Bab 125: Chapter 123: American Horror Stories
Crack!
The night was alive with the electric tension of a brewing storm. Dark clouds roiled above, pregnant with fury, yet the earth below remained parched, thirsting for a rain that refused to fall. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, as if the very air held its breath, waiting for the inevitable to unfold.
By the restless shores of Crystal Lake, a faint mist began to rise, ghostly tendrils snaking across the water's surface. A lone car, its headlights cutting through the gloom, crept along the winding road, its engine a low growl in the oppressive silence.
The driver, a man with eyes as hard as the steel of the lantern he held, stepped out onto the gravel, his boots crunching softly. Behind him, another figure emerged, burdened with two shovels and a can of gasoline, the unmistakable silhouette of a hockey mask dangling ominously around his neck.
Crack!
The sky split open with a flash, a brief moment of illumination in the darkness, revealing the stark outlines of the old graveyard. The man with the lantern, Tommy, scanned the area, his gaze finally resting on a weathered gravestone, etched with a name that sent shivers down the spine of any who dared whisper it: Jason Voorhees.
The companion, his breath visible in the chill air, approached Tommy, his voice a mix of urgency and fear. "We're here, Tommy!"
Tommy's eyes never left the gravestone, his face a mask of resolve. "This is his grave," the man confirmed, as if to himself.
Silence hung between them, heavy and expectant.
"Let's go!" the companion pressed, eager to put distance between themselves and the cursed place.
Tommy's response was a terse, "Wait." He set the lantern down with deliberate care and took a shovel, his movements precise, betraying no hesitation.
"What?" The companion's voice cracked, a stark contrast to Tommy's icy calm.
"I need to make sure," Tommy stated, his voice devoid of emotion, as he advanced on the grave with the shovel in hand.
The two men set to work, the sound of metal biting into earth a harsh symphony against the backdrop of the howling wind. Time lost meaning as they dug, until at last, the dull thud of shovel against wood signaled their grim task's completion.
"Okay, you've confirmed it's his coffin. Let's go!" The companion's voice was tinged with desperation, his eyes darting to the shadows that seemed to dance just beyond the reach of the lantern's light.
Tommy, however, was unmovable, his hand outstretched. "Give me the crowbar," he demanded, his tone brooking no argument.
His friend's response was immediate, a plea laced with terror. "Don't open it!"
"Give me the crowbar!" Tommy's voice was a command, echoing with a chilling authority that left no room for disobedience.
The companion, his hands trembling, relented, passing the crowbar to Tommy with a sense of doom that seemed to settle over the graveyard like a shroud.
The crowbar felt cold and heavy in Tommy's hand, a grim instrument of finality. He knelt beside the coffin, his movements deliberate, the crowbar's tip wedging beneath the lid with a grating sound that seemed to echo through the stillness of the graveyard. With a heave of his shoulders, the lid gave way, and the ghastly contents were exposed to the stormy night.
The sight that greeted them was the stuff of nightmares, a tableau of decay and desecration. The corpse of Jason Voorhees, a grotesque mockery of life, lay entombed in its wooden prison. Cobwebs draped over the disfigured face like a veil, and the squirm of maggots in the flesh was a silent testament to the passage of time and the work of death.
Tommy's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat, but it was the surge of memories, the flood of terror from his past, that truly sickened him. The monster before him had been the architect of his deepest fears, the author of his suffering. The hallucinations that plagued him, the shadows that turned every corner into a potential ambush, the years lost to the sterile corridors of a mental institution—all were Jason's doing.
Anger flared within Tommy, a burning, righteous fury that eclipsed his revulsion. He strode to the iron fence, muscles tensing as he wrenched a bar free with a sound of rending metal. He turned back to the coffin, his eyes alight with a vengeful fire.
With a primal scream, Tommy plunged the iron bar into the decayed body of Jason Voorhees, again and again, each thrust a cathartic release of years of pent-up rage. "This is for every life you've taken, every childhood you've ruined!" he bellowed into the tumultuous night.
