For my Satire class, we were given the choice of writing a term paper or a satire of our own. Guess which one I chose. :) Have patience, since the story takes a while to get going.
Disclaimer: Friday the 13th is the property of New Line Cinema. No copyright infringement is intended.
Friday the 13th XIII: More People Die
by Phantom (phantom1313 at tfrid dot com)
In the Buttinsky household, a drama of horror was about to unfold.
"Oh, it's time to call my psychic friend!"
"Aw, ma, you know that's just a crock," Brittany sighed. "If they were *real* psychics, they'd feel your need to talk and call you."
"Whatever you say, dear," her mother replied, placing her evening reading, Communicating With Your Child, on the sofa beside her. "I think I'll try a new service tonight. My old network was busted by the Feds last week. But there are so many to choose from! How will I ever decide?"
The television blared the answer. //Are you tired of being ripped off by those phony psychics? Well, call The Psychic Frauds Network and lose your money with us! Our handpicked psychics have been selected for their ability to con callers out of their money while making up absurd predictions for the future. Why waste your money with those other networks when you can waste it with the best? Call 1-800-RIP-OFFS now!//
The announcer murmured in a comforting undertone: //Call costs a hundred dollars a minute. Callers must be at least one year old to call. The Psychic Frauds Network is not responsible for any false predictions.//
"It sounds perfect!" Buffy declared, reaching for the phone. Brittany sighed, shaking her head at her mother.
The television's midnight programming came on the screen. //This movie is rated R. It contains violence and adult situations. Viewer discretion advised.//
"Ma, can I watch the horror movie? I'm old enough, really!" Brittany begged. She was eight years old.
"Sure, dear," her mother murmured, absently fingering the cover of her other book, Violence in the Media, as she dialed the number.
"Psychic Frauds Network," answered a bored voice.
"Hello, this is Buffy Buttinsky. I'd like to know what is in store for my future."
The psychic said, "I'm going to need the following information: credit card number and expiration date, Social Security number, your bank account number, your ATM card number and password, and any other important financial information."
After the information was divulged, the psychic turned towards his computer. "Just one minute, ma'am," he said confidently as he typed in the commands. "Ah yes," he murmured as he hacked his way into the FBI's central computer. "You have been arrested for indecent exposure, driving while intoxicated, and 113 moving violations."
"My god, you *are* a psychic!" Buffy gasped.
"Motherrrrr!" Brittany growled. "I'm trying to watch this gory movie."
"Sorry to disturb you, dear." Buffy stood up and walked with her cordless phone into the kitchen.
"Finally," Brittany muttered and turned back to the 50-inch, Dolby surround-sound television.
The words flashed boldly across the screen, in dripping, blood-red letters:
Friday the 13th, part XIII:
More People Die
"I got it!" squealed a high-pitched voice. "I've been accepted to work at Camp Bludd!"
"Camp Blood? Isn't that the place where that insane guy with the hockey mask murdered all those campers, Janey?" her boyfriend asked.
"Oh, no, Bobby," Janey said confidently. "That's some other camp. Just listen.
"'The administration of Camp Bludd is proud to accept you as one of the counselors for this spring session. We would like to emphasize that Camp Bludd is *not* where all those campers were killed by the insane maniac with the hockey mask. That was some other place. We look forward to seeing you and hope you survive the experience. Signed, U.R. Doomed.'"
Bobby exhaled in relief. "Phew, I feel much better now. That place sounds perfectly safe."
"Except for runny noses!" Janey squealed. She and Bobby laughed uproariously, although the joke really wasn't all that funny. It was just in the script to provide a transition to the next scene.
* * * * *
"Give me a hand, will you?"
Janey turned and saw a tall brunette approaching, laden down with bags and boxes. The girl extended her hand, dropping half of her belongings. "Hi, I'm Cyndi," she said. "Boy, this place is creepy." She squinted at the sky, where a vulture circled overhead.
"My name's Janey," she replied, stooping to help gather the bags. "And I know what you mean. But this place is perfectly safe."
"Thanks for giving me a hand," Cyndi remarked as they passed by a sign that read "Camp Bludd". It was obvious that some of the letters had been painted over.
