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Fanfic: Jack's Story

Chapter 1: Jack's Story

Disclaimer: I know that some of these facts may not exactly
correspond with the series, but I'm taking a little creative
license with the story. Please don't flame me for incorrect
facts. All characters and "Friday the 13th" belong
to Frank Mancuso, Jr. and Paramount Television. No copyright
infringement intended.

By: Alyse Micki Wax

When you have lived as long as I have, the details of
your life all begin to blur together. Childhood is a distant

One of my few memories is my love for magic. I started
early, with simple parlor tricks. I performed neighborhood
shows. As I grew older, the tricks became more complicated
and more professional. I became friends with Rashid, who
opened my eyes to a world beyond our own. To this day, he is
still my dearest friend. He taught me about other magik,
magik that could not be controlled. I read all I could on
the subject, participated too, but never in the frightening
black masses I was fascinated with -- as long as it was
simply something from a book.

Magic and the occult took a backseat when I was drafted
into the army, and flown to Nazi Germany during World War II
at the tender age of 19. It was hard, not just to leave my
family, but to leave Viola, my childhood sweetheart. She was
a few years older than I, and a brilliant scientist, but I
didn't mind. We made plans to marry as soon as the war was
over. However, things don't always go according to plan, for
a few months after my arrival in Germany, I received a
telegram from Vi. She had been asked to go on safari in
Africa. It was a wonderful chance for her to do field work,
and she accepted. The saddest part was that, accompanying
the telegram, was the small engagement ring I had given her.
That was the last I heard of her.

War was unpleasant, with memories better left forgotten.
However, there is one memory that will not stay buried.
Towards the end of the war, I was captured, put into a camp,
held captive by The Butcher, one of the most feared members
of the Nazi army, next to Hitler himself. I remember being
strapped in that chair, being laughed at by The Butcher. My
fear was so intense, so amplified, that I was convinced I saw
Death standing in the corner, waiting to take me at any
moment. I can still feel the cold barbed wire as it began to
wrap around my neck, seemingly of it's own will, tightening,
nearly puncturing my throat, cutting off my air before my
squadron seized the camp, setting me free physically, but
mentally, I would always be a prisoner on the brink of death.
I have nightmares about it to this day.

When the war was over, I moved in with Rashid until I
could afford a place of my own. I went back to my magic, as
well as occult studies. Eventually, I began to perform my
magic, becoming somewhat of a local celebrity.

During my shows, I met many people, many women. Two in
particular stand out in my mind. The first was a stunning
young woman by the name of Grace. It was love at first
sight, at least for me. I could tell there was a flicker of
desire in her eyes, but she tried to hide it. I soon found
out why. She was married, to a man by the name of Vendredi,
Lewis Vendredi. He was an antique dealer who wanted to
compliment me on some of the antique props in my show. He
also had a business proposal: He wanted me to supply his
store with antiques. I told him I would think about it, and
he left his card. I gave the matter heavy consideration,
mostly because it would be a way to see Grace.

Weeks later, another wonderful woman came backstage. I
was drawn to her, although not quite in the same way I was to
Grace. I was enchanted nonetheless, and after a brief
courting period, we were married. It was a happy marriage,
but I could not forget about Grace. Or Vi.

After our marriage, I gave up magic as a profession and
got in touch with Lewis. I agreed to supply his store with
antiques, as long as I wouldn't have to travel too much. a
few months later my son was born, Peter. I knew immediately
that there was something different about him, something
special. In time, it became apparent that he had a precious
psychic gift, one I spent much time working on with him,
developing it.

Peter was quite special. He seemed to actually feel the
pain of others, physically. He became friends with a young
girl, who had been deemed autistic by her parents and the
many specialists she went to. But Peter knew otherwise. He
could sense that she was just trapped. He wanted to free
her. In doing this, he got trapped in her dream plane... and
died. It was the lowest point of my life.

After that, I threw myself into my "scavenger hunt" for
Lewis, traveling often. The frequent traveling was a
tremendous strain on my marriage, and I was divorced a year
after the death of Peter.

Lewis was fascinated with my knowledge of the occult.
He was also terrified of poverty, and of growing old and
dying. When I learned of his greed, I was rather reluctant
to share with him my knowledge, for I knew too well what
could be accomplished. In the end, it was Grace who
convinced me to give in to his requests. Although she would
never admit it tome, I suspected that he was mentally abusing
her. Perhaps physically as well, though if he was, she
concealed it.

Then came the day when Lewis confided in me that he had
done it. He had conjured up Lucifer himself, and struck a
bargain with him. Lewis would remain wealthy and young, but
there was one small catch. Lewis would never tell me
what that catch was, but I would find out soon enough.

Grace had a vague feeling of what was happening, and she
left. No note, no final good-byes. Nothing. It was like
losing Peter all over again. I felt... empty. This
emptiness caused me to ignore my better judgement. I agreed
to go to Cairo on another antique hunt.

I came back with only a few artifacts. Lewis was
anxious for them. I was glad to find that he wasn't totally
unaffected by the loss of Grace. He seemed harder, colder,
yet strangely ambiguous. He swore that he would have my
money for me by next week. His depression and anger had
scared away many potential customers. I agreed to come
around next week.

A week later, I came to the store. It was dark, which
angered me. He had probably taken my money to a bar, or
wasting it on a cheap woman somewhere. If anyone would want

I pushed the unlocked door open slowly. It was in
desperate need of oiled hinges. The squeaking only added to
the eerie ambiance of the shop.

There was a rustle upstairs. I grabbed the first thing
I could find to defend myself against potential looters. I
was unprepared for what I saw next.



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