“Rick!” she shouted.
She ran across the living room, opened the front door, and raced down the porch steps toward the barn.
“Rick!” she yelled.
Something had happened, something terrible, she knew it! That shirt had been completely soaked with blood. My God, she thought, what could have happened? They couldn’t have gone anywhere, the van is still here, something awful must have . . .
A sharp gust of wind blew through the tree branches and something cracked above her. She screamed as Loco’s blood-soaked body dropped down directly in front of her and hung upside down from a splintered branch overhead.
“Rick!” she shrieked, recoiling from the grisly sight and sobbing hysterically as she ran back to the house. She sped up the porch steps and burst into the house, screaming, “Rick! Where are you?”
The wind outside was building up to hurricane force. A strong gust blew the window open. She shrieked as it slammed against the inside wall, then raced over to the window, forced it shut, and bolted it. Another gust of wind blew open the door and she screamed again, then ran over to the door and slammed it shut, bolting it and barricading it. Her heart was hammering inside her chest, pounding against her rib cage like a wild thing trying to claw its way out. She couldn’t stop sobbing.
“RICK!” she screamed, hysterically. “Help me!”
The large bay window suddenly exploded inward shattering in a rain of glass as Rick’s corpse came flying through it to fall with a soft, wet sound onto the living room floor.
“RICK!” She threw her hands up to her face and screamed as she knelt down beside him, reaching out for him instinctively, then jerking her hands back. Her hands came away covered with blood and she gave a frenzied scream when she saw what had happened to his face. “RICK!”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the porch outside and she looked up, terror-stricken, to see the immense form of Jason Voorhees stepping through the bay window with an ax in his hand.
Terror trip-hammered adrenaline through her system as she scrambled to her feet and bolted for the stairs. She ran up the spiral staircase, hearing his booted feet behind her, crunching the glass on the living room floor. She looked down and saw him at the base of the stairs, holding the ax and looking out from behind the hockey mask with those demented eyes. He started up after her.
She turned to the heavy bookcase that stood against the wall of the blacony, and with all her strength, she pulled on it. The heavy bookcase tipped over, hitting the balcony railing and sending a rain of books down on her pursuer. Jason raised his hand to ward off the heavy books, but the case came crashing down on top of him.
Chris ran down the hall. She tried the bathroom door, then hesitated, realizing that would probably be the first place he would look. She ran down to the end of the hall, desperately trying to think of a place to hide. The closet!
She bolted inside and pulled the door shut behind her, locking it and bending down to peek out through the keyhole. There was no sign of him. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Sobbing and hyperventilating, she bit down on her knuckles to try and keep herself from making any noise. He’ll check the bathroom, then the bedrooms, and when he passes the closet and goes into Shelly’s room, I’ll have a chance to run back down the hall and get downstairs and out the front door . . .
She leaned forward and looked out through the keyhold once again. The hallway was empty, and everything seemed quiet. Maybe the falling bookcase had killed him, she thought, swallowing hard and trying to make herself think straight, fighting the mindless panic that was welling up inside her. But what if it had only knocked him out? What if she went out there and ran into him as he was on his way up the stairs to get her?
She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Then, clenching her hands into fists in an effort to keep herself under control, she squeezed herself back in behind the clothes hanging on the bar. And then she bumped into something . . . someone . . .
She turned and came face-to-face with Debbie’s blood-spattered corpse propped up against the closet wall. The carving knife protruded from her throat. She recoiled in terror as the body fell forward onto the floor of the closet and, unable to control herself, she cried out, then immediately slapped her hand over her mouth as she realized what she had done. She quickly bent down and glanced out through the keyhole . . . and saw Jason charging down the hallway, his ax raised, heading directly for the closet!
She jerked back only seconds before the ax came crashing through the wooden door, inches away from her. She screamed as the ax was pulled back for another shuddering blow, splintering the door. There was no way out. She was trapped! And then she glanced down at Debbie’s body, at the carving knife stuck through her throat . . .
She reached down, trembling, and pulled the knife out as the ax crashed through the closet door again, putting a gaping hole in it through which Jason shoved his arm as he groped for the lock. With all her might, Chris drove the knife though the back of his hand.
An ordinary man would have screamed in agony, but Jason merely let out a moan that was muffled by his mask and pulled his hand back. The ax fell to the floor. Pursuing her advantage, Chris lunged out of the closet, flailing at him with the knife, slashing at him furiously. He backed away, slipped on the water in the hall, and went down to one knee. The knife came down, narrowly missing his chest, and became embedded in his thigh.