"Tommy, what are you doing... oh, damn it!" His friend's voice was a distant echo, powerless to stop the tide of vengeance.
Finally, spent and breathing heavily, Tommy emerged from the grave, the iron bar dropping from his grasp with a dull thud. His friend, wide-eyed and shaking his head in disbelief, muttered, "My God, he must have made your life a living hell!"
With a grim nod, Tommy picked up the hockey mask, the symbol of Jason's reign of terror. He stared into its empty eye sockets, as if confronting the demon itself, before hurling it into the coffin with all his might. "Go to hell, Jason!" he spat with venomous finality.
Intent on erasing Jason's existence once and for all, Tommy turned to retrieve the can of gasoline, his friend trailing behind him, a silent sentinel in the madness.
Crack!
The heavens chose that moment to unleash their fury, a bolt of lightning striking the coffin with a blinding flash and a thunderous roar. The two men whirled around, their hearts pounding in their chests, only to witness a second bolt—an ethereal lance of pure energy—impale the body of Jason Voorhees.
A burst of electric sparks erupted from the coffin, a pyrotechnic display of unnatural resurrection. And then, in the eerie afterglow of the lightning, the impossible happened: the decayed corpse, the supposed remains of an unrelenting evil, opened its eyes.
***
[Ding! A new task has been assigned. Mission One: Eliminate the Crystal Lake horror, Jason Voorhees. Completion awards 500 penalty points, failure results in no new tasks for the current world (Progress: 0/1).]
Jon's heart pounded with the adrenaline of the mission as he emerged from the magical suitcase, the interior of which he had enchanted to be a sanctuary from the mundane. The sudden task notification had jolted him from his thoughts, a stark reminder of the system's ever-watchful presence.
"Damn it, that broken system scared the hell out of me!" Jon grumbled, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. He flipped open the panel, his eyes scanning the new mission with a mix of irritation and resolve.
"Jason Voorhees? I knew Crystal Lake sounded familiar, so it's Friday the 13th, huh?!" A smirk played on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. "With the hellfire, Jason will be exterminated once and for good!"
He knew all too well the futility of such statements. The Friday the 13th franchise had turned resurrection into a running joke, with Jason Voorhees defying death time and again. Even the Penance Stare, Jon mused, might not be enough to keep the horror of Crystal Lake at bay permanently.
"Forget it, don't think too much, just act!" With a shake of his head, Jon stepped out of the suitcase and into the world that now needed him.
The air was thick with the scent of rain and decay as Jon arrived near Crystal Lake. Initially, the place had seemed devoid of the sinister aura he had expected, but the mission's prompt suggested a change—a resurrection, perhaps.
Jon's sports car materialized with a thought, and with a flick of his Elder Wand, he cast a spell to reveal the sin aura. The world took on a new hue, guiding him unerringly toward the source of the malevolence.
***
The graveyard was a scene of chaos and despair as Jon arrived. The rain was relentless, pounding the earth with a fury that seemed to mirror the night's events.
"Hoss~~"
The shout drew Jon's attention, and he sprinted toward the sound, his boots splashing through the puddles that had formed among the graves.
Tommy stood there, his cotton jacket soaked through, his gaze locked on the horror unfolding before him. Hoss lay motionless, a grotesque wound in his chest where his heart should have been. And towering over him was the unmistakable figure of Jason Voorhees, his face a nightmarish visage of decay.
Clang!
As Jason raised the iron bar to deliver a fatal blow to Tommy, a metallic clang shattered the tension. Jon, now clad in leather, had intervened, his chain parrying the strike.
"Rest in hell, Jason." The words were barely out of Jon's mouth before he erupted into flames, his form shifting into the Ghost Rider. The transformation was a spectacle of infernal power, flames licking the rain from the air as if it were fuel.
