Jason found himself tumbling into a lake. Much to his dismay, it was not Crystal Lake. How did he know? Crystal Lake has a certain...smell to it. It's like a mixture of freshly cut grass, sea water, and blood. It was a smell he had enjoyed for many years living so close to the great body of water. His body went limp, and he felt the water pass over him as he sank to the bottom.

When he did finally hit the bottom, a voice called to him. It was a voice he had loved for all his years; a sweet, caring voice that only he could hear. The voice of his mother, Pamela.

Get up, Jason. You have work to do.

Without any hesitation, he rose to his feet. Even at the bottom of this lake, Jason moved like he was on dry land. Well, not completely. His boots did stick to the mucky sand, and it felt like it had when his foot had gotten stuck in the mud that one day at camp. He liked that day. It had been a fun day. It was before the nasty counselors came around and ruined everything.

As much as I love seeing you happy, Jason, now is not the time to reminisce.

His mother's voice was just as sweet and kind as it had been earlier. It was a little more stern, but it wasn't malicious in any way. His mother's voice never was malicious- she was always kind to him, even when he had done a bad thing like letting one of the nasty counselors get away on accident. Jason loved his mother's voice, it was smooth and calm- just like Crystal Lake.

Before he knew it, Jason was out of the water. The remaining wetness slowly dripped off of his body and his machete onto the muddy earth surrounding the lake. Jason took in a deep breath before he felt a nagging feeling creeping up on him. It felt like the world was too...vivid- too colorful. He certainly wasn't at Crystal Lake anymore.

Off to his left, he spied what looked like a barn. A barn like the one at Crystal Lake, but...red. Not the nice blood red that Jason liked, but instead a bright, vibrant red- like the ones he'd seen in books before the nasty counselors came.

Go Jason. Go there, and see what you can see.

With haste, Jason started marching towards the barn.

It hadn't been long into the night when Applejack saw somepony coming up towards the orchard. Wait a minute, she thought to herself as she took a closer look at the approaching figure, that ain't no pony, that's a...what is that?

The figure was tall, and looked like it was moving on just its back legs. It was tall, even from this distance, and had a...machete...in one paw. It appeared to have seen her, and it was moving faster now. Well, faster than it had been anyway.

Applejack ducked into the house and locked the door. Before any of her family members had a chance to say anything, she held a hoof up to her mouth and made a motion towards the light switch, which was right next to Big Mac. Her brother flipped the switch, and the whole house went dark. They'd made the decision to have a single switch control the lights in case of something like this. Well obviously not exactly like this, but the idea of a murderer coming out of the fields or the forest had been one of Granny Smith's oldest fears. She'd been the one who insisted that the lights all be on the same circuit, and nopony had really thought to question her. She was Granny Smith Apple, after all- in the Apple family, her word is law. No exceptions.

They all hunkered down in the basement after the lights were shut off. None of them dared to make even the smallest sound or whimper.

Until they heard the door being broken down.

Get them, Jason.

His mother's voice echoed in Jason's head, egging him on. His machete wasn't the best tool for breaking down a door, but in lieu of an ax (stupid wardrobe) it was the next best thing he had to do the job. Each crack of his blade against the wooden door sent waves of splinters from the point of impact. Jason was fairly certain one had at least partially grazed his uncovered wrist.

Finally, he felt the fire of the rage in his belly light up, and, in a moment of pure, unbridled fury and strength, simply broke down the door with his body. He was still standing, though he was a little dizzy from the experience of hitting his head against a large piece of wood and glass. He did manage to snap himself out of it, and when he failed to see the creature that he'd spotted from the path, he heard his mother's voice again.

Find them, Jason. Make them suffer.

He nodded his head and started searching the whole house, tipping over furniture, checking behind shelves, and even going as far as to break down a structurally insignificant wall. That wall turned out to lead to the kitchen, but there was no time to make any kind of snack. He would need ingredients anyway, and ingredients required bodies. Fresh bodies.