"No problem," Janey replied. "Say, what day is it?"
"Umm... the thirteenth, I believe. Friday."
Janey frowned. "Hmmm, that's a weird coincidence. Friday the 13ths always seem to crop up as good opening days for Camp Blood. But I'm sure it's just a coincidence. Camp Bludd is going to be completely different."
"By the way, where are the campers?" Cyndi wondered.
"Shh!" hissed a male voice. "You're not supposed to say that!"
"Why not, Todd?" asked Janey.
Todd frowned. "You're not supposed to know my name yet. We haven't been formally introduced. My name's Todd."
"And mine's Janey, and this is Cyndi."
"Anyway," Todd continued, "there can't really be campers in this movie. The audience seems to get upset when little children are killed. We just tell the viewers that they don't arrive 'till next week."
"Oh, I get it," Cyndi replied. "Thanks for clearing that up, Todd."
"My pleasure. Right this way."
They walked the narrow dirt trail with the sinister trees towering overhead. As they came into a clearing, they saw six cabins spread out around the lake. The remaining three counselors were seated around the picnic table.
"Tina, Jason, Jack, what are you doing?" Todd exclaimed. "You're not supposed to be waiting for us. Act busy." The counselors got up and wandered around, searching for something important to do.
"Say, Todd, you know the screenwriters had to change my name," a counselor announced. "Having a counselor named Jason was just too confusing."
"So what's your new name? I haven't seen the revised script yet."
"Freddy Krueger," Jason/Freddy informed him.
Todd frowned thoughtfully. "That name seems familiar.... Oh well, it's not important. Tina, Jack, Ja... Freddy, this is Janey, Cyndi, and I'm Todd."
"We know you already, Todd. Since you know our names, we must have met you before," Tina remarked.
"You're right," Todd acknowledged. "We'll have to fix that line later. Now that everyone knows each other, let's stop prattling and get to the good part of the movie."
Suddenly, the set grew very dark. "Give us time to get into the cabins, morons," Todd muttered.
* * * * *
"Do you get the feeling that someone is watching us?" Cyndi remarked nervously, ignoring the fact that there was a massive shadow outside the window of the female counselors' cabin.
"Yeah, but there can't be anyone out there, unless it's one of the guys," Janey replied. "Hey guys, go away!"
"Sorry, I'll come back later," a strange male voice replied. There was a crunching of leaves as the shadow turned and walked away.
"That did it," Tina said.
Just then, there was a loud creak. All eyes turned toward the door, eyes widening as it opened inch by inch. The girls screamed loudly as Jack walked into the room.
Jack laughed loudly as he studied the girls' frightened expressions. "What, did you think I was Jason?" he exclaimed, snickering.
Tina snorted. "No, we're just scared of your 80's haircut."
Jack looked sheepish. "Well, my mom won't let me get a Mohawk. Anyway, it's time to get it on, Janey."
Janey looked indecisive. "I don't know, Jack. We just met a few hours ago. Besides, I have a boyfriend. Are you sure we should be doing this?"
"Aw, come on," Jack said. "You know that there has to be at least one sex scene in the movie. Besides, it will entice Jason to come out and kill us."
"I don't want Jason to kill us," Janey sulked.
Jack took her arm. "We have to do this. It's in the script."
Janey followed him as he led the way deep into the woods. She balked once again as he stopped abruptly and began to untuck his shirt. "Here? We're going to do it here? On the hard ground with leaves and branches in the way? And what about contraception? Did you bring a condom?"
Jack grinned. "Hey, we're a couple of horny teens. We don't need to worry about that stuff. Besides, we're going to die in a minute anyway."
Janey sighed and began to strip. She and Jack lay down on the ground and clutched each other, making loud groans and heavy breathing sounds to cover the killer's approach, which was actually quite loud. Janey raised her head and drew in her breath. It was time.
She screamed, an ear-piercing shriek, as she saw the massive man in a purple jumpsuit and white hockey mask looming over her and her new boyfriend. Jack turned and screamed too, in an even higher voice. Jason reached down and grabbed Jack's head, turning it as the bones in his neck cracked audibly. He kept turning it until the head eventually came off. He threw it over his shoulder with disinterest and stepped toward Janey.
