apart from being squished.

Jason let Danny drop to the ground after what felt like an eternity.

His hockey mask was looking directly at me.

There was no solid memory of running. The next thing I actually remembered was being pulled over by the county sheriff miles down the road in my dead boyfriend's car, covered in blood and screaming.

I knew I sounded crazy when I said, “IT WAS JASON! HE'S REAL!” but they didn't the sheriff and his partner didn't tell me I was crazy.

They just looked tired like they had been through this before.

They probably had been.

I was never arrested for suspicion of having murdered my boyfriend and friends. Some of their parents blamed me for their deaths, or maybe they blamed me because I was alive and their children weren't. Macy's mom tried to stay in contact with me, but I think looking at me was too painful for her.

“He wanted to marry you,” she told me at Macy's funeral. There was no body to view, only an urn of his ashes. There had been pictures of him with his family, him playing soccer, him with me. “You're my daughter in every way that counts.”

But they were empty words. We fell out of contact.

I stopped talking to my family. They couldn't help me. They couldn't understand. I didn't know how to explain what I had seen. I didn't know how to explain how I felt.

And what I felt was angry.

I spent the next eighteen years planning my revenge.

And then it was time to go back to Camp Crystal Lake.

~:~

“You look like a grandma,” one of my mentees told me.

I just smiled. “I like the classic look,” I explained, smoothing a hand over my short curls. I had chopped off most of it before this trip, dyed it blonde, and added curls. My mascara was thick, my makeup nude, and I had on a cream-colored cable-knit sweater over my button-down.

Before we had even left campus, I had checked myself over in the mirror against a picture of Pamela Voorhees to make sure there was more than just a passing resemblance. I had gotten a nose job years ago to look just like hers.

The haircut was new, though.

“Well, you look sixty,” my mentee repeated. “But you do you, boo.”

“Thank you, I think I will,” I said with a smile.

Nothing any of my mentees said bothered me. They more than had permission to tease me considering the fact that I was using them as bait.

I continued to unload the vans as my group of nine teens meandered around me. Four were helping me, two were just standing around, and three had already disappeared. There was one other counselor with me who had driven the second van and she was also missing in action.

I hadn't invited her along because I thought she would be helpful and responsible, though, had I? No, I had asked her to accompany me because I knew she was neither of those things. I had needed a counselor that wouldn't immediately call the college the moment they realized that we were going to Camp Crystal Lake instead of Camp No-Be-Bo-Sco like I had put on the itinerary.

Luckily, Mary hadn't cared even a little bit. She didn't believe that Jason Voorhees was real and she didn't believe that I had actually seen my friends die here years ago. As a matter of fact, she was pretty sure both of those were just made-up stories.

Good news, she didn't have to believe me. She just had to accompany me to fulfill the summer college program obligations of one counselor per every five mentees.

I had been the one to start funding this program two summers ago. We didn't have the funding for a weekend camping trip the first time around and I had made the dumb mistake of saying I wanted to go to Camp Crystal Lake the second time around, which had been quickly turned down in favor of a safer camp where there was no history of anyone getting brutally murdered.

This year, I straight up lied. I paid for the camping trip out of my own savings, attached my receipts for Camp No-Be-Bo-Sco as proof, and then went ahead and drove right past it.

It was incredible how Camp Crystal Lake was never locked down. There was no barbed wire fence, no checkpoints, no guards, no police, nothing. It was like the township police department wanted to forget this place existed instead of doing anything useful.

One of my mentees stalked up to me, visibly pissed.

“You don't expect us to stay here, do you?” he barked. “Man, there's no running water! The cabins look like someone tried to burn them down years ago! Is this even the right place?”

I smiled. “It's a camping trip, Vince. That's why we brought tents.”

“You want us to shit in the woods?”

“Indeed I do, Vince. We're all going to shit in the woods like bears.”

He was livid. I could see how badly he wanted to explode.

But Veronica stepped forward. “C'mon, Vince. Don't start shit.”

Vince sucked in a deep breath, gave me a look of pure disgust, and stomped off.

I smiled after him and then sweetly thanked Veronica.

The joy of setting up a college program for underprivileged teens so that they could have a taste of college life was that I could do almost anything to them and get away with it. After all, if they successfully completed two years of my program, they automatically got a scholarship to the Warren County Community College.

So Vince wasn't going to call his parents to come pick him up. Everyone was going to set up tents and shit in the woods and deal with it because that was how they were going to get money for a college education.

Since I sympathized with their pain, I had brought boxes of condoms and cases of beer. I knew Mary had brought weed as well. I was going to let them party. I was going to let them get drunk and have sex and get high and just overalls enjoy being reckless teenagers.

And I was going to be there, watching them and waiting. If this didn't get Jason out of the lake, nothing would.

~:~

After eighteen years of planning, a part of me didn't believe it would work. Or, actually, a very large part of me didn't think it would work immediately. Wouldn't that be too kind to me if my first attempt to draw Jason out with my summer program worked flawlessly? I foresaw a few more years of bringing teenagers out to Camp Crystal Lake before Jason dredged up the energy to try and murder my mentees.

