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When Dwight woke up, it was in the same place as the other day, and the day before that. The smell of fresh air doted by maple wood and lake bed water filled his senses with an overwhelming sense of confusing comfort. Despite not knowing exactly why he had been waking up here these last few days, Dwight found himself somehow being absolutely relieved that it wasn't the overrun camp he always used to wake up in. Even though that's where his friends were, it was also the very same place their enemies showed up to try and kill them, some times before they even woke up. But here, Dwight had yet to be cornered or even touched by one of those monsters.
Groaning, Dwight rolled over and blinked open his eyes only to instantly wince at the unfamiliar glare of the morning sun. Since when was the last time he had seen the sun looking so big and so... so bright? A long time it felt like. Dwight covered his eyes and sat up, taking his time not to rush himself as he scooted himself across the warm, damp wood of the dock closer to the edge. His eyes began to adjust as the sleep slowly began to ebb away from his head and body, and he was becoming somewhat refreshed, more so than how he felt at the camp.
Thus reaching the edge of the dock, Dwight rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses before looking down at his reflection glaring back at him with the same amount of force as the bright sun. And sure enough, just as he had anticipated, he was dressed in that same weird outfit as he had woken up in yesterday. Instead of his idle work clothes, Dwight was wearing strange jeans that fit a little too tight with holes at the knees. Expensive, stylish, brown boots covered his feet a little ways past his ankles and sparkled with silver chains. He was no longer wearing his work coat and tie but rather some very iridescent maroon button-up that was already tucked into his pants and reached no further than his biceps. Even his glasses which were large and boxy were now slender and more fitting, turning dark in the sun, giving him more of a detective vibe than anything else.
The first day he had woken up like this, he ran away without second thought, not daring to think about it as he made it back to camp where he was betrayed yet again by his team when they did another trial. None of them provided any helpful advice or comfort for his confusing situation. In fact, they were all just as confused. It wasn't necessarily the fact that they wanted to betray Dwight, but they were having a hard time keeping him in check. And another thing that made things difficult... Dwight couldn't make it through anymore gates.
Sighing, Dwight positioned his new glasses accordingly and glanced back at the cabins nearby. They were old and worn out looking, clearly affected by years and years of either misuse or no use at all. The past two days he had tried to avoid them, but now his curiosity was beckoning inside him, and the urge became unstoppable. Standing up, Dwight realized he was a little damp from the wet boards beneath his feet but didn't think too much of it as he began walking down the long dock. As he went, he took his time to look around.
Birds- unlike the annoying, loud, obnoxious crows he was used to adding to the melody of terror he felt every day- were flying peacefully about the small bout of land, singing and chirping happily in the sky. Butterflies, which Dwight felt like he hadn't seen since he was a child, fluttered around to find flowers and peaceful shade to bask their colorful wings in. The ground, besides the dirt pathway, was all fresh, clean grass and spring flowers. It was beautiful. One of the most beautiful things Dwight had gotten to see in a while.
Once he made it up the dirt driveway, he stared up at the first cabin that greeted his presence. Just right in front of it was a rickety old sign that read "Camp Crystal Lake". Dwight hummed the name and wondered if anyone else lived here or not. Their world had been weirdly changing lately... maybe there was a chance that he could make new friends who wouldn't betray him.
Slowly, Dwight walked up the stairs, wincing as they croaked at his weight. Once he was just upon the old screen door, he took in a deep breath and reached up to shakily knock on the wooden frame. After that he waited, hands going politely behind his back as he gently rocked his feet.
Nothing happened.
He knocked again, this time with a little more force in case whoever was inside was asleep or merely hadn't heard him. In the meantime, he gazed back, looking around the silent, empty camp and searching for any signs of life. He stepped over to the screen window and cupped his hands around his glasses so that he could properly look inside.
There were a few empty tables, a small fridge and a hallway that led to an unknown room, but other than that, it seemed deserted.
Standing back, Dwight headed back to the door and reached down for the knob, giving it a slow twist. The sound of the clip jostling open made his heart jump in his chest, especially when he began to push the creaking wood open. "H-hello?" he said, his voice undeniably soft, "Is anybody there? Hello?"
Letting go of the door, Dwight quickly looked from left to right, trying to find any sign of life or forgery. Boards creaked beneath his feet as he slowly moved on, gazing at the sun lit cabin and all that was inside. Nothing seemed particularly used for there sat a layer of dust over pretty much everything. Dwight's lip curled in confusion. He passed the old, wooden tables and looked up at the fridge, his hand stretching out to grasp the handle.
