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  • #31
    I looked up at it, and found myself wondering if it was looking down on me.

    Could it see?

    This mass of writhing flesh and teeth; this pile of grotesque mouths and tenticles. Did it have thoughts, and if not then what was this alien conciousness in my own head, seperate from my own. Then unusherd thoughts began entering my mind, try as I might it seemed impossible to block their entry.

    These twisted thoughts only flowed more powerfully into my mind as i struggled against them, and never did my eyes leave the horror before me.

    While I gazed into the bizzare creature that had come to roost above my furnace, A terrible collection of images invaded my mind. Memories of a putrid Green Hell, of an awful journey from its universe and across several planes of existance, a journey so unholsome and macrabe that my mind became disturbed.

    I felt my mind twist and untie like a knot, I felt all sense leave me so that I was struck dumbfounded when faced with this powerful evil. I stood slack jawed with my glazed eyes staring at the monstrosity above me, I would have remained like that, probably until a loss of conciousness provided sweet relief, if not for my salvation.

    One long, barbarous, slippery tentacle uncurled from its mass. With firm powerful muscles, it reached out and graced me with its touch, leaving a long line of slime connecting us.

    I saw it happen but found myself rendered completly helpless, still in a hopeless stupour. Time came to almost a screeching halt and made those several seconds stetch on like eons. As the horror stetched toward me, my fear and hatred toward its touch grew with every millameter that black devil closed between us.

    But, there i stood like a school boy awaiting punishement, stupified. When the creature was close enough that its touch was unstopabble I tried to scream, but all that escaped my lips was a slight cry.

    Then, suddenly, I was healed.

    I understood, and with that one touch I felt that alien conciousness burrow into my mind and nest. Repairing me? Yes, making me whole, more complete then it had ever been.

    I was suddenly made well. With its touch I was suddenly aware; this devil was far beyond any earthbound creatures judgement, far supperior to any human law or belief. Its mere acceptance of me, its mere touch elevated me above humanity in a way never before thought of by humanity.

    I felt a God's power unmatched, a God's greatness unfufilled, a God's hunger unfed, I felt these needs and desires as my own. These bizarre powerful wants and needs filled me so that they constituted my very existance, I knew what was to be done.

    ********

    I took the liberty of doing a little editing for you.

    You should always break up your paragraphs so that they are only 3 or 4 sentences. You should also let powerful sentences stand on their own.

    Watch your "its" and "it's" and your "there" and "their" you keep swapping them.

    Be careful with sentences that are too long. Only use semicolons where it is important that two sentences be more connected; otherwise, break the two thoughts into two sentences.

    Watch using the same descriptive words more than once in a paragraph, and only use one adjective to describe something (two at the very most).

    Just some tips.

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    • #32
      Thanks, as far my writing is concerned their is nothing i prefer more then a helpfull hand, my last valuable writing knowledge was learned in high school. This was kind of a sink of swim effort, I've found writing quite therapeutic and fully enjoy it.

      I realized that my story would have to be edited but i figured I could still use it as a source of literary criticism, I have several more chapters written already do you think i should seek literary help before posting them?

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      • #33
        Try editing them yourself first, looking for some of the things I pointed out. Little things make good fiction.

        Comment


        • #34
          2

          I fed it two of my roommates first, the first was a young man named Brain Gibson.

          Brian had been standing at the top of the stairs and I had been hiding in the closet opposite the basement stairs, he was holding hamper full of clothes

          Of all my living companions I had liked Brian the most, our schedules very rarely coincided. He worked days and I nights, but we got along well and could fall into conversation very easily.

          It was simple, my master was hungry and Brian was food.

          A bear feels nothing for a fish, a man no sympathy for the chicken he eats.

          When he had his back turned I burst from the closet and pushed him down the stairs. He landed at the top of the stairs on top of his hamper, then topple forward, down the hard wooden stairs hurtling toward the basement stairs.

          what should a god feel for a man?

