He's looking for his hook, you'd tell them in a very low voice, that very same hook that he lost last year when he tried to kill those counselors and they just barely managed to escape in time. He's convinced the hook is here, you'd continue, right here in this camp and, in fact, those two counselors last year had left it here. It's really been here all along and the killer knows it. He knows it's here and he knows we have it. And he won't rest until he gets it back. And you'd quickly reach into your jacket and pull out a steel hook and hold it up for everyone to see. It worked best if you had taken some polish to it and really shined it up so that it would gleam in the firelight. And it worked even better if you dabbed some paint on the end and sprinkled it with dirt so that it looked like dried blood where it had been ripped from the killer's stump.

First, he had lost his hand, you would tell them, pausing dramatically as you turned the hook slowly so it caught the firelight, and now he's lost his hook. And what's more, he knows we have it and now that he's escaped, and at that moment, on cue, somebody would come leaping out of the darkness, screaming like a maniac wearing a mask or a pillowcase with eyeholes cut in it. He'd have one hand pulled up inside his sleeve, so it looked like a stump. And in the other hand, he'd be holding a large knife or maybe an axe or machete and he'd jump on top of you, screaming horribly and wrestle you to the ground.

If you screamed enough, it usually scared the campers out of at least ten years growth. He had seen and heard a vast number of variations on that theme. Every summer camp had its own version, like a time honored tradition.

He had thought this "Camp Blood" thing with the drowning and the murders and the fires was just another version of the same old story, but the guy he had talked to back in town had seemed quite serious about it. And now, despite his conviction that Neddie and the others were just doing a number on them, he felt a tightness in his stomach as he walked down the muddy path to the utility cabin to check the generator.

They had to be around here someplace, he thought, there were only two vehicles. Steve had taken the Jeep and Neddie's pickup was still there. They had tried to start it but the distributer or the plugs must have been wet or something. Neddie would be pissed as hell when he found the ignition wires torn loose but it would serve him right.

They're here, thought Bill, they have to be. They couldn't have walked all the way into town in the storm. It was at least ten miles.