But wait... what if there was somebody inside? A killer or mangled, dead body? What if it was a trap like the kind he always ran into with The Trapper?
No. Dwight thought. Things were weird enough as it was. If he died, he died. At least he could learn from these mistakes so that later he didn't make them again.
With little self encouragement, Dwight yanked open the door, flinching on instinct in case anything rash came out from inside. But instead of dead body stench, blood pools or random goring, Dwight found himself gasping at the vast variety of food that decorated the interior of the cool fridge. Fruits, veggies, meat, condiments and even beer sat amongst the shelves around each other. It was almost as beautiful as the outside world.
Dwight's stomach grumbled. Odd. He looked down and placed a hand over his belly. He'd never been hungry before. Why was he now?
After hiking around what apparently was the kitchen, Dwight found endless cupboards filled with food, food gadgets and utensils. It was astounding. Dwight had never been so hungry nor so blessed.
He had to force himself to walk away from the kitchen and down the mysterious hallway, curious to find the showers there. They were merely wooden stalls with small shower heads. Nothing special. But it was still neat to see. Soap sat in different areas of the floor, their scent rather comforting to the lonesome man. At this point, Dwight began to relish his new luxury home, and desperately wished he could share it with his friends.
After checking over the wooden bathroom, Dwight exited the front cabin and ventured to one of the back ones. His curiosity at the roof. He was pleased to find only simple bunk beds and more bathroom stalls. The sign reading "Girls Only". It was the exact same way for the other cabin in which said "Boys".
Had this been a place for kids or something? If so, then where were they? Why was there fresh food and fresh beds and yet dust covered everything at the same time? What was this strange Camp Crystal Lake and why did he keep waking up here? Was there anyone else? What about his friends? Was he still apart of the trial?
Just as he was exiting the boys cabin, Dwight froze when he heard the sound of ruffling grass and steady breathing. Chills raced down his spine. His heart felt strangled in fear. The breathing was unlike any type he had heard before and that went for the rough, ragged breaths of The Trapper or the rasping of The Wraith. It was warm, steady, almost calming to listen to. And yet Dwight could feel it ghosting down the back of his head as if whoever was behind him was over seven feet tall.
Petrified and with tense bones, Dwight slowly but surely turned around, wincing at the sight of a mangled blue shirt and dusty brown jacket. He sucked in a sharp breath and jerked back, looking wildly up at the tall figure that stood before him. It was a man, a man dressed in dirty, blood stained clothes and a haunting white hockey mask. He was tall. Taller than anyone Dwight had ever met before. His thick, sturdy jeans were muddy and covered in fresh grass. His shirt and jacket nearly resembled the outside of the cabins; overused and old. His boots, large and covered in grime looked like they could stomp anyone to death with just one try. The mask he wore looked like it was fashioned from way long ago when hockey wasn't nearly as protective as it should be, the lines and shade of it faded and covered in its own life long scars. If he looked hard enough, he could even see the curious, deformed eyes beneath the old mask. He was big too. Impeccably so. His broad shoulders, wide muscles and tall form seemed to beat the very Trapper himself.
And last but not least. The big, blood rusted machete gripped tightly in the man's right hand.
Dwight hadn't been aware that tears had been trickling down his cheeks until he took off running in the opposite direction of the masked... thing. He sobbed, heart and lungs heaving from the breathless encounter. Who was that?! Another killer? He cried to himself, so very thankful that these sun lit woods were free of any obscurities. He ran into some trees but brushed the ache off, continuing to flee for his life.
Just when he thought he might be far enough, he looked back over his shoulder and soon came to a slow stop. Gasping for breath, he frantically looked back and forth and all around before losing track of which direction he was going in vs what he had been running from. Oh great. He bent over, placing one hand on his chest in an attempt to calm down his drumming heart. Now what was he supposed to do? He had no team, no compass, no weapons. He was alone with no knowledge of what exactly was going on. This was hopeless.
After doing a cascade of multiple turns, Dwight settled with the direction going opposite of the setting sun in hopes that he'd find his real camp instead of the hockey masked killers. As he got ready to move forward, looking over his shoulder for anything suspicious, he ran into something solid and warm that instantly made him jump and squeal.
"Hey, hey, easy. It's just me," Said a wonderfully familiar voice.
At the sight of David, Dwight's face lit red and swollen as tears spilled out his eyes, a sob tearing free from his mouth. Instead of moving away, he fell forward, right into the bigger man's muscular chest. Harshly he cried, digging his fingers into the other man's shoulders.
"Whoa, what happened buddy?" David sputtered in surprise and concern, wrapping his arms around the smaller man, "You aren't hurt are you?"