I couldn't believe what was happening at first when I heard Mary start screaming in the woods.

The sun had just gone down, some of my teens were sulking in their tents, and others were managing to have a good time around the campfire I had built for them. Mary had disappeared just a few minutes after 16-year old Bryce Tanley had as if that was supposed to fool me.

When Mary started screaming, I didn't realize it was with terror at first. I thought, maybe, Bryce was playfully throwing her in the lake or she was climaxing or maybe she had seen a possum. There was no way Jason was already here.

But then she screamed again and everyone at the campfire turned to look. I turned to look.

She was running at us, naked and sobbing. The blood running down her face made the whites of her eyes startling bright and covered her bouncing breasts.

It was a good thing she wasn't looking at me. I felt my face stretch into a horrific smile as she bolted for the fire.

“HE'S DEAD! HE KILLED BRYCE! HE'S DEAD!”

Maybe my mentees would have thought she was joking at first if she wasn't also nude. Maybe they would have laughed at her and her jiggling body parts if not for the man-shaped monster walking calmly after her wearing a hockey mask and wielding a machete with Bryce's head in his other hand.

For one terrified moment, absolutely no one moved. No one said anything. No one breathed.

I had this overwhelming feeling that I had been here and done this before. Except, this time, I was an outsider looking in. I had this little window into the past and everything was moving in slow motion around me.

When it had been me and my friends around the campfire, we hadn't even seen Jason coming. Tony's head had rolled and then everyone was dead.

So it wasn't complete the same, but it still somehow felt very much the same.

Jason winded his arm back and threw Bryce's head straight at Mary with considerable strength. She yelled as it cracked between her shoulders and sent her careening into the ground.

It was that yell, for some reason, that made her mentees scatter like deer before a hunter. I finally moved.

I grabbed Mary, Jason only a few yards behind us, and I dragged her to her feet. “Come with me, quick!” I didn't give her the choice.

She was beside herself with sheer terror and disbelief. She moaned and whimpered and wailed as she ran with me, more animal than human. She had to be hurting. Her bare feet had to be cut up from running through the woods and the rocky beach. But she was beyond feeling pain.

Had this been me eighteen years ago? As an outsider looking in, I was disgusted. She was so weak and afraid.

But I pulled her along and we limped into the woods as fast as she could move. I didn't want Jason to lose sight of us, no – I wanted him to follow us. Mary was my bait.

My mentees had scattered in every direction, two of them even sprinting off the nearest dock and diving into the dark lake. My grouchy teens were just now peaking out of their tents to figure out what was going on, but they were farther away from the beach and weren't directly in Jason's path.

Mary wasn't a teenager, but she liked fucking them enough. A glance back showed that we had Jason's complete attention.

Good.

Mary didn't have the ability to ask me why we were running into the woods instead of toward the vans, or even toward the rotting remains of the cabins that might hide us. She wasn't thinking at all. She just let me tow her along, trusting me, or maybe just wanting someone else to take control of her body so that she didn't have to.

She tripped over driftwood and I took a few extra moments picking her back up so that Jason could draw closer.

She was sobbing and wheezing when I got her moving again, babbling and already looking more than half dead. I didn't think any of the blood on her was actually her own, but it didn't matter to me either way. As long as she kept moving and Jason kept following, that was all I needed her for.

This was turning out better than I thought it would to be honest. I really thought I was going to have to sacrifice all of my teenagers to him.

In the woods, I kept my eyes on the ground for the reflective flags I had staked down earlier. I navigated Mary around them and then, out of sight of the beach, I let her go.

She instantly collapsed to her knees, too weak to hold herself up.

She clawed at my jeans. “We've gotta keep going!” she sobbed. “We have to go!” She tried crawling up my body.

I pushed her back down.

Her eyes, when she looked up at me, were wide and wounded. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Just stay still, Mary,” I said. “Let him come to you. Don't worry, I have a plan.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” she screeched, and kept trying to get her feet beneath her.

“A lot of things,” I said honestly. “We don't have time to unpack everything that's wrong with me. I just need you to stay right where you are for me.”

Jason was so close.

I shoved Mary away from me and backed away slowly, carefully.

My breath caught when the first bear trap snapped shut. Jason grunted – pain? Fear? Surprise? – and looked down at the metal teeth digging through his ankle.

He limped toward Mary, who was crawling toward me.

His other ankle got caught in a different bear trap.

I was smiling again as he tripped over the chains and went down on his knees. Maybe he would have tried breaking free if he hadn't conveniently grabbed Mary's ankle on the way down.

He pulled her toward him as she screamed and fought. Well, flailed, really. There wasn't any fighting style to it beyond flapping her hands at him and sobbing, “No, no, no, no, no –” continuously.

I pulled down the gym bag I had secured to one of the pine trees and started uncoiling chains.

Mary's head caved in between Jason's palms while I double-checked that the riveted connecting links were still at the ends of the chains.

I looked over and Jason was staring at me. His ankles were caught, so he was balanced on his hands and knees over Mary's body.

He didn't find the bear traps. He just crouched there, the hollows of his hockey mask turned up to me.

