"He wasn't a very good swimmer," she said, then she laughed. Crazy laughter.

"We can go now, dear."

Oh God, thought Alice, realization slowly dawning.

"I… I think we should wait for Mr. Christie."

She struggled to keep her voice steady. Mrs. Voorhees crackled again.

"Oh… that's not necessary…"

"I—I don't understand," said Alice, slowly backing away from her.

"Jason was my son," said Mrs. Voorhees, her eyes getting that mad faraway look again, "And today is his birthday."

"Where is Mr. Christie?" Alice asked but Mrs. Voorhees acted as if she hadn't heard. Her eyes were unfocused, looking inward somewhere, seeing twisted visions from the past, visions of a young boy floundering weakly in the lake, arms thrashing, sputtering as water filled his mouth, crying.

"Help! Help, Mommy, Help!"

A small boy drowning, crying for help. A boy, who had never cried before. A boy who had always been disturbingly silent, never speaking, never laughing. A boy who lived in his own strange, silent world, shunned by other children. Always keeping to himself.

"Oh, I couldn't let them open this place again, could I?" said Mrs. Voorhees, "Not after what happened."

She shook her head, as if to dispel the vision of her son sinking beneath the surface of the water, but the vision wouldn't go away. It played in her mind constantly, over and over and over. She dreamed about it. It plagued her while she was awake. The guilt had gnawed at her sanity, relentlessly nibbling it away until finally Pamela Voorhees had gone completely, totally mad.

"Oh my sweet, innocent Jason," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "My only child… Jason…"

She turned to look at Alice, her gaze boring into her. Eyes wide, pupils dilated. The corners of her mouth, twitching.

"You let him drown!"

Alice felt hypnotized by that snake-like stare. Like a rabbit, mesmerized by a cobra. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run but she couldn't move a muscle. Her mouth was dry. Her skin felt clammy.

She stood motionless and silent but her mind was screaming.

"You never paid any attention!" The madwoman shrieked.

There was a table between them. Mrs. Voorhees suddenly grabbed it and flung it aside as if it didn't weigh a thing. The crash of the table snapped Alice out of her disbelieving shock and her muscles finally responded. She jerked and shook her head, blinking away tears.

"No! No!"

"Look what you did to him!" cried Mrs. Voorhees, snarling as she raised her sweater, revealing the hunting knife in the sheath on her belt.

Alice looked around in panic, forgetting where she had dropped the baseball bat and her gaze lit on the fireplace—on the long, pointed iron poker. Mrs. Voorhees screamed like a wild animal and clawed the knife from its sheath, raising it high as she lunged at Alice.

Alice grabbed for the poker and brought it down hard, swinging it with all her might as Mrs.