"N-n-nooo," Dwight sobbed on as he forcefully pulled himself away, wiping his face clean as best he could. He couldn't speak. His heart was racing and his head was spinning. Lung burning cries racked his internals and made him nauseous. He looked up at his friend, hiccuping as the words he wanted to blurt stayed choked in a lob in his throat.
During his vocal absence, Dwight began to notice something strangely off about David. Something strange and uncomfortably familiar. "You-Your clothes..." He stammered, eyes wide as he looked the other man up and down, shaking his head wildly, "They-They're-"
"Different?" David said sarcastically, his arms stretched out in a shrug before he rolled his eyes, shoulders slumping, "Yeah, I know. Go figure... It looks like the same thing that happened to you is happening to all of us."
"What?" Dwight's heart ran nearly cold, his voice barely more than a sad, unsettled whisper, his fear of the hockey masked killer, for the meantime, gone.
David looked down at the ground as if he had been through the same discussion a thousand times. He had dark circles under his frazzled eyes, and his hair dangled across his forehead, nearly brushing his brows. It was in that moment that Dwight realized that he looked almost like a completely different person.
Dressed in a fancy, brown jacket, white undershirt, black slacks, shiny dress shoes and even a striped, leather belt was David.
Dwight's eyebrows drew upwards in a funky smile, because honestly, he just couldn't help himself. Even David's hair was different although not very much. Instead of being shaved at the sides, his hair was all the way grown in and combed aside, only slightly ruffled by the wind and rough traveling. Seriously, he looked more like a business man instead of his naturally distinctive self.
"It happened this mornin'..." David admitted in a grumble, his head tilting to the side, "Couldn’t win the trial last night 'cause everyone disappeared on me. Got killed and woke up in this... in this office."
"In an office?" Dwight repeated.
David nodded sharply, "Yes, an office... And there was this guy there-"
"Did he have a hockey mask or a machete?" Dwight asked quickly, his voice anxious.
David looked at him with confused eyes, "What? No.... No, he was a therapist. Real nice too. Brought em' along with me."
"You did?"
"Hello there," Came a voice from just a few meters away, and out emerged a man who seemed to be in his late forties to early fifties. He was handsome with his focused blue eyes, brownish grey receding hairline and fancy uniform. It was similar to what David was wearing except sharper and more pristine. He walked calmly, expertly, as if he knew every obstacle of this world inside and out.
"Hannibal Lecter," The man lifted his hand out, the richness of his voice tasting like honey when repeated in the mind.
Dwight shook himself of the surprise and quickly stumbled forward, "Dwight-Dwight Fairfield. Nice to meet you."
"Pleasures returned." He smiled.
They shook hands as awkward and as odd as it seemed, Dwight felt his wet cheeks warm all the sudden. Perhaps maybe he was relieved that he wasn't the only one who was facing weird changes. Once they separated, he looked to his friend and asked softly, "What about the others?"
"Not sure," David looked around, "All I know is that we gotta find the camp. If we can find it then maybe we'll find a way outa' here."
"I'm being chased," Dwight finally blurted just to get the pent up words out of his chest.
David looked at him, "By who?"
"I don't know! Some big guy with a hockey mask an-and machete. He-he was at the camp I woke up at an-and I... I..."
"Did you talk to him?"
Dwight paled, his cheeks feeling like they were on fire with shame. "Well... no."
"Dwight.…" David sighed, reaching up to grasp his own forehead.
"He had a machete!" Dwight defended himself, "Plus he was huge and had that-that mask and..."
Trailing off, Dwight began to realize that it wasn't so much the machete or masks fault, but rather the familiarity of the man himself. He reminded Dwight of someone. Someone who had killed him and brought him pain more times than he could count. Tears came to his eyes and he covered his face, sniffing hard in the moment. Now he felt bad despite having a heavy intuition that the hockey masked man really was a killer. He still rudely assumed that he was bad just because he reminded him of bad things.
"Its alright, Dwight. We can worry about that later. Right now we need to focus on getting back to camp," David gave the smaller man's shoulder a gentle squeeze before looking towards his new companion, "Doctor Lecter, you think you can help us?"
"Of course," Hannibal answered in his rich, appeasing tone, his iridescent eyes concentrating on the tops of the trees as he spoke, "Within these many woods lies many dark and... unforgiving secrets."
Dwight swallowed a lump when the elderly man looked back at him with malicious, suspenseful eyes. It was almost like he was sending him a private message... Unforgiving.
Hannibal looked back up at the sky, "Your friends are safe but in trouble at the same time. Best that we leave now and return to our own civilizations."