My smile was all teeth. “Do I look familiar to you, Jason?” I asked. “Do I? I should. It's mother, Jason. And you want to be very good for mother, don't you?”

This was why I had trapped him first, just in case he wasn't dumb enough to think I was his real mom. There had always been a chance that a haircut, a nose job, and a sweater wouldn't be enough to convince him.

It turned out, though, that he was dumped enough.

He sat back on his knees, hands in his lap, and was wonderfully meek for me.

“Mother wants you to lay down, alright? I have to turn on some lights so that I can see my hideous baby boy. Will you lay down for mother?”

I waited, barely breathing, to see if he would obey me.

And he did.

With only the slightest hesitation, he pulled himself backwards until he could lay down with his legs facing me. He tugged at them, head toward me, as if to ask me to free him.

I shook my head. “No, Jason. Mother has to keep those there for my own safety. After all, you're such a naughty, awful boy. You don't want to hurt mother, do you?”

He stopped tugging at his legs and made this small, snuffling sound. The kind of sound a small, injured child would make.

I hated him so much.

I was going to enjoy this.

I set up a circle of lanterns around him, just outside of his reach but close enough to illuminate every part of him.

Every time I had seen him, it had been dark. He was till huge and terrifying in the light, but somehow less monstrous.

“Now mother can see you, Jason,” I crooned sweetly at him. “Mother can see every ugly inch of you.”

He raised a hand uncertainly to his mask, reconsidered whatever he was thinking, and put it back down.

“You're right, Jason. I do have to do something about those hands of yours.”

He was utterly placid, even helpful, as I used my chains and connecting links to secure him to the nearest trees. By the time I was done with him, he was spreadeagle across the ground, hands clenching and unclenching as he kept staring at me. What was he thinking under that mask?

I wanted to know, but only if he was scared. Only if he was confused and hurt and felt betrayed.

I took several steps back to enjoy the sight of him helpless on the ground in front of me.

“Mother has been thinking about you for years,” I purred. “I'm going to hurt you in ways you didn't even know were possible and you're going to let me.”

I brought my gym bag over and sat down between his legs. “Do you understand me?”

Slowly, he nodded.

“You understand that mother is going to hurt you?”

He shook his head no.

I pulled down the zipper of his coveralls. A smell immediately wafted up, like rancid water and dead fish.

I watched his hands clench.

“My awful little boy,” I purred. “I'm going to make you understand.”

~:~

The thing was, I got stuck on the idea of Jason hating sex. It probably wasn't the most logical leap in judgment, but what else did I have to work with? I couldn't kill him. So I fantasized about hurting him instead.

At some point, I started getting off on the idea of hurting him. Coping mechanisms weren't always healthy, but I never had a therapist to help me develop better ones. A therapist's first concern would have been the massacre I witnessed and the loss of almost everyone I loved, and I was never ready to talk about that.

So I stewed in my hatred and masturbated to my daydreams of Jason crying beneath me.

Now he really was beneath me.

I pinched his balls until they twitched and flexed. He made this pitiful grunting noise in the back of his throat and pulled at his chains.

“Does Jason not like this?” I asked. “You don't like the bad touch? Well, mother says Jason better lay there and fucking take it like the little bitch he is.”

His limp dick, thick but short, was starting to fill out. Jason managed to lift his head just enough to stare down the length of his body at it.

I couldn't read his expression through the mask. I wasn't even sure I wanted to see what was under the mask. But I wanted to know if he was embarrassed. I wanted to know if he felt violated and weak and scared.

I gripped his sac in one hand and pulled his mask off with the other. Instantly, I was revolted.

“That's a face even mommy fucking hates,” I told him.

This was a dead man. No, this was a drowned man. His flesh was swollen and pasty white, mottled dark red and purple. His eyelids, nose, and lips were gone – maybe chewed off by some fish at the bottom of the lake before he found his handy dandy mask. His tongue was so thick that it wouldn't fit back in his hideous mouth, lolling over his uneven and broken teeth.

But once I managed to look past the obvious signs of decay, I could tell... He was still the ugliest bastard I had ever seen. He had a bulbous skull and a knot of flesh over his right eye – which was missing – that pushed it lower than his left eye – which was staring right at me through a milky film. His ears, miraculously not chewed off like the other soft parts of his face, were too small for his head. I figured if he had a nose and lips, they wouldn't have been pretty to look at either.

I slapped his dick and his whole body jolted. “Mommy hates you, Jason,” I hissed, relishing in the way he moved the dead muscles in his face to look confused, even frightened. He made another grunting noise. This dumbass was really starting to think I was his mom.

The thick cable-knit sweater and the short, curled hair were working for me. The humid, hot night was making me sweat my tits off, but it was worth it.

“Mother's going to fuck you and make you a dirty little boy.”

Jason made a sound, a thick, “nuh uh!”, and shook his head. His hands opened and squeezed, but did not dare reach for me.

I slapped his dick because it was fun. Because it got harder the more I slapped it, which made Jason try to lean away from me even more. But he couldn't escape. Not from me, not this time. “Don't you talk back to mommy.”

