>>6198410Tommy takes one final look back down the tunnel, only seeing a vague shadow sweep across the stone walls, before he begins stomping away as fast as his tired feet will take him.
The first bend takes him left, and the tunnel gradually widens as he carries on, revealing large wooden supports that simultaneously kept the tunnel erect and acted as walls for furnishing.
Inside the main room were the familiar trappings that make up a home; splintered and wooden chairs, a brown and lumpy mattress atop a rotted wooden bedframe, assorted sacks and bags and clothes strewn across the floor and joists—some with blood stains easily visible—as well as chains hanging overhead, blades of various size and function hanging from rusted nails, and most unsettling of all, a large grindstone in the middle.
This was nothing like the Crystal Lake Tommy knew back home. It was true that Jason was not a mortal man, but Tommy had seen the shack that the masked brute had called home—it was widely publicized in his youth, and it had been where they found Pamela’s decaying head, but it was pathetically small and was less of a house and more of a glorified tent. And as far as he knew, there was no tunnels beneath the camp.
But the workings of this dwelling evinced a much sharper mind than the one-track killer he had faced twice before. This was home to <span class="mu-i">someone else</span>.
Beyond the large room, a new tunnel branched off to the right.
Thinking quickly, Tommy chucked his shovel down the next tunnel before pivoting on his heels and sliding up under the wooden bed frame.
Almost at that exact moment, a large figure crashed into the room, taking one of the wood beams with him. The figure breathed hard, turning wildly to find the source of the noise, which he found halfway down that next tunnel.
The figure picks up the shovel and turns it over in his hands inquisitively, then drops it to the ground. Turning his head back to the makeshift dwelling, Tommy can finally make out the large mask on the figure’s face. It was a fibreglass hockey mask.
It was Jason.
But not the one Tommy remembered.
The figure, now calm, walks back to the main room.
His heavy boots trod thoughtfully, examining every inch of the space, before finally coming to rest in front of the bed. Then, in a single motion, the mattress flies upward and off to the side, revealing the full, lean, muscular frame of this strange new Jason.
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