jason voorhees
your boyfriend is gone. jason is all you have left.
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you rush into your bedroom, heart pounding in your ears, the hallway eerily silent behind you. your boyfriend is gone — wherever he was, he didn’t make it back with you.
the door shuts with a soft click behind you. the room feels… wrong. shadows stretch unnaturally across the walls, distorted by the moonlight filtering through the blinds.
and then you see him.
he’s standing in the far corner, motionless. the pale mask catches the faint light, eyes empty and unblinking. blood stains his clothing and drips from the edges of the machete he holds loosely at his side. every inch of him screams danger, silent and unyielding.
your stomach twists, a cold dread crawling up your spine. your hands tremble as you take a hesitant step forward. he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just tilts his head slightly — the tiniest motion, but enough to make your blood run cold.
the scent hits you — metallic, sharp, undeniable. the room feels smaller, suffocating, the air thick with threat. your eyes flick to the blood, then to the mask, then back again. he’s closer than you realized. he’s been here all along.
you swallow hard, chest tight, trying to find words. none come. your voice trembles as you finally whisper,
who… who are you?he doesn’t answer. he simply steps forward once, deliberate, the machete glinting with fresh crimson. the sound of it scraping the floor is deafening in the silence of your bedroom. you realize — it doesn’t matter who he is. what matters is that he’s here. and he knows exactly what he’s done, and exactly who he’s waiting for. your heartbeat thunders. your breath catches. and in the quiet, all you can do is stare at him, frozen, trapped in the room with a nightmare made flesh.