"Look, doc, with all do respect, we ain't leaving our friends, alright? Out here we're more than just survivors, we're family, and if there's some really messed up stuff happening that's splitting us apart, then we find a way to get back together," David put his arm around Dwight and gave him a squeeze, his eyes proud, "It's what families do."
Hannibal seemed to stare at him in this certain way that looked bemused, frustrated and malicious all at the same time. "I admire your determination, I'll give you that much," He admitted and gestured out in front of himself, "Please, after you."
"Thanks," David said in a low voice, clearly appreciative of the understanding man, "Let's go, Dwight."
Still wiping his eyes and nose, Dwight nodded with a soft "ok" escaping his mouth. He was tired, hungry and stressed out. Everything was happening too fast and too weirdly for his liking. He just wanted it all to stop. He breathed out heavily, his eyes stinging.
"Here. Take this." Said that creamy rich voice.
Opening his puffy eyes, Dwight's heart enlightened when he saw a presented cloth held out for him from the hands of Hannibal. Gratified, he looked up at the doctor while slowing reaching out to grab the cloth, "Thank you... very much."
"You're quite welcome," Hannibal smiled and presented Dwight to their hidden pathway, "Shall we?"
They walked for about an hour, going over every single detail that they knew of and had learned. David had apparently been the last one to be casted into the great change and was very aggravated by it too. He had woken up in the office only to see Hannibal Lecter and his deliciously presented meal sat out before him. Of course Dwight had mentioned his past findings with the fridge full of food and thought maybe waking up like they were wasn't so bad. It was actually all kind of pleasant in both their cases. David might have been a little put off by the fashion he now possessed, but he didn't complain about the rest. So far all they knew had survived the great change were each other.
Or so they thought.
Dwight screamed when his foot fell square into a trap. The large metal teeth digging straight into his flesh with a terribly loud smacking sound. He wouldn't be shocked if it pierced his bone. Blood poured out faster than a slice to the stomach, and Dwight fell to his one good knee in pain and agony.
"Shh!" David kneeled down beside him, placing a hand on his back and trying to get him to calm down, "Quiet or else someone will hear you."
Dwight continued to sob however, holding his injured leg and crying loudly.
In that moment, David was pulled back by Hannibal who had a determined, cold look on his face as he stared off in some random direction. "We must leave. Now."
Thrown off, David looked in the same area Hannibal was and immediately understood what he meant. The Trapper was approaching at a quick, stealthy pace. His heart throbbed for a moment as he looked back and forth between his friend and the common enemy. Hannibals warm hand on his forearm helped him make a decision.
Wrenching himself from the ground, David gave his last apologies to whoever was listening and said as fast as he possibly could, "I'm sorry, Dwight. Meet me here tomorrow and we'll find the others."
"Wh-what?" Dwight's watering eyes contrasted with red, glossy indications of pain before he saw his two companions running away, leaving him abandoned, "David! David, wait-what are you doing? Don't go! David! David!"
Dwight screamed, his fear as horrible as the tremendous pain he felt. He shoved his face into his good knee, sobbing as the different multitudes of pain, betrayal and confusion battled tremendously inside him. He had been through this- getting stuck in a trap- so many times. He was tired of it. He was tired of being trapped, slashed and mounted on a hook. It hurt. It hurt so badly. He cried. And now it was about to happen again. When he heard the loud, unmistakable footsteps of his new captor vastly approaching, Dwight couldn't muster the strength to look up. He was done looking up. It just instilled more hurt to the mountain of insecurities that was already there inside him.
The first thing that he saw were disheveled army boots and bloodied overalls. Unmistakable. Dwight shook and cried into his knee until suddenly he was screaming out in pain when the trap was pried open and he was hoisted up with such stealth that it made his empty stomach churn. He grunted more than gasped when he was thrown over the Trapper's sharp shoulder, the back of his dirty body a memory permanently embedded inside his head. He sagged, unwilling to fight. The Trapper would only split his head painfully against a tree if he did that. He cried sharply, prepared to be pierced open and hung for what seemed to be the millionth time.
As Dwight hung there in misery, occasionally whimpering at the pain blistering from his wounded leg, he saw something. A great big shadowy figure bloomed from behind the tall trees. David? He dared not hope as he looked up as best he could, the unstable wobbling of the Trapper throwing his level of sight off balance.
It wasn't David. It wasn't Hannibal. And it wasn't anyone friendly.
It was the hockey masked man. Dwight froze up, his eyes locked on how fast the killer moved. It was intimidating, so unlike the lumpy nature of the Trapper. Dwight blinked once, his body tensing more and more as the giant got closer and closer till eventually his eyes welded shut.
