Down On Your Luck

Sidey’s Weekend Theme is “Friday the 13th”. I have never seen any movies from any of the horror/slasher genre, but had always thought that Freddy Kruger was the evil guy from the Friday the 13th series. Extensive research (Wikipedia) tells me that this is not so, that the guy’s name is Jason ….   

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Jason Voorhees woke early. Today was his day, the day when his deeds defined him and made him famous across the whole world.

Today was Friday the 13th.

He bounded out of bed, and stepped onto an upturned hairbrush.

Everyone knows that bad things happen on Friday the 13th, but few people consider the fact that they happen to bad people too.

When the pain in his foot had eased to a dull ache Jason dressed, looking forward to a day of slashing, screaming and spurting blood, like a fan preparing to go to an ice-hockey game.

Jason couldn’t help the way he was. Being born on a Friday the 13th at the very instant that Mars was in conjunction with Pluto, Saturn and the WRKX Kentucky radio satellite meant that he was batso since birth, and being given the name Jason, a name about as frightening as The Dread Pirate Roberts, had only stoked his inner fury.

But days like today gave him peace from the voices in his head (most of them Country and Western singers, WRKX was very into Country), and a sense that he was fulfilling his destiny.

What they didn’t give him was exemption from ill-luck. He had tried to change this, but even these attempts had been unlucky. Four-leaved clover had brought him out in a rash. His lucky horseshoe had fallen off his wall and broken a mirror. He had walked around a ladder in the street and stepped in front of a bus.

Whilst on a countryside ramble he once saw a pin and picked it up, but it turned out to be from a WW11 grenade, and the explosion had blown him into the next field.

Now, as he left his house, two magpies flew overhead. Great, one for sorrow, two for joy, he thought. Unfortunately, two magpies are sometimes just two groups of one magpie, and both of them crapped on his head.

The day got little better. Later that morning he was attacked by a neighbour’s dog. During the afternoon he tripped over a bee-hive, enraging the occupants.

Eventually, though, the morning was over, the afternoon was over, and evening (Friday the 13th Part 111, if you like) arrived. And despite the dog-bites (and the bee-stings) he didn’t feel so bad, because his time had come.

He knew they would be there. It was built into their psyche, like salmon returning to their spawning ground. White middle-class groups of teenagers feel an innate urge to turn up at the scene of previous mass-killings. They are like lemmings with braces on their teeth.

Their parents must be some of the dumbest people on earth.

He crept through the woods to the lake. He could hear them long before he saw them. There they were, each a walking stereotype. The guy playing “the Boxer” on a guitar. The giggly blonde who would wander off alone for no apparent reason. The courting couple who would be caught together. The plucky girl who would somehow fight him off, escape and tell the rest of the world how dangerous this place was, so as to ensure that a fresh group of teenagers would come here next year.

He pushed aside a branch to get nearer, and it whipped back into his face. The lash-like sound it made and his agonised yelp alerted the teenagers, who turned to stare at his hideous face, his claw-like hands, his lethal machete.

To his surprise they did not flee. Instead a smile came to all of their faces. Slowly, as one, the winning team of  the South Carolina Under-19 Kick-boxing Championships walked towards him.

On the next Friday the 13th Jason stayed in bed for the day.

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