Tommy could only watch in stunned silence as the Ghost Rider ensnared Jason with chains, the hellfire consuming the undead monster with an intensity that defied the downpour. Jason struggled, but the ethereal fire was unrelenting, and soon, all that remained of the Crystal Lake horror was a pile of wet ashes.
[Ding! Mission One completed: Eliminate the Crystal Lake horror, Jason Voorhees. 500 penalty points awarded.]
[Ding! Your legendary mission has been updated: Judge a thousand sinful souls across all worlds. Current progress: 74/1000.]
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(A/N: If you want to see more chapters, go to my Patreon to see +20 chapters ahead.
patreon.com/TheMightyZeus
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Bab 126: Chapter 124: A Nightmare on Elm Street
The night air was thick with the scent of burnt flesh and fear as Jon, his form now human once more, turned to face the young man who had witnessed the impossible. Tommy's eyes were wide, his body trembling as he stumbled backward, the grass of the cemetery crunching beneath his feet.
"Don't panic, Tommy," Jon said, his voice a calm contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. "Isn't this the scene you've always wanted to see? Watching Jason go to hell with your own eyes!" He gestured towards the smoldering remains of what was once an unstoppable force.
"Who... who are you?!" Tommy's voice cracked, the terror unmistakable.
"You've just seen for yourself," Jon replied, the corners of his mouth turning up in a knowing smile. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Tommy to grapple with the reality that had shattered around him.
Tommy watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as Jon's car pulled away from the cemetery, its taillights disappearing into the night. He was alone now, the silence of the graveyard enveloping him, a stark reminder of the horror he had just witnessed.
***
Inside the car, Jon's mind was racing. "American Horror Stories? Jason?" He mulled over the information he had gathered in this strange world. The dashboard's glow illuminated his thoughtful expression as he navigated the dark roads.
"If nothing goes wrong, this should be a compilation of multiple American horror movies," he mused, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Killing Jason was just the first task, and so far, there's no hint of a second task. Should I trigger the task by myself?"
The idea was a seed, and as he drove, it began to sprout. "If that's the case, then the next stop is Elm Street!" The smile that crept across his face was one of anticipation. He could feel the pull of the challenge, the thrill of the hunt.
Elm Street was infamous in its own right, a place where the lines between reality and nightmare blurred into a terrifying tapestry. And if Jason was a part of this world, then surely Freddy Krueger, the dream-stalking boogeyman, was lurking in its shadows.
***
[Ding! A new task has been assigned, Task Two: Eliminate the horror Freddy Krueger of Elm Street. Completion of the task rewards 500 penalty points, failure results in no new tasks being issued in the current world (current progress 0/1)]
Jon's sleek sports car purred through the streets of Springwood Town, its futuristic lines and roaring engine a stark contrast to the quaint suburban backdrop of the 1980s. Heads turned and whispers followed as he asked for directions, the GPS on his dashboard guiding him to the infamous Elm Street.
As he pulled up to the curb in front of a nondescript motel, the neon sign flickered, casting an eerie glow on the pavement. That's when he saw her, a woman whose presence seemed to command the night itself. She leaned against the motel's wall, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips, her eyes fixed on Jon as he emerged from the car.
"Looking for some fun, darling?" she asked, her voice a sultry melody that danced on the smoky air. She smiled, a playful tease in her tone, and exhaled a cloud of smoke in his direction.
Cough!
"Keep that smoke away from me!" Jon's voice was firm, his expression unamused by the unwanted advance. "And I'm not interested!"
Her smile faltered, her eyes narrowing as she flicked the cigarette to the ground, the embers dying out against the concrete. She turned on her heel, muttering under her breath about the arrogance of rich men and their fancy cars.
Jon watched her leave before he approached the motel counter, his mind already weaving through the task at hand. "I need a room, please," he said, his voice betraying none of the urgency he felt inside.
"Sure, please fill out this form," the staff member replied, extending a pen and paper towards Jon with a respectful nod.