His one milky eye stared at me with the love and fear a little boy would have for his horrible mother and maybe that should have been the moment I stopped. Maybe that should have been the moment I said to myself that what I was doing was actually horrible.

Then I remembered that this fucker killed Macy and I had waited eighteen years for this.

I didn't care if I was a horrible person for doing this. I was going to do it because he deserved it and I earned it. I earned it by surviving him, by surviving everything that happened after I survived him.

I put my life on the line a second time to have Jason underneath me, helpless and scared.

I hoped he felt even a quarter of what I had gone through that night.

I pulled on his balls until he squealed like a pig.

“Mommy likes it when you make noises,” I praised him. “Let mommy know how much it hurts when I do this.” I sharply tugged on them and he whimpered. “Oh! I almost forgot. Mommy brought toys to play with you.”

I pulled my gym bag closer, unzipped it, and fished inside. “Does Jason know what this is?”

He stared at the massive dildo in my hand.

“Mother's going to put this inside of you. It's going to hurt a lot. Maybe you'll even wish that you had stayed dead, huh?” I gave his dick a cruel twist and he tried to wiggle away from me. “Mommy wants you to stay still!”

He froze, staring at me.

He probably didn't even recognize me.

The idea that he could take everything from me and not even remember who I was filled me with such hot, ferocious rage. It was so easy for him to ruin my life and never think about me again.

I squeezed his dick in my fist until it felt like it might actually pop. Jason was squealing, but trying to be such a good boy for mother. He twitched and jerked and clearly wanted me to stop, but he didn't try to pull away. His hideous mouth was open wide, his fat tongue trembling as he screeched his confusion and pain.

“I hate you,” I said to him. “I hate you so much.”

I hastily swiped my sleeve over my wet eyes.

I let his dick go. He went limp against the ground, whimpering like a baby.

I rubbed the dildo over his face. He tried to turn away from me.

“No, Jason, Mommy wants you to give the giant dick a little kiss. It's going to tear you open, just like you tore open my friends.” I pressed the fat head of it against his lipless mouth. “Give it a little smooth for mommy.”

He hesitated. He pressed his teeth against the silicon and then tried to cringe away.

I followed, mashing the dick against his protruding tongue. “No, Jason. Mommy wants you to kiss it better than that. Open your mouth for the dick.”

He did, but his tongue was so swollen that there wasn't room for much else. I pushed and shoved and scraped the dildo between his tongue and teeth until his mouth was stretched obscenely around the head, even starting to tear at the corners.

“Yes, Jason, that's very good. Mommy likes watching you choke on a dick.” I pumped the dildo a few times, just to listen to the unhappy sounds he made. His milky eye was so wet, like he might actually cry.

I pulled it out with an upsetting sucking noise.

“I hope you kissed it really good, Jason,” I purred. “And made it very happy. Mommy didn't bring any lube.”

I kicked off my pants, but kept on my boxer briefs. I dangled a harness from the bag in front of Jason, but he didn't seem to know what it was. He'd learn.

I put the dick in the front hole of the harness, strapped it on tight, and then laid down a towel between Jason's spread legs.

“These are in the way of mommy showing you some tough hate,” I said, tugging at the rotting material of his coveralls.

With a little smile to myself, I took out my pocket knife and cut the fabric from the end of the zipper all the way down until the ground was in my way. I grabbed each side and wrenched the torn fabric open wider.

He had surprisingly little hair around his dick and ass. Then again, he didn't have a lot of hair on his head either.

I put my bare hands on his slimy cheeks and spread them open. His little hole was wrinkled and swollen.

“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it's going to hurt me.” I put the head of my attachment against him and started pushing.

His body resisted me for a good long while, much more than I thought it would. He was too small and too tight. My dick was big enough to make porn stars hesitate. It was frustrating work. I'd push and my dick would slip off in some other direction. I'd push again and my dick would start to bend in a way it shouldn't. I'd push and end up slipping, shoving right up against his balls instead.

“Damn, you're fucking tight,” I hissed and tried again. And again. And again. I could have screamed with how annoyed I was.

I slapped his dick a few times and the way he whimpered made me feel marginally better.

“You know what? Mother just has to start you off a little smaller. It's okay. Here, let's start with... this!” I pulled over a random stick just lying on the ground. A thwack or five across Jason's thigh proved it was strong and its girth was maybe half that of my dick. I snapped the twigs off one end and decided that, yes. This would do rather nicely.

The stick went in almost immediately. By the light of the lanterns I had set up, I watched Jason immediately start to leak. It wasn't blood and it wasn't shit, but some thin, watery fluid that trickled out of him instead. His noises increased in volume until he was wailing. I was shoving with my whole upper body, over and over again, until only the broken hilt of the branch stuck out.

It had been about as long as my thigh. I was absolutely positive that I had punctured something. Probably a few somethings. That was if he had any organs inside of his corpse. Who knew what else the fish had nibbled on.

He was yelling at me, his one eye dripping with liquid. I think he was trying to say mommy, but it was hard to tell. He pulled at his binds and writhed and jerked and pulled.