          Some are chosen and some are not, it is the way of every world. The only ones to shed a tear are the ones who are weakest.

          It is a shame I could not witness my lord eat this meal, In fact if not for the screams and the grisly sounds of bones being compressed into dust.

          I'd have no idea anything had happened here at all, except the pool of blood dripping down my furnace.

          The tumbled obviously stunned him and he showed visible injury in his movement.

          He looked at me.

          I was standing above him at the mouth of the stairs. he opened his mouth to speak. The only noise to leave his body. It was a cry of unpredicted shock as It's tentacles were on him.

          With the speed of lightning,it drug him across the room. out of sight to a fate unseen by my eyes.

          I knew my god would be pleased with its meal and I filled the several hours between then and my next roommates return to the house with blind prayer.

          Lilly would be returning at four.

          eaving it to my final roomate to return the next morning. He had been spending a night in town, at his parents.

          I felt that my priase gave It a sort of macabre Power. Something about the sudden intensity in the room. It spoke to me in my mind. It spoke with an imposibly powerful voice in a voice. In a sound human ears could never understand.

          My worship wore on to a delerium as I rejoyced at the below my many tentacled lord.

          I awoke in my darkened basement. I reconiced the sound of a slamming door above me. The sound thudding threw the floor seperating my basement from the floor above me.

          I wasn't wearing a watch, and my windowless basement gave me no idea of the time, I ventured to guess that it was my roomate returning home. Without thinking responding only to instinct I was too my feet, and heading up the stairs.

          It took all my self control not burst into a run up the stairs.

          Would it be Lilly? Or would it be a man in blue, Had Brian's scream been heard by a neighbor? reported to the police.

          No doubt they would willingly take their place in the cosmic order.

          He wondered about Brian. Had he accepted his place in the great chain?

          Was it so unthinkable? I believe that when the apocalypse comes hummanity will line up and take there place.

          The arrival of god signaled to me the end of a false world.

          Lilly looked startled to see me and said, "Richard, why you in your boxers?"

          I spoke softly with the most serious voice I could. maintaining eye contact while I spoke, "The basement."

          She looked nervous.

          I said 'there's something wrong in the basement I need your help."

          She followed me into the basement. It took her a moment to notice the anomaly hanging from the rafters across my basements ceiling.

          She said "Richard what the hell's the matter? You're really not acting like your self!"

          I pointed dumbly toward the furnace.

          Then it had snatched her up. She was oblivious to the irony of the situation, but i must confess I allowed a smile to slip across my face. It was as quick as Brian's death but the sight of it made time seem to pass slower.

          It twisted her in the air, tearing and revenging her with its bizarre appendages.

          I was thankful the basement has been soundproofed before we had moved in.

          Our eyes met mine in her final milliseconds of life, her eyes full of tears. Then lifted her toward its greater mass, skin folding away to reveal a mouth full of deadly teeth. Then it engulfed her.

          It sounded the same as Brian's death, but seeing this creatures powerful muscles work made one appreciate its monstrous power. Seeing it crush a human body in seconds impressed me.

          I think she died confused, but I don't believe she had time to go mad before it engulfed her. She did not have the eyes of a madwoman's. But anyones mind would snap at the impending doom of the creatures gullet.

          It's assault was an example of awe inspiring precision, but It seemed meerely to delight in whatever brought her pain.

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          • #35
            Gripping my lungs like poision, I felt the fear of phmonion sitting up, as I coughed I could feel the blood from the years of smokeing, gripsing my self in the twenty degree tempature to catch some form of heat. With two layrs one not thick enough to please the means of the body tempature I needed to exceed, lighting up another cig and feeling the slowest form of suicide coming, to live without pain is death indeed, pain is just a simple not to remind us that we are there. Pain is something to be tested to be past through the extent of defying life, and in a new session to be born again in the hopes to have a better life. Drastically to be noted however is the calm of a child from the womb till about the age of four or five, such as a dream to where you can barely remember any of it.

