Days of Horror

Day 10: Unstoppable

Get up.Your not done yet.You want to make your mommy proud.So get up and KILL THEM ALL.Let nothing stop you.

Glendora, California. October 25, 1983.

You can't stop it.

You know its the truth. But it doesn't mean you won't stop running. Trying to get away from the monster that's been chasing you for the past few weeks.

Your heart pounds against your heaving chest, sweat pouring down your face as you race through the night, glancing back every now and again.

He's still on your tail.

He's still gaining ground.

His footsteps echo off the street, loud booms as it grows closer and closer, coming for you.

Turning back, you round a corner, running down an abandoned main street.

No ones around. No cops, no bystanders.

Nobody to save you.

Thoughts of every kind fill your head.

Some are crazy: "Maybe he won't kill me. Maybe he'll let me go."

Others are rational: "ImdeadifIstopImdeadifIstop."

And there's one tiny thought nagging at the back of your brain as your continue to run.

"If only I hadn't gone to that lake. If only we hadn't gone on that day."

And you know your right.

If you and your friends had simply gone another day, had heeded the warnings of the undead killer lurking in the woods and lake, you would never have gone.

But you hadn't. None of you had.

And now, you were the last one left.

The final survivor.

The final girl.

You thought it was over. That once the killer sank beneath the waves, his own machete impaled in his head, that would be it.

The authorities found you bloodstained and shell shocked and took you to the nearest hospital.

They told you that it would be fine.

And you believed them. You believed your own lie.

Then the day after, you saw him.

The dead killer, watching you from afar. Dead eyes peering out from beneath that mask of his.

His machete back in hand.

This happened for days after, seeing him lurking in the shadows, growing closer with each passing moment.

It was driving you insane.

So you fled. To the other side of the country. Away from the monster.

But you should have known that it wouldn't stop.

It would never stop.

Not until you were dead.

The footsteps are closer now, almost like he's right behind you. You turn and see it staring back at you, raising it's machete high.

You pour on the speed and it misses. Barley.

Your growing tired, your legs feeling like lead.

You can't keep going. Not much longer.

Eventually, you'll have to rest.

And then, it will all be over.

You turn again, trying to see how close the monster is.

And that's when you hit the curb.

You tumble, head over heels, the world spinning around and around.

Until you come to rest on the concrete, bruised and groaning in pain.

The pain fades as the fear returns.

Quickly, you crawl across the ground, trying to get some kind of distance. Some kind of speed.

You can't stop. You can't let him catch you. You ca–

Then two large boots come to a stop in front of you, shaking the very ground.

And you finally stop.

Slowly, you look up, eyes locking on that mask, on the dead eyes beneath it. The eyes that demanded flesh.

Eyes that demanded that all who saw them must die.

They killed your friends back at Camp Crystal Lake.

You thought you could outrun it.

But as the machete rises above your head, glinting red in the moonlight, the truth is, you couldn't.

You couldn't escape your own death.

You can't escape your fate.

You can't escape death

You could never escape Jason Voorhees.

The machete drops. And the world goes dark, the truth still ringing in your ears.

The truth that, Friday the 13th or not, alive or dead...

Jason will never stop.