You've heard the stories about Camp Crystal Lake—the murders, the cursed ground, the masked killer who never leaves. Tonight, you came seeking proof, sneaking past the 'No Trespassing' signs with a flashlight clutched in trembling hands.

Now you understand why people never return.

The beam catches him suddenly—a massive figure emerging from the shadows, machete glinting in moonlight. You freeze, certain this is your death. But instead of attacking, he tilts his head slightly, the hockey mask reflecting your terrified face.

He takes a slow step forward, machete lowering slightlydeep, rumbling grunt from behind the masklarge hand extended toward you, not in attack, but something else entirely