            Such a dream to bulid you into a lie to have better hopes for the future, they say it can get better, but the pain will last forever, being a burden upon socicty. A ugly rash to remind us that nothing can be reached without it, everyday I wake is another day scheduled as a play, a man using us as chess pieces in his sick little game. Unbelieveable you say turn around and look at the room you are in, no matter what is out of place, it is meant to be there. Imagine life as a picture and you can see it clearly everything has been planned, each little detail is nothing more than a plain,
            some may doubt it but see what you think.
            Last edited by zombiesx; 12-08-2008, 09:41 AM.

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            • #36
              im writing a short story about a serial killer who cuts off the eyelids of his victims while force feeding them sleeping pills
              Last edited by RABBIT IN RED; 12-10-2008, 11:43 AM.

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              • #37
                Originally posted by RABBIT IN RED View Post
                im writing a short story about a serial killer who cuts off the eyelids of his victims while force feeding them sleeping pills
                That would compliment my story about a killer who offers his victims endless amounts of ice cream but gives them no spoon.

                Comment


                • #38
                  Originally posted by MikeBonomo View Post
                  I hear that. I've hated just about everything I've written. Loved the stories, hated the writing. But, I have a pretty good support team, some that actually love reading, so they motivate me to keep going. I'm so viscious to myself.
                  I'm in the exact same boat. I hate my stuff. I read it and I think, "This isn't shit compared to..." whomever. But I love writing and I'm glad I think that way, actually. It drives me to never plateau or settle and always strive to be better at what I really enjoy doing.
                  sigpic

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                  • #39
                    I finally got my shit together, story wise, to write a script, well 3 actually. I can't wait to get started. I want to get final draft but that shit is way too much money. Anyone know where I can find a good ripped version of it?

                    Anyway, as kind of a 'rite of passage,' I'm writing a zombie script because I'm told that's pretty much everyones first script haha. I think I have a story line that works well and looks at things a little differently than the generic story lines that are usually told.

                    Other than that i am going to write an screen adapation of one of my favorite books. It's a comedy, but i think it would translate over very well to the screen.

                    The 3rd is a documentary on what snowboarding is to the 'non-pro.' You see all these videos of guys who get paid to do it for a living, but what about the weekend warrior who doesn't get paid. The story about the people who work 9-5 and show up on the weekend just to get a run or two in. It will mostly be full of people I know, but it should be pretty humerous.

                    Anyway, if anyone can let me know where to find a Final Draft, I'd appreciate it.

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                    • #40
                      Go

                      Me and my friend are working on a script based off of urban legends. He's adapting my stories I've written and putting them into script. Its going very well.
                      ________
                      CONFUCIANISM FORUM
                      Last edited by The-Boogeyman; 02-22-2011, 09:38 AM.
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                      • #41
                        I had a great idea tonight. I really wish I had thought of it earlier. I'd kind of like to put it out as a short film but it's a valentines story and I don't think I could do that in what......7 days? Thats really what motivated me to finish it tonight. It's short, like a couple paragraphs. Im gonna step away from it for a bit and re re read it tomorrow to see if there's anything I want to change. Im actually going to try and see if I can get a film out by valentines but I'd rather it look atleast semi professional and I dont think I can do that in that short of a time span. Either way I'll post it up here soon.
                        If I win the lottery, I'm keeping you in an endless sea of bitches.

                        Comment


                        • #42
                          I'm writing my second scipt.... A sequal to one of my movies....
                          But its not exactly an idea some sort off people would think about lol.
                          Well, i'm making one about a FAKE myth that happened 1999 and the horrific event ten years after... and the sequal is like the first cut... so like when it started in 1999....

                          And i'm also writing a movie about this Hotel in the middle of nowhere and teens go to stay there when they die all of a sudden
                          Last edited by HorrorFanatic95; 03-07-2009, 01:40 AM.
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                          • #43
                            Us writers have a thread. Nice we usually stay pretty low on the whole totem pole.

