“Oh, that’s just great,” she said, looking down at the wallet floating in the lake.
Fortunately, it was one of those cordura nylon outdoorsman’s wallets, used by fisherman and boaters because they floated, but it had drifted out of her reach and now she couldn’t get at it from the dock. There was nothing else to do but go in after it.
She walked back to the opposite end of the dock and stepped onto the ground, going down to the water’s edge. Slowly wading out into the water until it was up over her knees, she reached out for the floating wallet and picked it up. As she shook it off, the sound of heavy footsteps on the dock above her made her look up.
She saw a dark figure wearing a white hockey mask and carrying a spear gun walk out onto the dock. Shelly, she thought, was still playing his stupid games. Well, he probably wouldn’t think it was so funny when he found out she had dropped his wallet in the water. Everything inside was soaking wet.
“Hey . . . I dropped your wallet!” she called out. “I’m sorry!”
She saw him raise the spear gun.
“Hey, now cut that out!” she shouted. “That’s not funny!”
It was pointed straight at her. Suddenly she realized that the dark figure wasn’t wearing a wet suit. It wasn’t Shelly, but a much larger man, some huge and frightening stranger wearing Shelly’s hockey mask and aiming Shelly’s spear gun at her face . . .
“Who are you?” she shouted, staring with sudden fear at the figure on the dock. “What are you doing?”
Jason pulled the trigger. With a click and a sharp, hissing sound, the steel spear hurtled through the air and struck Vera in her left eye, penetrating deep into her brain. She fell back into the water, her right eye staring blindly at the sky, the shiny spear shaft protruding from her left eye socket as blood leaked out from around the window and mingled with the cold waters of Crystal Lake.
Jason dropped the spear gun onto the dock and turned back toward the house. He looked up at the light in a second-floor bedroom window, where Andy and Debbie lay wrapped in each others arms.
“That was the best one yet,” said Debbie, sighing contentedly. “Was it you . . . me . . . or the hammock?”
“I vote for me,” said Andy, with a grin.
“I vote for the hammock,” she said, giggling as she sat up and lowered her feet to the floor. She stood and reached for her bathrobe.
“Where are you goin’?” Andy said.
“I’m taking a shower,” she said, pausing at the door. “You ought to try it sometime.”
She went into the bathroom, flicked on the light switch, and turned on the shower.
“Hey, Debbie, can you hear me?” Andy shouted from outside the bathroom door.
She dropped her bathrobe to the floor. “Barely,” she said.
“I’m going downstairs to get a brew,” he called, “You want one?”
She got into the shower and started soaping herself. Downstairs, the front door opened and Jason walked in, carrying a machete from the barn. He slowly crossed the living room and started up the spiral staircase to the second floor, and the sound of their voices.
As Debbie washed the soap out of her eyes, the door to the bathroom opened. She heard a banging noise and turned off the shower.
“Andy?”
She wiped the water out of her eyes and opened them. She could see a shadowy figure through the shower curtain. She drew the curtain back and saw Andy, upside down, walking on his hands. The banging sound had been him kicking the bathroom door open. She rolled her eyes at him.
He came down out of his handstand, grinning, “Do you want that beer, or not?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be right back,” said Andy. He kicked up into a handstand once again and walked out of the bathroom on his hands. Smiling, Debbie shook her head and pulled the shower curtain closed. He was always showing off. She turned the hot water back on.
Andy kept his balance perfectly as he walked on his hands into the hall, whistling to himself. One of these days, he thought, I’ll have to see if I’ve got enough nerve to try this going down the stairs. Wonder if I can make it without getting killed?”
“Andy . . .” Debbie called out from the bathroom over the sound of running water. “Are you still out there?”
He stopped and pivoted around on his hands . . . and found himself looking at a pair of dirty work boots. He glanced up and saw a large figure wearing a white hockey mask and brandishing a gleaming machete. He screamed as the razor-sharp blade chopped down savagely between his legs, slicing through his upside-down body like an ax splitting logs.
Over the sound of the running water, Debbie thought she heard a yell, followed by a crashing sound. She finished rinsing off the soap, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower.
“Andy?” she called, reaching for a towel. “Are you still out there? I can’t hear you! Will you quit fooling around? Cut it out!”
She dried off, then wrapped the towel around herself and opened the bathroom door. She stuck her head out and looked up and down the hall, but there was no sign of him. He must’ve gone downstairs, she thought.
“I changed my mind, I don’t want that beer!” she shouted, looking down over the balcony as she walked down the hall to their bedroom, her bare feet almost stepping into a trail of blood. “Andy? Andy? Did you hear me about that beer?”
She stopped at the bedroom door, listening for a moment, then sighed with