I let him because he was obviously in pain. He was so clearly hurt and frightened and trapped and weak.

Behind my strap-on, my vagina clenched. I'd gotten off on thinking of hurting Jason a lot, but the real deal was so much better.

“You're right. Mommy's dick is really, really big. We should use a few more sticks to make sure you can ride mommy's dick like the dirty little bitch you are.”

I found another stick and chopped off the splintered parts with my knife. It took some coordinating, but I eventually got both branches inside of him until there was barely enough left for me to hold onto.

He was screaming, screaming. My clit throbbed. I grabbed both of the sticks and began thrusting them – one and then the other, and then over and over again. “Mommy's dirty little bitch hates this so much, doesn't he?” I let go of a stick to slap his shriveled dick. “He hates it so much that he's not even hard anymore. Well, that's too bad. Mommy's going to fuck your little boy pussy until you fucking die for good.”

He whimpered and babbled and tried to pull away, but he wasn't stronger than grade 70 transport chains. I didn't stop until my arms were sore. Until water bubbled out of his mouth like blood.

I was wet. I was soaked. I groaned from the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of my pussy as I wrenched the sticks loose with a nauseating slurping sound, the kind you hear in movies when someone had been disemboweled. “Do you think you're loose enough to take mommy's dick now, Jason?”

He whimpered and stared at me with the utmost betrayal. That made sense.

I bet his real mother never treated him like this. If she was willing to murder innocent people for him, I bet she treated him like he was precious. But now I was mommy. I was wearing mommy's sweater and I had mommy's short curls and I had mommy's nose and I was even wearing mommy's makeup.

And mommy was going to teach him a lesson he was never going to forget. He might have forgotten me, he might have forgotten my friends and he might have forgotten Macy, but he was never going to forget mommy with her giant strap-on fucking him so hard that he was going to have to crawl back to the lake.

The sticks were soaked with whatever was floating through Jason's body. I put them aside, held my dick in one hand, and squeezed his dick with the other. “Relax for mommy, baby. Mommy's going to show you what real pain is. What it really means to feel helpless and weak.”

His sphincter was just loose enough, and just wet enough with whatever had poured out of him, that my dildo caught on his swollen hole instead of sliding over it this time. I grunted as I pushed, pulling his dick in my direction so that he had no choice but to follow. He trembled as he tipped his hips toward me.

With a tiny little pop, the fat head squeezed inside. Jason whined at me, his one eye almost as wide as his hole as it stretched around me.

It probably tore, but I was focused on his face. On how his teeth trembled and water leaked from his eye and nostrils. His tongue waggled and he made these harsh, coughing noises that made my pussy clench tight.

“Ooooh, does it feel bad, baby? Does it hurt really bad? Is mommy too big for Jason's little fuck hole?” I twisted his dick and forced him to bear down on me. He whimpered. I groaned at his pain.

“Good.” I wrapped one hand around a massive thigh and kept pushing. Anytime he tried to pull away, I just yanked him back. I stared at his face and I then I looked at where I was slowly, so slowly, inching my way inside of him.

He wailed and lifted his hips, desperate to evade me.

I punched him in the balls and yelled, “You're being a bad boy, Jason! Let mother fuck your cunt like the little bitch you are or else mommy's going to chop your fucking dick off!”

He went meek after that. Soft little whimpers and moans as I finally bottomed out. “There. That's it. That's all of mommy's giant dick. Does that feel awful? Does it hurt a lot? Good, that's what mommy wanted for you.”

I rolled my hips. I had to bite my lip with how horny I was, how badly I wanted to shoved a vibrator up against my clit and cum while I plowed his ass. When I shoved up against him, the base of the dildo ground against my pussy and that was almost good enough, but not quite. It got me moving, though.

There wasn't any real rhythm to how I pounded his ruined hole. I just kept tugging against the resistance of his flesh until I was almost all the way out, and then kept shoving until I was all the way back in. The more I did it, the slicker he got and the easier it was. I thought about how I was tearing him apart from the inside and whimpered with pleasure.

He was whining and yowling beneath me like a trapped animal.

“Don't make mommy do all the work!” I used his balls like reins to meet my thrusts. “Good boy, Jason. Just like that. Fuck yourself on mommy's dick.”

He did, reluctantly and with all the holes in his face leaking. His restraints didn't give him much range – if they did, I would probably be dead by now, mommy or not – but he was able to inexpertly lift and drop his hips on the dildo. I held his balls as a threat for a little bit and then let go.

Then I stopped moving.

He kept fucking himself on my dick, whining and whimpering and sniffling and leaking everywhere. His dick was half-hard as he lifted and dropped his hips faster.

He looked at me with that one big eye, wet and docile, and I felt powerful.

“That's a good boy,” I praised. “Mommy always knew you were a no-good, filthy whore.”

He shook his head. “Nuh uh! Nuh uh!”

I stroked his dick, so gentle this time compared to how I had been using it before. It started leaking too. “Then what's this, Jason? If you don't like getting your ass ruined, why is your useless, ugly dick so hard and wet? Mommy thinks you're enjoying this a lot.”