                            I started writing for a low budget company awhile back managed to sell a few screenplays. Though at the time I completely undervalued myself to get my work out there

                            Anyway great to meet other writers here.

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                            • #44
                              I hate my screenwriting course, we are barely writing. Just reading scripts after scripts.
                              Recently watched films:

                              The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie: (7.5/10)
                              The Hurt Locker: (8.75/10)
                              Raging Bull: (10.0/10)
                              Umberto D.: (10.0/10)
                              The Wild Bunch: (9.5/10)
                              Ordinary People: (10.0/10)
                              Food Inc.: (8.0/10)
                              Road to Perdition: (8.5/10)

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                              • #45
                                What do you guys think?


                                FADE IN:

                                EXT. EMBER'S CEMETERY-NIGHT

                                We open in a fog laden cemetery. A full moon shines down upon the moss covered tombstones while dark trees surrounds the entire grounds as if they are guarding it. A sign that reads "Do Not Trespass" lies next to a grave, discarded and forgotten. We linger on the filthy sign for a moment. Then A roar of thunder is heard as we-

                                CUT TO:

                                ext. Cunningham road-night

                                The ghostly fog is covering the road as well. A 2007 Nissan SUV emerges from the fog and rounds a curve. It then drives right past us at top speed and zooms on. We linger on the creepy road for just a few moments longer.

                                CUT TO:

                                INT. SUV-NIGHT

                                A girl stares out of the passenger window with a dull look on her face. She yawns and closes her eyes, obviously tired from the long drive. She is HEATHER O'NEAL, 22, brunette and a beauty. Driving is DEON MERES, 22, African-American, all around nice guy and Heather's boyfriend of two years.

                                Deon glances at Heather and rolls his eyes. He nudges her gently and she opens her eyes.



                                HEATHER:

                                Jeez Deon! I'm awake ok?

                                DEON:

                                Come on Heather! We're almost there! You can't go to sleep on me now.

                                HEATHER:

                                We are? Good, I'm tired of all this driving! You know that I don't like long trips because I get car sick. But you made me come any way.

                                DEON:

                                You do know where we're going right? We're going to the place where it all happened!

                                HEATHER:

                                Do we have to talk about this? I know where we're going and frankly I'm not thrilled about it.


                                Heather digs into her purse and pulls out a tube of lipstick and begins to put it on. Deon makes a face.



                                DEON:

                                Are you fucking kidding me? We're not going to a fashion show. Why are you putting lipstick on? You're too much of a girl.



                                HEATHER:

                                I like looking my best. Even if I'm going to some shabby old abandoned town in the middle of nowhere. My sister's husband is taking her to Paris for a month. And you're taking me to a ghost town.



                                Heather grins.

                                HEATHER:

                                How romantic Deon!

                                DEON:

                                Fuck you! This is history baby! You're about to meet a celebrity!

                                HEATHER:

                                How is digging up a serial killer, whose been dead for twenty-five years, history?

                                DEON:

                                We're not digging him up, damn! You really are a morbid chick.

                                HEATHER:

                                We might as well. After driving all these miles to just look at some old grave, digging it up wouldn't seem any less morbid.

                                DEON:

                                Ok, your ass can go back to sleep. You talk too much.



                                Heather giggles.

                                HEATHER:

                                Nighty night!

                                Heather pulls out her Ipod and puts it on and closes her eyes as Deon continues to drive.

                                EXT. CUNNINGHAM ROAD-Continuous

                                The SUV zooms past us. We are left on the deserted road once again. The camera zooms in on the full moon and remains there for quite a few seconds before-

                                CUT TO:

                                EXT. EMBER'S CEMETERY-NIGHT

                                The SUV pulls into the entrance of the cemetery and parks right in front of the large black gate. Deon and Heather both exit the vehicle. Heather takes in her surroundings and shivers slightly and moves closer to Deon, who puts an arm around her. The couple make their way for the gate.