As Jon filled out the form, his lips moved silently, reciting the haunting rhyme that had become synonymous with the terror of Elm Street. "One, two, Freddy's coming for you; three, four, better lock your door..."
The staff member handed Jon the key, his curiosity piqued by the strange mutterings. "Excuse me... what are you saying?"
"You wouldn't want to know," Jon replied, taking the key and heading towards the stairs, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Five, six, grab your crucifix; seven, eight, better stay awake..."
The staff member shook his head, dismissing the odd behavior of yet another guest. "Crazy," he muttered to himself, turning back to the mundane tasks of his night shift.
Meanwhile a middle-aged man's gaze in the lobby lingered on Jon as he ascended the stairs, his furrowed brows betraying a mix of recognition and concern. The nursery rhyme had struck a nerve, a dark chord from a past that the town of Springwood knew all too well.
Meanwhile, Jon's refusal to let the staff member park his car had left a sour taste, but the man's attention was quickly diverted by the newspaper reader's ominous words.
"You should be thankful, buddy. You're better off not getting involved with that guy!" the reader said, his voice low and serious.
"Why?" the staff member inquired, his curiosity piqued.
The man leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a dreadful secret. "Not far from here is a mental hospital, and some of the children there often sing this nursery rhyme for no reason. That man is obviously from out of town, but the rhyme he was singing is exactly the same as the one those kids sing!"
A shiver ran down the staff member's spine, the eerie coincidence of the rhyme unsettling him more than he cared to admit. He watched Jon disappear upstairs, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach.
Upstairs, Jon entered his room, a spartan space that offered little comfort. He shed his coat and lay on the bed, his mind focused on the task at hand. "Now, it's just a matter of waiting for Freddy to come to me," he thought, his eyes staring at the ceiling.
Jon understood the rules of this world. Freddy Krueger thrived on fear, on the power given to him by the memories and terror of those who whispered his name. By reciting the nursery rhyme, Jon was issuing a challenge, a beacon for the dream demon to home in on.
He knew that Freddy often preyed on the young, their fears ripe for the harvest. But Jon was no child, and his fear was not for Freddy to feed on. It was bait, and Jon was the hunter lying in wait.
As the night deepened, Jon's recitation of the rhyme became a silent mantra. He closed his eyes, his breathing steady, inviting the dreamscape to take shape around him. He was ready to confront Freddy in his own realm, to turn the hunter into the hunted.
"One, two, Freddy's coming for you; three, four, better lock your door; five, six, grab your crucifix; seven, eight, better stay awake; nine, ten, never sleep again!"
Jon lay in his bed, the sheets twisted around his legs, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. The nursery rhyme he had been reciting in a whisper had become a mantra, a desperate incantation for sleep that refused to come.
"Hmm... the more I want to sleep, the harder it is to fall asleep," Jon muttered to the shadows that danced across his room. He turned his head, glancing at the clock. The red digits seemed to mock him: 3:07 AM. A sigh escaped his lips, a sound of surrender. He felt helpless, trapped in the limbo between wakefulness and the elusive escape of slumber.
With a sense of resignation, Jon reached for the Elder Wand that lay hidden beneath his pillow. The ancient artifact felt cool to the touch, thrumming with a power that was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"Somnus," With a whispered word, he cast the spell, and the room seemed to pulse with the magic of the incantation. A wave of drowsiness washed over him, gentle as a mother's caress, and Jon's eyes fluttered closed. He surrendered to the spell, and the world faded away.
Time lost all meaning as Jon floated in the void of dreams. When he next opened his eyes, he was no longer in his bed but standing on a dark, deserted street. The air was cool and carried the scent of impending doom. Streetlights flickered above him, casting an eerie glow on the pavement. This was Elm Street, and there was only one possibility then: Freddy had made his move.
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(A/N: If you want to see more chapters, go to my Patreon to see +20 chapters ahead.
patreon.com/TheMightyZeus
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