He shook his head and keened. He tried to pull away again, but my hand was on his dick. Just a little squeeze, just a threat, and he went right back to riding the dildo.

“Now, mommy doesn't want you to have a good time. No, I'm doing this to hurt you, baby. What is mommy going to do with you? Getting off on being such a slut.”

He sniffled and turned his head, trying to hide his face against his shoulder.

The base of the dildo pressed up hard against my pussy and I moaned, blissed out on his humiliation. For a dead guy, he was being really responsive. Emotionally and physically, he was giving me more than I could have ever hoped for.

I had tried to cleave his head in two years ago and had only gotten a grunt of surprise for my effort. Clearly, I should have just shoved a tree branch up his ass and watched him squeal all the way back to the lake instead.

Maybe if I had done that, Danny would be alive.

Thinking about Danny made me think about Jessica and Tony and Nala and Omar and Macy. My sweet, shy Macy who loved to be a good boy for me when we were having sex, who looked up at me with the biggest eyes when I rode him hard and put him away wet.

He had looked at me like I was God.

Jason was giving me the same damn look, I swear it. Maybe it was because to a child, mother was God or some shit like that, but he had that same doe-eyed expression on his hideous, rotting face.

It made me want to be soft with him, like I would have been with Macy.

It made me want to cut his dick off and force him to suck it.

I swiped my sleeve over my eyes and they stung with my running makeup. I wiped at them again and swallowed back the rest of my tears. We were done with that. We were way, way past that.

When I looked down at him, he had stopped moving again.

“Um?” he grunted. “Um?”

I sneered. “Mommy didn't tell you to stop fucking yourself, bitch.”

He rocked back and forth on the dildo as I pulled out my handy dandy pocket knife again. I held the flat of the blade against his balls and that made him strain harder, move faster, make even more desperate noises. He strained himself just so he could keep his eye focused on the blade, head and shoulders off the ground.

I should cut his dick off, and I almost did.

But I was hot and wet, and I wanted to ruin mommy's precious little boy more than I wanted to be forgiven for the horrible things I was doing to him.

I sliced through his rank coveralls and the slimy black shirt underneath from bottom to collar and then pushed the two sides apart.

He looked about as bad as I thought he would. He was mottled with dark red and purple here as well, muscle revealed along his abdomen and chest, a glimpse of bone along his ribs.

An eel peeked its head out and then squirmed back into hiding.

A nipple had been gnawed off, but the other was present and swollen. I gave it a hard twist and it didn't come off in my hand, so that was a start.

But that did make Jason go off.

He yowled and his entire body bent as he came all over himself. The first few spurts were just water, but then some off-white sludge trickled down his dick and puddled on his belly. He whimpered and whined and twitched and, like a good boy, he kept riding my dick because I hadn't told him to stop yet.

I was smiling. Worse, I was baring all my teeth like some starving beast that had just found a fat, lazy bunny.

“Such a good boy for mother,” I praised. His mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile back. “Such a good slut with your hungry little hole and your sensitive nipple. We're going to get you hard again so that mommy can ride your dick, and then you'll really be a filthy whore. And then mommy's going to walk you back to the lake and you're going to sink to the bottom and you're never coming back. Do you know why?”

Jason hesitantly shook his head.

“Because if you ever come back, everyone will know what a filthy whore you are. Everyone will know that you like big dicks in your ass and having your nipple twisted and getting your little prick wet in mommy's pussy. They'll know and they'll tie you down and they'll fuck you and they'll laugh about how weak and helpless you are. They'll laugh at you as you make all your needy little noises and squirt all over yourself. All those horny teenagers you hate will take turns using you. And they won't let you go until you're covered in their cum. And every time you come back, it will just happen over and over and over again until, finally, people don't wait for you to show up. They'll hunt you down and drag you out of the lake and they'll put up a sign saying that your boy pussy and dick are open for business, 24/7. Some of them won't be as nice as mommy. They'll really hurt you. They'll take pictures of themselves pounding your ass while you cry like a little bitch and they'll share them with everyone. Do you want that, Jason? Do you want to be everyone's little whore? Do you want to share mommy's little fuck hole with everyone and have all the teen girls and boys ride your ugly dick? Do you want that, you dirty skank?”

He shook his head, “Nuh uh!”

“That's what mommy thought. So you're going to be a good boy for mommy after I'm done with you, right? You're going to crawl back into your lake and you're going to lay down there in the silt and shit and you're going to stay there or else mommy will come back with friends – a lot of friends – and put you in your place again. By the time mommy and her friends are done with you, you'll leak cum instead of water.”

He whimpered and his dick twitched and his balls were starting to draw up again.

How did I feel like I was already about to orgasm? The air I was breathing was too hot and heavy. I was melting in my sweater.

“Mommy needs to cum now, Jason. Mommy's going to use your ugly dick to get off and you're going to lay there and let it happen.”

I wrenched the dildo out of him and he cried out, desperately arching his hips toward me. His asshole gaped open, the wrinkled sphincter swollen and torn. Water streamed down the crack of his ass.

