When I was in fifth grade, it was customary for the school to ship off the fifth graders for three days to a camp in the hopes that they’d never see us again.
In the year 2000 CE [AD is now CE, which stands for “common era”], they almost succeeded.
I guess, in preparation for the big event, most of the boys in my class decided to watch Friday the Thirteenth the night before we departed. I don’t think this would have been that big of a deal, except they thought the cabin in which we did activities looked exactly like the one in the movie. [Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t allowed to watch that movie when I was 10. Not that I wanted to. Not that I want to now, even though I’m allowed to.] So the boys were a bit on edge right from the start.
For sleeping arrangements, the girls were in the basement of the lodge, with bathrooms across the hall and everything. [I guess the camp where we were staying was a boys’ camp during the summer, so our bathroom had urinals. This caused many, many giggles among us 10/11-year-old girls.] The boys, on the other hand, were in a cabin half-a-mile from the lodge, with their bathrooms in a separate building. They also thought their cabin looked like the one from the movie, which put them more on the edge. I’m not sure how far away the bathroom was, but I can tell you it was longer than the width of a hallway [That five feet was pretty intense, though, I can tell you]. It was probably a few 10s of yards away. Or something like that.
Because most of the kids in my class lacked a good father-figure, my dad volunteered to go as a chaperone. He witnessed what happened that first night.
It was time to get ready for bed. The boys had been goofing off the entire day, scaring each other while pretending to be Jason, and it only became worse after the sun set. Dad was chaperoning the boys in the bathroom while they were getting ready for bed, brushing their teeth and stuff. I think there was a kid who wasn’t feeling well in the stomach department, so he was helping a bit more than he’d anticipated. He stayed with the sick kid while the rest of the boys ran [without flashlights, of course] willy-nilly through the darkened woods.
Suddenly, one of the boys came out from a group of trees with blood streaming down his face.
“JASON GOT BRIAN!!” one of the other boys screamed.
And they ran, screaming, back to their cabin, leaving poor Brian [not his real name] to fend for himself.
When Dad made it back to the cabin, he discovered a room full of chaos. All, and I mean all, of the boys were crying. One kid was even banging his head against the wall, moaning, “Jason’s gonna get us, Jason’s gonna get us!” over and over.
Meanwhile, Brian and another dad chaperone were walking the half mile back to the lodge where the first aid kit was [great planning on their part]. What had happened to Brian, you ask? [Unless you already figured it out.] They were running through the woods in the dark. Of course he ran in to a tree, splitting his lip severely.
While the boys spent the night thinking Jason was going to get them, we girls spent the night worrying about Brian and his lip, hoping he wouldn’t have to get stitches.
So the next time you’re running in the woods in the dark and one of your group comes out of a group of trees with blood running down their face, don’t jump to conclusions. It probably wasn’t Jason that got them. It was probably a tree. Unless that tree’s name is Jason, that is.