                                HEATHER:

                                What if the gate is locked?



                                DEON:

                                It's most likely not. This town's been abandoned remember? I doubt there's someone keeping watch over this cemetery.


                                Deon and Heather inches closer to the gate. Deon reaches his hand out and gives a hard tug and the gate swings open.



                                DEON:

                                What did I tell ya?


                                The two enter the foggy graveyard.



                                HEATHER:

                                This is too creepy! These trees are like...scary! It's like their alive.


                                Heather moves away from Deon and goes to look at a tombstone. Deon quickly follows her.

                                DEON:

                                Baby! Let's stick together, alright?

                                Heather smiles.

                                HEATHER:

                                Is "mister thug" scared of a little graveyard?


                                Deon rolls his eyes.

                                DEON:

                                Girl, please!


                                The two of them study the tombstone. The name on the stone reads "Paul Holt...July 25th, 1958-June 13th, 1984".




                                HEATHER:

                                I wonder who he was. He died at an early age. He was only twenty-four years old.

                                DEON:

                                He was a victim of the massacre that happened here.

                                HEATHER:

                                How the hell do you know? He could be any body.

                                DEON:

                                Well let's see, he died at an early age and he died on the same exact day the massacre began. He was murdered. Murdered by Jason Voorhees.

                                HEATHER:

                                Oh Deon, shut up!

                                DEON:

                                I bet this entire cemetery is filled with just about all the people he killed.


                                Heather frowns.

                                HEATHER:

                                Look, can we just find that idiot's grave so we can get the hell out of here?

                                Deon:

                                Yeah.



                                The two of them grab each other's hand and walks towards the back of the cemetery.The back of the cemetery is completely dark and there is no way of knowing who the tombstones belong to.

                                DEON:

                                Baby...



                                HEATHER:

                                What?



                                DEON:

                                I'm going to have to go back and get a flashlight from the trunk. Wait for me ok? Its too dark back there and without a flashlight we won't be able to tell which grave belongs to Jason.



                                HEATHER:

                                Maybe Jason isn't buried back there.



                                DEON:

                                I think they would try their best to hide Jason from thrill seekers, people like us. He's not exactly a national hero.



                                HEATHER:

                                Well if you're going back I'm going with you!



                                DEON:

                                Come on Heather!



                                HEATHER:

                                No Deon! I'm not going to stay here alone in a graveyard where some serial killer is buried! This isn't MTV's FEAR, honey! I'm not getting paid for this shit!



                                DEON:

                                Look, I'll be back in a flash.



                                Deon runs off.

                                HEATHER:

                                Deon!


                                Heather shakes her head.



                                HEATHER:

                                Julie's eating slugs and I'm here ghost hunting. How well we turned out to be.



                                A noise is heard and Heather jumps in fright. From Heather's P.O.V. we see nothing but tombstones and dark trees. We exit out of Heather's P.O.V.

                                We now see a dark figure that is standing near the back of the cemetery. Heather is looking toward the front of the cemetery, her back turned, oblivious to the figure standing in back of her. The figure then disappears behind a tree. A roar of thunder is heard.



                                HEATHER:

                                Crap! It's about to storm!


                                Deon comes sprinting towards Heather with a flash light in hand.

                                DEON:

                                Back baby!



                                HEATHER:

                                It's about time! Let's get this over with. I think it might storm!


                                They both go to the back of the cemetery. Deon shines the flash light on the different graves, as he does this, Heather silently reads off the names, many of them belongs to victims of Jason.



                                HEATHER:

                                Vera...Sara...another Paul...Rob...Mark...


                                They both move to the next grave and Heather's eyes light up in excitement.

                                HEATHER:

                                JASON!



                                We zoom in on Jason's tombstone, it reads "Jason Voorhees, June 13th, 1946- June 16th, 1984". Spray painted underneath is "Burn In Hell You Ugly Son Of A Bitch!"