He turned, and saw a set of stairs leading up. The only two-story building he'd seen before was Packanack Lodge back at Camp Crystal Lake. He walked up the flight of steps, his heavy boots causing the old boards to creak and groan with every step he took. Before he was halfway up the steps, though, he heard something.

"Do ya think we can make a run for it?"

It was faint, but he clearly heard someone talking about escaping. Escaping would not do. Not at all.

As quietly as he could, Jason found a spot behind the large sofa he'd thrown over and hid. When he heard a trap door open all quiet-like, he waited some more. And when he heard the clip-clop of hooves on the wood, he waited just a bit more. When one of the sets of hooves came to a distance he thought was close enough, he pounced.

He ended up grabbing what he assumed was a female one by its voice. It was also clearly very old, and...green? No, his mind wasn't playing tricks on him: this horse-like creature was, in fact, a pastel green. What fresh Hell...?

Jason! Stop playing around! Kill her! She doesn't deserve to live! No-one who builds their house so close to our lake deserves to live!

Jason pressed his machete against the old horse's throat, and he was about to drag it across when he heard another voice. It was a masculine voice- deep and sturdy, and with a thick country accent.

"Let'er go!" the voice said, "Granny ain't dun nothin' ta nopony!"

He's lying Jason! Just look at her! She has to have done something- you can see it in her eyes! Kill her!

In one swift motion, Jason brought the old horse's back down on his knee, snapping her spine with a sickening crack. Then, he lifted the horse up by its neck, and grabbed its mouth and the back of its head. In one more motion, he turned the head one-hundred and eighty degrees, accompanied by another crack.

Don't stop, Jason! Kill them all!

He picked his machete off of the floor, and used his foot to push the overturned sofa out of his way. He could've just stepped over it, but he liked putting some restrictions on himself. It made the punishing more...interesting.

The masculine one was a red horse with some kind of old-fashioned yoke around his neck. There were two other ones behind him. One was significantly smaller than the other, clearly indicating youth. Then again, it could just be some kind of dwarfism among these creatures, it wasn't like Jason was an expert on these things.

"Y'all two git outta here," the red one said angrily, "Ah'll take care o' this here murderer."

Murderer. Was Jason a murderer? He certainly didn't think so, and neither did his mother. It wasn't murder to defend your home from no-good, defiling, disrespectful idiots, was it? No. No it wasn't. Jason's time with his mother had taught him that much: it wasn't murder to defend your home. The lake he'd found himself in wasn't Crystal Lake, but it was a lake presumably parallel to it. Assuming that this was an alternate universe that has opposites for each constant back home, and not a completely separate dimension, of course.

The red horse charged at Jason while the other two ran away. He felt the horse ram into his gut with the force of one-hundred trains at once. Not that it phased him, really; he hardly even flinched.

He grabbed the horse by the back of its neck and drug it out of the house. He'd seen a water pump nearby, and he was feeling like having a drink. Pulling the red horse over to it, Jason put the creature's head into the space between the actual pump mechanism and the spout's pipe. He kept the horse's head in place with his left hand, while his right arm went to town pumping water. Well, water and blood. A few hard pumps later, and Jason found himself with a nice, well-crushed horse's head, complete with dislodged brain matter, blood, and bits of skull all mangled up.

He was tempted to Stay and admire his work a little, but his mother reminded him why they had come here in the first place.

That's my Jason. That's my special, special boy. Now, follow the others! Catch them! Hunt them down and make them pay!

For the first time in many years, Jason found his voice. It was deep, almost too deep for normal human speech, and distorted just a small bit. But then again, he was special. He was his mother's special boy.

"Yes, Mother..."

Author's Note

WHAT?!? YOU MADE JASON TALK?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! THAT'S NON-CANONICAL! YOU'RE BREAKING THE LORE! YOU'RE-
My Story. My Rules.
Deal. With. It.