Janey knew what she had to do. She just sat there and screamed her head off, not even bothering to run away. The killer didn't like the screaming. It gave him headaches, and it was so hard to get to a convenience store and get some Advil. Anyway, he heard Alleve was better. He reached for Janey and tore her throat out, silencing her and producing lots of gore, which was emphasized in Technicolor.
The killer looked at his hand curiously. What was he going to do about this mess? He shrugged and wiped his hands on his purple jumpsuit. After decades of being a zombie, it was filthy and would have to be sent to the cleaners anyway. He wandered off to find a new victim.
* * * * *
"Did you hear that?" Todd asked Freddy.
"Huh?" Freddy looked up from his issue of "Counselor Monthly". "Yeah, Jack must be having a great time. Lucky dog. Why is he the one that scores? I want to change the script."
Todd shook his head. "Too late now. They were the first to die and will soon be forgotten. We'll have better deaths anyway. Now we're supposed to figure out that something's wrong and find the girls."
Freddy sighed and arose from the bed. The two guys headed outside towards the girls' cabin. On the way they passed the two bodies.
"Not enough blood," Freddy noted as they passed by. Janey and Jack stared upwards vacantly. Jack's eyelashes twitched as he struggled not to blink.
Todd nodded in agreement. "I'll have a word with the makeup artists."
They reached the cabin and pounded on it noisily. Tina flung the door open, gesturing for them to enter. "Did you find the bodies yet?" she asked.
"Yeah," Todd replied. "At least Jack got some before he died. I get to die while--"
"Shh!" Cyndi hissed. "Don't give it away!"
"Well, I guess this is where we split up and go for help," Tina sighed.
"Don't you think we'll be safer here together?" Cyndi asked.
Tina nodded. "Of course, but there's no suspense in that."
Cyndi rummaged in her giant purse. "Aha!" she exclaimed, brandishing a cellular phone. "We don't have to put one foot outside this cabin to get help!"
"Put that away!" Todd hissed. "They didn't have cellular phones in the 80's."
"Oh, yeah," Cyndi replied. "I guess I'd better hide my CDs too."
Todd stood and headed for the door. "Like lambs to the slaughter," he muttered as he stepped outside.
* * * * *
"Man, I hate this," Cyndi complained. "I wish he'd just hurry up and kill me." She was griping so loudly that she didn't hear the ominous music that always signaled when the killer was approaching. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she missed seeing the edge of the cliff that suddenly loomed ahead. She stepped over the edge and fell, complaining all the way. From far below, there came a puff of smoke.
The killer shook his head in disappointment. What a way to go. He didn't even get a chance to push her. And what was a cliff doing at a campsite, anyway?
* * * * *
"Help! Help!" Todd cried out as he ran through the trees. He knew that there was no one around for miles to hear, except his fellow counselors, but it sounded good anyway. Like he was getting desperate and afraid.
Suddenly he heard footsteps behind him. The creepy music began to echo through the woods, covering the killer's noisy approach. Todd wondered how victims in the other slasher movies managed not to hear it.
He turned and saw the masked figure approaching him, plodding along slowly. With a burst of speed, Todd began to fly through the trees.
"Hey! Hold up!" called a voice.
Todd stopped short and bent over, gasping, his hands on his knees. "What is it?" he asked.
The killer approached, shaking his head. "No, no, this won't do at all. You're supposed to let me catch you. It's part of what makes me so scary. No matter how fast you run, I still catch up."
"But I'm the high school track star!" Todd protested. "Being caught by you is so demeaning!"
"It's in the script," the killer pointed out.
"Where? Show me," Todd demanded.
The killer sighed and reached into a rotting log, pulling out a copy of the script. "Let's see, it's in here somewhere.... Here it is, on page 113. 'Todd runs. Jason catches up and kills him.'"
Todd sighed in exasperation. "Oh, all right. Let's get this over with. By the way, how do you manage to catch up to all your victims?"
"With these." The murder gestured to his feet, which were clad in Air Jordans.