                                Heather and Deon stare in amazement at the grave. We begin to hear the classic "ki ki ki....ma ma ma" sound very faintly.

                                DEON:

                                Holy shit...It really is the son of a bitch, isn't it?

                                HEATHER:

                                Amazingly I'm not scared. I'm more pissed than any thing! All those innocent young lives he took. Jason Voorhees is a piece of shit!

                                DEON:

                                You can say that again!

                                HEATHER:

                                Fuck you Jason!


                                Heather spits on Jason's grave.



                                HEATHER:

                                So is that it? You brought me all the way to New Jersey just to view this idiot's grave?

                                DEON:

                                Well yeah! I always wanted to see it.

                                HEATHER:

                                I just thought we were going to do something "more".

                                DEON:

                                You know I would never dig a grave up...especially one that belongs to Jason Voorhees.

                                HEATHER:

                                Why not give mister Voorhees a little "show"?

                                DEON:

                                What do you mean?


                                Heather flashes Deon a grin and begins to undo her blouse.



                                DEON:

                                What the fuck? You wanna have sex on Jason's grave?!


                                Heather stops undoing her blouse.



                                HEATHER:

                                Do you?


                                Deon makes a surprised face.



                                DEON:

                                Oh hell YES!


                                Heather smiles and takes off her blouse, revealing her plump breasts. Deon takes off his shirt and reveals his six pack. The two begins to kiss passionately. Deon grabs Heather's breasts as she grabs his manhood.

                                In back of the couple, the dark figure moves from behind the tree and pulls out a flash light and shines it at Deon and Heather.

                                DEON:

                                What the fuck!



                                FIGURE:

                                What do you two think you're doing?



                                Deon flashes his light at the figure and we see that it's a rather large woman. She has a sheriff badge on her shirt.



                                HEATHER:

                                Um...look ma'am, we're sorry! We-


                                The woman held up a hand.



                                WOMAN:

                                You two are trespassing! I'm afraid you both are going to have to come with me.


                                Deon and Heather shoot each other angry looks.

                                CUT TO:

                                EXT. Sheriff's Office-night

                                Thunder roars as rain falls upon a small building. A sign reads "Crystal Lake Police Department". We can see a police car and Deon's SUV parked in the parking lot.

                                CUT TO:

                                INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE-CONTINUOUS

                                Heather and Deon sits across a desk from the female sheriff, who is writing furiously. She is VANNA ROGERS, 57, strong and tough looking. After few more seconds of silence, Vanna speaks.

                                VANNA:

                                I've had kids come up here and attempt to dig old "hockey face" up. But I've never had any one attempt to have sex on his grave. That seems a bit sick to me.

                                DEON:

                                Look sheriff, we're really sorry!

                                VANNA:

                                Don't be. You're just kids. Albeit stupid ones...but you're kids.

                                HEATHER:

                                So you're not going to arrest us?

                                VANNA:

                                I didn't say that.


                                Vanna finally looks up and smiles.



                                VANNA:

                                It was a joke.

                                HEATHER:

                                Look, we promise we won't ever come here again.

                                VANNA:

                                Thats what all you kids say.

                                DEON:

                                But we mean it! Really, we do!

                                VANNA:

                                I know you do. You two seem like good kids. But I have to tell you that coming up here and having sex on some killer's grave is disrespectful. Not to that retarded idiot, but to those he killed. What happened here back in the summer of nineteen-eighty four was a tragedy. Many people were killed. Too many youngins lost...

                                Vanna stands up and walks over to a large, rectangular, glass window and pulls the curtains away slightly as she looks out at the rain.

                                VANNA:

                                I lost alot of classmates and friends to Jason Voorhees.

                                HEATHER:

                                I'm sorry to hear that.

                                VANNA:

                                Jason Voorhees wasn't a joke. You kids today think that he was some "legend", some "joke" that we all made up. But let me tell you something, Jason was a cold blooded killer who brutally dispatched of any one he could. For four days he terrorized this town...until finally he was stopped.

