Chapter One-Camping, Friday, June 13, 1984

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We arrived at Camp Crystal Lake.

My sister looked at the Native American sign. 

'It's bad karma', she said.

'How do you know?', I asked her. 

'I do know', Anna answered.

'Emily, enough talk. The camp counsellors are going to meet you two. I'll be there until you two are safe from the roaming bears in the woods', Mom said. 

I didn't like that at all.

***

Mom was smiling. 

Brad Morton, the Head camp counsellor, was twenty-four. 

'I'm sure the girls will enjoy the camp'.

'I hope so. My husband is making sure Emily, and Anna, are having a great time. Crystal Lake is so serene'. 

'It's not that serene. There's the superstition business, and the bad karma vibes', Brad said. 

'I don't believe in that', Mom said.

'Now, girls. You can meet the other campers, once you unpack your luggage', Brad said. We nodded, and hugged Mom. 

Then we left the small Office,  and it was 75 degrees in the hot, New Jersey summer.

Mom and Dad said: 'Good bye, Emily. Anna'. 

'Good bye, Mom', I said.

'Good bye, Mom', Anna said.

Mom left the Office, and Dad drove home with Mom.

***

One of the campers was Frank, and Jane. 

'Hi. I'm Frank. And my sister, Jane'.

'Hi. I'm Emily...and my sister, Anna', I said.

'I heard about Camp Crystal Lake from my Old Man. It's supposed to be haunted', Frank smirked. 

'Really', I said.

'Yeah, Jason Voorhees lurks in the deep, wet, woods. He was pissed off that his Mom was killed by Alice Hardy on the sand; he went psycho, and got revenge', Jane said.

'I'm not scared', I said.

'Wait until evening', Frank said in a serious voice.

They put their luggage in their cabins, and relaxed. 

It was a long day indeed at Camp Crystal Lake.

***

The last two campers were Vicky, and Kelly. 

Both girls were enemies of each other. 

They had been cheerleaders. 

The "Rah-rah-rah", of the pom-poms were part of the show. 

Nonetheless, we were a group now. 

And that was all that mattered.

***

The campfire was full of bugs, and spiders. 

And we ate hamburgers, and drank Cokes. 

And coffees. 

It was the first night at Camp Crystal Lake. 

Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" was playing on the record player. The rock music was patriotic; and we were patriots. 

It was a good night to party, but as we did so, I had had a feeling of being watched by someone in the woods.

***

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