My hands shook as I got the harness off. I shoved the soaked dildo into the hole of his ribs, thrusting it a time or two and imagining that I was pounding his dead heart. There was a squirming under his naked muscle – probably, I was pissing off the eel that lived inside of him. He blubbered and tried to twist away.

I pushed my undies down my legs and then kicked them off as I straddled his lap.

“Uh,” he whimpered. “Uh.”

“Too fucking bad, Jason,” I told him. “Mommy gets what mommy wants. And mommy wants to take your dick virginity. Everyone will know that you're not pure anymore. They'll be able to see it, that you let mommy jump on your disgusting penis and you liked it.”

He was only half-hard, but still sizable. I was so turned on that he slid inside easily. I plopped down and rocked my hips from side to side, just letting myself enjoy the feeling of being almost full. Comfortably occupied.

I let myself enjoy the feeling of humiliating Jason and making him afraid of his own body. He wrenched at his restraints and keened and squirmed.

“There it goes, baby,” I practically sang. “There goes your virginity. Mommy took it! And now you're just a dirty whore like everyone else.” Maybe he would kill himself after I was done with him. That was a nice thought.

I panted as I bounced on him, my pussy squeezing tighter and tighter every time my clit smashed against his belly. I planted one hand on his discolored chest and used my other hand to rub myself. It felt good, it felt so good, it was going to be the best orgasm I had had in years, I could tell.

I closed my eyes, chin to my chest. I managed to look at him, gasping for air as the tension in my belly grew hotter and tighter. My toes were tingling. I needed this so bad. I was going to take this from him, whether he wanted it or not.

The look on his decomposed face, just unable to understand why his mother was doing this to him and scared about everything I had said, got me all the way there. I clenched down so hard that he cringed with discomfort.

“Yes, baby! Yes, that's a good slut for mommy. Mommy's bestest whore. Mommy loves making you take it like the bitch you are.”

I shook through my orgasm, feeling it in my muscles and bones. I didn't have the strength to lift myself up, so I just sat there, vagina fluttering around him and the tension flowing out of my body.

I laughed, suddenly. Relief, maybe, or I just finally lost my mind altogether. I hadn't felt this good in a long time.

My mind was happily buzzing and blank. I took the dildo and thrust it into his chest until something squished and something else hissed and Jason tried to hide his face against his shoulder again.

I giggled at him. He was so easy to embarrass with his clothes ripped open and his virginity stolen from him. “Aw, baby, don't be mad at mother. Does Jason want his dildo back? Does Jason want mommy to fuck his hole again until he squirts all over himself? Maybe Jason wants a... pacifier?” I rocked my hips, getting into the idea. “Does Jason want something to suck on while mommy uses him?”

I pulled the dildo out of his chest with another horrific suctioning noise. Anytime I played with one of his holes, it sounded like getting my foot stuck in deep mud. It was disgusting.

I clenched around him, and dragged the filthy dildo over his teeth. The neon pink silicon was covered with some brown ooze from inside his chest.

“You're going to suck the whole thing this time, not just the head,” I told him as he obediently opened his mouth. “Even if I have to cut out your tongue, okay? So you better make sure it fits.”

He believed me. I pushed the toy down and he bobbed his head up, sucking like a greedy baby.

I saw the corners of his mouth stretch and then split and suddenly the dildo was disappearing down his gullet at an alarming rate. I punched it down his throat until only the base was sticking out above his teeth. His thick neck bulged with its girth.

And then I gave it another shove and even the base was stuck behind his teeth.

“Mommy likes this look on you. Maybe, when I'm done with you, I'll just put your mask back on and make you crawl back into the lake with my dick still down your throat. Would you like that, baby? Would you like to choke on that dick for years and years and years? Mommy wants that for you.”

His throat flexed, but the sounds that came out of him where choked and muffled.

I grabbed his exposed rib in one hand, feeling the cold, wet insides of him against my knuckles as I rode him hard. He was bigger inside of me now, harder, and I laughed at knowing that his body couldn't help but enjoy the ways I hurt and humiliated him even while he hated it.

I had one more orgasm before I crawled off his lap, loose and fuzzy with tired pleasure. His dick was so hard that it was pulsing. He was sucking on his dildo like it was an actual pacifier, throat flexing around its girth.

“It's okay,” I told him gently. “Mommy's got you. Mommy came prepared. Mommy has more toys just for you.”

I pulled a cattle prod out of the bag. “Mommy was saving this one,” I said as I slid it inside of him, prongs first. It was so easy. He was so loose and soft. The cattle prod also wasn't nearly as thick as the dildo, just longer. I kept pushing it in until I met some kind of resistance that wouldn't let me go any further. His cock was leaking steadily.

I turned the cattle prod on. He went rigid as the electricity hit him.

I turned it off and watched him relax.

I turned it on and watched him go rigid.

I turned it off and listened to him try to beg around his dildo.

I turned it on.

I turned it off.

I turned it on.

I turned it off and watched him cum.

“You're being such a messy boy,” I told him. His throat was seizing up as he tried to push the dildo out, but it was lodged too deep. It was caught behind his teeth. It was well and truly stuck. “Mommy's dirty little whore.”