"Ohhh," Todd breathed understandingly. If he weren't about to be killed, he would have planned to buy a pair. "Well, here goes," he muttered and started off again, jogging at a slow pace. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the killer following him, yet falling further behind.
"This is ridiculous, not to mention embarrassing," Todd groaned. Suddenly he had an inspiration. Panting loudly, trying to look like he was exerting himself, he glanced over his shoulder in terror as he stuck his foot out, catching it on a root. "Oof!" he cried out as he fell, sprawled out on the ground. Embarrassing, yes, but not as humiliating as being overtaken by a strolling zombie.
He rolled over onto his back and screamed loudly for dramatic effect. The killer approached and stood over him menacingly. If Todd had felt embarrassed before, what happened next was truly humiliating. He wet his pants and died as his heart stopped beating in fear.
The killer growled low in his throat. That was two that he couldn't take credit for. If he didn't improve his body count, Pinhead and Michael Myers would be laughing at him. He picked up the body and impaled it on a tree branch, hoping that Pinhead and Mikey would be taking a bathroom break and miss how Todd really died. Oh well, at least there were still two more victims. Why were there only six victims, anyway? In part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan, there had been an entire city to kill. Guess it must be do to budget cuts.
* * * * *
The killer decided to redeem himself as he looked up and saw Tina approaching. Ah yes, the girls were always fun to kill, although they screamed too loudly. He approached menacingly, giving her time to look him over and become scared.
"Oh please," Tina sighed in exasperation. "I'm going to be killed by someone in a lame K-Mart purple jumpsuit? As if!"
By now he was getting quite angry. He was not about to let this one make a fool out of him. He began his patented SlowMo Walk(tm), which never failed.
"What*ever*!" Tina snapped. She headed over to a large tree and scurried up it like a monkey. "Nyah nyah!" she yelled. "Can't catch me!" Unfortunately for her, the branch broke and she fell down. "Aaaaugh!" she cried out as she hit the ground, breaking her ankle.
The murderer advanced slowly, knowing that she couldn't mock him now. He loved his K-Mart blue-light-special jumpsuit! And his hockey mask had been 50% off! He knew that she deserved to have a slow, agonizing death. He would not kill her quickly and indifferently, as he did with most others. Oh no. He planted his machete firmly into the ground and reached into his pocket.
"No! Oh god, no! Please, not that! Anything but that!" Tina howled, truly terrified this time. She threw her head back and let out a blood-curdling scream. She rolled over and began to crawl, dragging herself forward on her elbows, sobbing loudly.
She screamed again as the man grabbed her and held her still, bending over her with the object that had terrified her so. He reached down and pulled off the victim's shoe and sock as she whimpered.
"Now you will pay," he hissed.
Regaining a small measure of composure, Tina retorted, "You're not supposed to speak!"
The man hesitated. "You must be thinking of my brother, Jason. I have no problems with speech, thank you very much."
"Your brother!" Tina gasped. "Whatever do you mean?"
The man frowned angrily as he spoke. "Jason was always the good one, the one that our mother loved and doted on. He always got credit for what I did. Even now that he's dead, he's getting credit for the murders that I've committed! I, Mason!"
"Mason? *You're* the one committing all these murders? It was you all along?"
"Certainly not," he sniffed crossly. "It was Jason who killed his victims in the first twelve movies. Well, actually it was our mother in the first movie and an imposter in the fifth, but otherwise it was him. However, this time it's my turn to shine. Jason's staying dead, and Mason will finally get recognition! For now on, I will be known as the Ticklemeister!"
"Ticklemeister?" Tina cried. "You've got to be kidding!"
Moments later, a shriek pierced the night air. A shriek of laughter.
"God, stop! You're killing me!" Tina gasped as she squirmed, trying to escape the feather that was mercilessly tickling the soles of her feet. She begged and pleaded as her face grew purple from laughing. Her sides ached, and her lungs burned. Finally her lungs burst, and she died, still giggling faintly.
Mason straightened, tucking the feather back into his pocket. It was time for him to stop living in his brother's shadow. He would become even more feared and famous. Too bad he was getting off to such a poor start. At least there was still one more victim left.