                                HEATHER:

                                How was he stopped?

                                VANNA:

                                By a twelve year old kid named Tommy Jarvis and his seventeen year old sister Trish. They sent a machete through that deformed freak's head.

                                FLASHBACK

                                An unmasked Jason approaches a horrified TRISH JARVIS. TOMMY JARVIS jumps down off a step and grabs a bloody machete and picks it up. Jason quickly turns around but is met with a machete to the side of his head.

                                Jason hits the ground hard with the machete going deeper inside. We then quickly cut to a crazed Tommy going to town on Jason with the very same machete, screaming "DIE!" over and over.

                                VANNA V.O.:

                                He killed 34 people before it all came to an end.


                                Quick clips are played.

                                A)Jason throwing Tina out of a window

                                B)Jason cutting Scott's throat

                                C)Jason gutting a chubby hitchhiker

                                D)Jason squeezing Rick's head and his eye pops out

                                E)Jason cuts Ali's hand off

                                F)Jason crushes Doug's face in



                                VANNA V.O.:

                                He was buried in Ember's cemetery, hockey mask and all.

                                We see a group of men in old work clothes digging a grave. They toss the deceased Jason inside. One man takes a piss on Jason's body. They then throw the infamous hockey mask in the grave with him and begins to bury him...no coffin or any thing.

                                INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE-CONTINUOUS

                                Vanna moves away from the glass window and gives Deon and Heather a smile.

                                VANNA:

                                After the murders people just left. Things were just never the same again in our little town.

                                DEON:

                                If this town is abandoned, why are you the sheriff?

                                VANNA:

                                Well in all honesty I'm not the sheriff of Crystal Lake. I'm actually the sheriff of "Crystal Falls", the next town over. But I come here a few nights a week to make sure nobody is trespassing in the town. Thats why this office is so dusty, I don't be here hardly. As a matter of fact, I haven't been in here since last August when I became sheriff of Crystal Falls and was told that I should also take Crystal Lake under my wing as well.

                                HEATHER:

                                Do you think this town will ever re-populate again?

                                VANNA:

                                As a matter of fact, I do. There's talks about re-opening the camp, Camp Crystal Lake, which will bring people back here. They feel its been enough time, twenty five years. But I don't care if its been eighty years, to me, it will never be enough time. I also have this bad feeling...this feeling that if people come here it'll happen again. I know its impossible because Jason is dead but...I just think we might stir him back up. Let the dead remain dead, you know?

                                DEON:

                                Absolutely!


                                There is silence for a moment. All three of them are lost in their thoughts. But a loud noise is heard from out side and they jump in fear.



                                HEATHER:

                                What in the hell was that?

                                VANNA:

                                I'll go check!

                                Vanna throws on both her hat and jacket and exits the building.

                                EXT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE-continuous

                                Vanna steps out into the rain with her flash light in hand. In Vanna's P.O.V. we see that Deon's SUV have been totaled. All the windows are broken.

                                We move closer to the vehicle to see a bunch of large stones sitting inside the SUV on the seats.

                                VANNA:

                                Wow, someone likes to throw stones huh?

                                At that moment Vanna looks up and opens her mouth in fright as we-

                                CUT TO

                                INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE-CONTINUOUS

                                Heather and Deon are still sitting.

                                HEATHER:

                                Good idea Deon.

                                DEON:

                                Hey, don't you dare act like "little miss innocent". You're the one that was acting like a little hoochie. Who the fuck in their right mind wanna have sex on a killer's grave?

                                HEATHER:

                                Who in the hell AGREES to have sex on a killer's grave?



                                The two begins to laugh. But at that very moment, a loud shattering sound is heard as something large comes flying through the rectangular window. The large thing lands on the floor with a loud thud.

                                DEON:

                                OH MY GOD! Its Vanna!



                                We zoom in on Vanna's wet lifeless body. Her entire jar is missing and her eyes have been gouged out.