I lost track of myself with the cattle prod. Something in me healed as I tortured him with it. I experienced peace every time he seized, and then every time he tried to beg mommy to stop hurting him. I kept it random. I didn't want him to get used to it, or be able to anticipate it.

I pulled the cattle prod out and felt inside of him until I found his prostate. I jabbed the prongs against it and let the electricity flow.

His next orgasm was a real spectacle. He squirted so hard that he got his sludge cum on his chin. The orgasm after that was pitiful, just a little trickle of brown slush down the side of his dick. After that, no amount of jolts could get him to cum again. I would know, I tried. I was at it for a very, very long time. I got him half-hard again and that was as much as he could accomplish.

I dug into his prostate and let the cattle prod run until I smelled burnt meat. The battery overheated and then died.

But not Jason. Jason, with his ass literally cooked, just cried quietly with his throat bulging around my dildo. I bet if I fished around inside of his guts, I would find a cooked eel too.

I felt a little bad for the eel, though. It hadn't really committed a crime beyond choosing to house itself in an undead murderer.

Jason, though?

After everything I had done to him?

I pulled the cattle prod out of him and sat back, trying to understand what I did feel.

I felt... tired. Actually, I was exhausted. I wanted to sleep for ten years. I was hollow inside.

The grief, guilt, and rage that had motivated me for almost two decades now just wasn't there.

I breathed in through my nose, held it, and then breathed out slowly through my mouth. “Mother needed this very much,” I told Jason quietly. “I feel much better now that I have hurt you.”

I petted his face and he leaned into my touch, docile and broken and horrid.

“Okay, Jason.” I found my underwear and pulled them back on, then my pants. I sat down to tug on my socks and shoes. “Mommy's going to walk you back to the lake. You're going home and you're going to stay there this time or else mommy's going to find you and punish you again. Do you understand?”

He could hardly nod his head with his throat stuffed, but he made a gurgling noise that I thought was agreement.

I smiled as I put his mask back on. “If you want to take mommy's dick out of your mouth, you have to wait until you're at the bottom of the lake. If mommy sees you try to take my dick out before we're at the lake, I'm going to cut your prick off and put that in your mouth instead. Do you understand, Jason?”

His single eye stared at me through the mask, obedient and scared.

“Good boy, Jason.”

I took my times freeing him from the chains and the bear traps. His ankles were probably mangled, but I didn't check. His right arm seemed broken, but I didn't care.

Once he was free, I stood back and waited for him to move.

I thought this was the moment I was going to die. I really did. It wouldn't have mattered. I didn't want to survive the first time I met Jason, why would this time be any different?

I was going to die, but I was going to die knowing that I hurt Jason in ways he didn't even know he could be hurt.

He sat straight up, got his legs under him, and then stumbled to his feet. His head was tilted toward the sky, unable to face forward with my dick bracing his esophagus. His pants were torn where I had ripped them open, his soft and wet penis flopping around.

He was far from steady or sure as he walked forward, but he walked.

He walked past me toward the lake, and only stopped when he realized I wasn't following. He reached a hand in my direction. Not to hurt me, but to pull me closer. To just hold my hand in his as he half-dragged himself, half-limped back to camp.

For a single moment, I really was his mother. Was this what Pamela Voorhees had felt like when she had waited for a bus to show up and take her son to camp for the first and last time? She had probably held his tiny hand in hers, afraid of her child being hurt but wanting him to make friends and have fun.

This was someone's child and I had raped him. I had done horrible, awful things to him that I could never take back, and now he was holding my hand in his, gentle and needy.

Maybe he didn't understand that killing was wrong, but I understood that what I had done was wrong.

That was the moment where I cried – not for my friends or for me, but for this monster that used to be a little boy with a mother that loved him. I didn't even feel guilty for hurting him, I just felt bad that he had died and become what he was.

So I let him hold my hand as we trudged back to the edge of the lake. I thought I owed it to his real mother, even if she had been a crazy bitch.

The tents were still there, but the vans were gone. I guessed my mentees had fled, but it was fine.

At the edge of the lake, I let go. He tried to hold my hand again and I nudged him away.

“Go back to sleep, Jason,” I told him. “Be a good boy for mommy and stay in the lake this time. Don't let anyone see you again or else they'll know what a greedy slut you are.”

He probably would have bowed his head sadly if he could. He was, at what was left of his dead heart, a good boy for his mommy, though. He limped into the water and kept going until he disappeared under the dawn-lit surface.

I stayed there for awhile to make sure he didn't come back up. He didn't. I sat down and stayed longer, until the sun was directly over me and I was so thirsty and hungry that I felt dizzy with it.

Jason stayed in the lake.

Years later, I heard that they reopened Camp Crystal Lake under a new name. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who watched the news closely, even obsessively, waiting for gruesome news.

But summer camp went smoothly and nothing happened.

The next year, still nothing happened.

For the rest of my life, no one ever saw Jason at what used to be called Camp Crystal Lake.

I guess he didn't want anyone to know what a dirty whore he had been for mother.