"There you are," a voice growled. A creepy, menacing voice. One that sounded as if it had plenty of experience scaring people.
Mason peered at the figure that was approaching. Who could this be? It certainly wasn't the remaining camper. The mysterious figure wore a dirty old striped sweater. On his head was a beat-up fedora. But what was strangest of all was the right hand. It glinted and gleamed in the light. The figure held out his hand with a cruel smile, brandishing four sharp blades on the end. He threw his head back, exposing a face that was badly scarred and melted, and laughed evilly.
"Wait a minute.... I know you," Mason said slowly. "You're Freddy Krueger!"
The figure removed his hat and bowed graciously. "The one and only. Or so I thought. I really was displeased by the choice of that camper's name. Really, there can be only one Freddy Krueger. He simply had to go. As did the screenwriters. And the producer. Everyone, to be precise." Freddy wiped away a spot of blood from his claws with the sleeve of his sweater.
Mason put his hands on his hips and glared defiantly at the newcomer. "I won't have you killing my victims! For years I've been the underdog, always hearing Jason get the victims, but no longer! Today I'm taking my rightful place among serial killers, and nothing is going to stop me! Not even you."
Freddy stroked his chin lightly with his claws. "Hmm. You do have spirit. I like that. It's been quite a while since I've seen someone so unafraid of me. I have to admit that it's gotten a bit lonely on Elm Street, with everybody dead and all. I purpose a team-up, you and me against the bratty teenagers of the world. We could have a grand time! Though I would get top billing, of course. I am the more established character, after all, and well -- Ticklemeister doesn't have quite the ring that it needs."
Mason looked up at the sky, barely visible through the thick forest. Although he didn't like playing second fiddle, it seemed the only way to take the world by storm. Freddy was his ticket out of lonely Camp Blood (or rather, Bludd) and into the major box offices.
"You're on!" he cried enthusiastically, yanking off his mask and stepping over to where Freddy stood. The duo walked out of the forest as the sun began to rise over the trees.
Mason turned his head as they passed a crudely erected tombstone. "Rest in pieces, brother," he muttered as he tossed the hockey mask onto the grave. He and Freddy shared a pleased smile as they headed up the road towards the big time.
Neither of them noticed as a hand thrust its way through the dirt that lay above the grave. The arm clawed the air for a moment, then clenched into a fist, leaving the middle finger waving in the air defiantly.
* * * * *
"Wow," Brittany breathed. She sat rooted to her seat, too terrified to move any part of her body, except for her eyes. She jumped when she heard her mother's voice.
"So I'm going to live a life of fame and fortune? Wonderful!" Buffy exclaimed. She picked up the phone in the living room and turned off the cellular phone. "Now tell me about my aura. Is it clear of all dark influences?" She broke off as a loud clap of thunder sounded. "Oh dear, I better get off. There's a storm approaching."
The "psychic" replied, "Well, there's no way you'll ever be able to pay off this call, even if you sell your soul to the devil. I guess there's no sense in keeping you on the line any longer. You'd better get off before you get struck by lightning."
No sooner had those words been spoken than the telephone lines outside were hit by a bright bolt of lightning, followed by a deafening crack. The electricity spread through the wires and into the house, through the phone, and into the body of Buffy Buttinsky.
Brittany's mother screamed louder than any horror-movie victim as the incredible energy coursed through her body. She jerked violently as her body sparked. Finally, the energy dispersed, and she slumped to the floor, barely conscious.
"Ma!" Brittany cried as she hurried over to her mother.
Buffy spoke in a harsh whisper, "I'm going to sue that psychic network. They should have warned me sooner that I was going to be fried. Dear, is my hair all right?" she asked, gesturing to her hair, which was standing on end. She then passed out.
"No!" Brittany wailed. She glanced around the room frantically, trying to find something that would help her mother. She spied a loose feather that was drifting around the room, having escaped from one of the pillows that was kept on the sofa. However, Brittany did not make this connection. She knew where the feather was *really* from. With the words "Mason" on her lips, she let out a wail of fear. "I hate being tickled!"
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