Either the Trapper didn't know or didn't care that someone else was there. Either way, he ended up grunting in surprise and pain when something big and sharp punctured all the way through his back and out his chest.
Dwight fell miraculously to the ground, hitting his head and curling up in a ball. He was surprised too but was just a little behind on the reaction time do to blood loss and probably a concussion. He moaned, blurry eyes trying to blink away all the black in his peripheral vision. It was an invasion of torment.
As he began to descend uncontrollably to the ground, The Trapper looked back at whoever it was that had dared to charge him only to still in bewilderment at what and who he saw.
Mask to mask, they stared at one another. Hidden eyes glared in a silent battle for what seemed like hours before Dwight's uncomfortable silence stirred them both.
Reaching forward, the hockey masked killer ripped the knife from the Trapper and sent the rest of his body spewing with blood to the ground. After that, he gave him no second glance as he turned towards the wounded man and kneeled down before him.
Dwight gasped and fell over on his side with a strangled yelp when he had tried to stand up. Never once did he look away, his wide, tear stinging eyes fixated on the hockey masked killer. He was astonished. One killer actually killed another. It was an act Dwight had never seen before, and it made his lips part in wonder and confusion.
The hockey masked killer, as if noticing his distress, began walking forward. Dwight gasped again, his brain finally registering the real danger he was in. His body trembled and tensed when he moved, the searing pain in his leg an anchor he couldn't budge. He whimpered to himself, not sure what kind of punishment or kill strategy this new guy liked to use, but he knew it wouldn't be good.
As he kneeled down beside him, Dwight looked into the holes of his mask, his heart beating wildly inside his chest as he clutched his leg in agony. "Please..." He rasped out, his world feeling blurry as he just about passed out from what he knew was blood loss.
Two big, strong hands caught him, however, and Dwight went to clutch the long forearm that was holding his side. He whined, too tired to voice any screams or sobs. He had lost and he was going to accept that. He was going to accept any pain or death thrown at him.
The thing is, he wasn't prepared to accept the large arms that scooped underneath him, causing him to cry out in startlement when he was hoisted up against the hockey masked killer's thick chest. He made a funny noise and grabbed a hold of his neck on instinct, eyes zooming around to see what was going on. He was off the ground that was for sure. His leg throbbing and bleeding could never be forgotten. And the Trapper, who was still very alive, was staring at them with emotions Dwight couldn't guess because of his mask.
Looking up, Dwight caught eyes with the killer who was holding him bridal style in his arms. "Wha... What are... you... doing?" he breathed.
The hockey masked killer didn't say anything, and instead of dropping Dwight or snapping him in half in his arms, turned around and walked in the opposite direction he had been heading. Dwight had no energy to protest for he was wounded and being held hostage in a killer's embrace. He groaned, body weak as he leaned his head back, allowing it to hang limply in the air. He was so tired of this.
They seemed to be walking forever. Dwight wasn't sure anymore for he fell unconscious several times, his head lying comfortably against the killer's warm, thumping chest. Besides his aching leg, the hold felt pretty nice. Far nicer than being stabbed and hoisted over a spiny shoulder just to be hung on a hook. He groaned. The sun was back. He blinked open his eyes, squinting at the bright light above him.
They were back at the camp. Figures. He sagged, not sure what to expect as he was carried to the soft grass in front of the main cabin. The hockey masked killer kneeled, and in the slowest most gentle way possible, sat Dwight down in front of him. Dwight breathed out a small gasp and sat up to the best of his abilities. He took a moment to vent, trying to collect his thoughts before finally looking over at the killer.
"Why?" he whispered, tears filling his eyes as the mountain of questions he wanted to spill weld up in his throat. Why had he been saved by a killer. Why did he kill The Trapper? Why wasn't he killing him? Why were they here? What was going on? Who was he?
The killer tilted his head and, as if ignoring Dwight's question, took notice to his leg. Dwight looked down at it as well and sighed out in exaggerated pain. The killer looked up at him, concerned. Dwight's eyes widened. He was becoming faint. He had lost too much blood. He could tell because his eye sight was turning black and his body was growing weak. He began to fall back.
Something caught him.
Dwight looked up but couldn't see. Something touched his face, smooth and gentle brushes of big fingers wiping away his tears. He whimpered lowly. Another hand came to his trembling one and grasped it, their digits intertwining together like they were made for it. He gasped, wishing that he could see past all the blackness. He was about to die. But he wasn't going to die cold, alone, abandoned or even in pain.
Instead, he was warm. Dwight released a final breath of relief. He was warm and comfortable and safe, and most importantly... he wasn't alone.