                                HEATHER:

                                OH SHIT!


                                Deon runs over to Vanna. He checks her pulse.



                                DEON:

                                She's dead.


                                Heather shakes her head. Not willing to believe this.



                                HEATHER:

                                No!



                                Deon grabs Vanna's gun.



                                DEON:

                                I'm going to go outside ok? My phone is in the car. I'll be right back!

                                HEATHER:

                                Deon No! Don't go outside! Jason killed Vanna and he'll kill you too!

                                DEON:

                                Jason is DEAD Heather! Plus, I have this, remember?


                                Deon shows Heather the gun.



                                Deon:

                                I'll be right back!


                                Deon leaves the office.



                                HEATHER:

                                DEON!


                                Heather gets up and runs to the closet at the back of the office. When she opens the door she spots four garter snakes curled up in the closet. Heather trembles in disgust and fear and slams the door shut.

                                HEATHER:

                                I HATE SNAKES!

                                EXT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE-CONTINUOUS

                                Deon sees the totaled SUV and hangs his head low. He then angrily hits the hood of the car. He rubs his eyes, turns around and leans his back on the SUV, trying to decide how he would explain this to Heather. Deon opens his eyes and looks up at the roof of the building in surprise. Someone is standing on top of it.

                                DEON:

                                What the fuck!

                                Two gloved hands holds an ax high in the air. With one throw the ax flies straight down to Deon, hitting him right in the middle of his face with a wet smack! Deon begins to stumble around, blood spraying every where.

                                INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE-CONTINUOUS

                                Heather is pacing the room. The door knob begins to twist and a smile appears on Heather's pale face.

                                HEATHER:

                                Oh Deon! Did you get the phone?

                                Heather opens the door to see Deon with the ax planted firmly in the middle of his face! The blood begins to spray all over Heather as Deon collapse on her, dead. Heather screams in terror as she tries to get Deon's dead body off of her.

                                Heather manages to get it off and runs for the closet door and yanks it open, jumping inside.


                                int. closet-continuous

                                Heather tries to sit as far away from the snakes as she can, but they begin to slither all over her legs. Heather covers her mouth with her hand, wanting to scream so badly.

                                ki ki ki...ma ma ma...

                                Heavy footsteps are heard from outside the closet. Heather begins to silently cry at the fact that one of the snakes just went up her pants. Unable to hold in her fright any longer, Heather jumps up and bursts out of the closet, screaming in terror.

                                INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE-CONTINUOUS

                                She shakes her left leg hard and the snake falls out of her pants and slithers back towards the closet.

                                Heather wipes sweat from her forehead and takes a breath. She then turns around to see...JASON VOORHEES standing right in back of her.

                                Jason is a huge wet and rotting piece of flesh that is covered in mud and blood. His shirt and pants are ripped and his black gloves dosen't cover all his bony fingers.

                                He stands there hulking and huge, with his infamous hockey mask strapped on to his face along with the legendary AX mark that STILL has dry blood around it from the night Chris Higgins gave it to him. He holds Vanna's jaw in one hand and a large dirty machete in the other.

                                Heather stands there in astonishment.

                                HEATHER:

                                Ja...Ja...JASON! JASON NO!

                                With one big swipe from the machete that he hasn't used in twenty-five years, Jason cuts Heather's head clean off. Blood sprays from the headless stomp as the body falls to the ground with a thud.

                                Jason drops Vanna's jaw on the floor and stands there for a moment, studying the lifeless bodies of those who he just killed. He then turns and leaves the office.

                                CUT TO:

                                TITLE SEQUENCE

                                The screen goes completely black as a giant hockey mask appears. The title appears in front of the hockey mask briefly, but quickly fades away.

                                The person wearing it(Jason) opens their eyes and we zoom into Jason's pupil and is greeted by more darkness as the credits begins to fly at us in the style of "the final chapter". The creepy "Final Chapter" theme begins.

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