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Fanfic: Ryan's Story

Chapter 1: Ryan's Story

All characters belong to Frank Mancuso Jr. and Paramount
Pictures, as does "Friday the 13th: the Series" in general.
No copyright infringement intended, so don't sue. :)


By: Alyse Micki Wax

For most, childhood is a time of happiness, playfulness.
A chance to be stupid and irresponsible, yet still have your
parents pick up the pieces before adulthood set in. I never
had that childhood.

I was born in 1968 in a small Chicago suburb. we
weren't poor, but we weren't exactly well-to-do. My brother,
James, was 3 years younger than me. I always called him
Jimmy. unlike most of my friends and their siblings, Jimmy
and I always got along. But too quickly, it was all over.

I'll never forget the day my world came crashing down
around me. I was 12, Jimmy was 9. We were playing ball in
the front yard... I threw the ball too hard... he wasn't
looking.... There were rarely any cars driving through our
street, but today, that wasn't the case.

My mother came running out of the house in hysterics.
It was my fault. Nobody had to tell me that, I just knew. I
was his older brother. I was supposed to take care of him,
make sure that he did the right thing, remained safe. To
this day, I am haunted by the image of my dead brother, lying
twisted, broken, in a pool of his own blood under the front
end of that huge blue Caddy. Not a day goes by that I don't
think of that fateful day.

Everything went downhill from there. My mother had a
nervous breakdown and left. No note, no nothing. She didn't
even bother to say good-bye. I was left with my dad, which
was just short of being awful. I know that he was always
disappointed that I wanted to be an artist. To him, art was
a waste of time. It served no meaningful purpose, unlike the
nuclear weapons Father Dearest helped design.

I constantly felt neglected. Physically, all of my
needs were met. But mentally, I was a mess. Drugs and gang
bangin' seemed the easiest way out. Something to help numb
the pain, give me a sense of direction, even if it was the
wrong one. But my mother taught me well. I resisted
temptation and remained clean. I went to peer counseling at
my school, which was wonderful. I don't think I could have
gotten along without it. I made friends, and it made me
realize that I could still do something with my life. My dad
never knew I went to counseling, but even if he did, I doubt
he would care. He never even came to my high school

After high school, I wanted to go to art school,
something I wanted to do for as long as I could remember. We
couldn't afford college tuition, so I applied for a
scholarship, but only received a partial. My dad refused to
pay one cent for something so "pointless," so I had to turn
down the scholarship. In doing so, it felt like another
little piece of me had died, had been taken away. I hadn't
felt that bad since Jimmy's accident.

I spent the next year trying to decide what i wanted to
do with the rest of my life. My dad got me lower-management
jobs at the companies he worked for, but it was drab, boring,
and not something I could see pursuing. Then I got the

It came special delivery on a Wednesday afternoon. The
return address read "Law Offices of Jake A. Foster, Esq." I
knew I hadn't done anything wrong, so I was only vaguely
nervous. I unfolded the single sheet of paper, and read it:

Mr. Dallion:

I am sorry to inform you of the death of Lewis Vendredi.
While you were never blood relatives, he was very fond
of your father, Ray, and was uncle to your cousin
Michelle, my child, whom you have never met.

I have been asked to handle Mr. Vendredi's estate,
despite the fact that I work in criminal law. Mr.
Vendredi's will states that he wished his antique shop,
Vendredi Antiques, to be left in the care of you and

I will be in touch with more details.

-- Jake A. Foster Esq.

I was stunned for a moment. I had inherited an antique
store from an uncle I never even knew. hell, he wasn't even a
blood relative. And a cousin, Michael. My head was
spinning. Yet at the same time, I knew that this was my
destiny. I just couldn't explain it. But I did know I
couldn't tell my father.

Later that evening, I received a call from Mr. Foster.
He told me where the store was, which ended up being a few
miles from my house. He said there was an apartment above
the store, which I could live in. I was informed that I
could move in immediately, which was a tempting offer I could
not pass up. Mr. foster said he would have some legal
documents sent to the store Monday afternoon (I sensed a hint
of confusion and disappointment in his voice when I told him
I didn't have a fax machine).

I packed that night. I told my dad nothing at our quiet
dinner together, something he insists on doing, even though
we rarely speak. He went to bed early, around 8:30, and I
took the opportunity to leave. I wrote a brief note to my
father, and left.

I was looking forward to running an antique store.
Admittedly, it did sound a bit boring, but after trying to
put up with the crap I have for the past 20 years, it was an
escape. We'd have to rename the store. Maybe... "Ryan's
Antique Palace." Oh, I can't forget about Michael. "Ryan
and Michael's Antique Palace." Had a certain ring to it.

Michael. I was excited about meeting this unknown
cousin. I think that, deep down, I was hoping that this
Michael would take the place of the long lost-but-not-
forgotten Jimmy.

It was dark when I arrived at Vendredi Antiques. I
found a key under the mat, and let myself in. It was dark
and musty in the store. The first thing I noticed in the dim
moonlight was some truly scary-looking masks, as well as many
larger objects, covered with eerie white sheets.

I was examining the masks when I heard a car pull up
outside the store. Quickly I put on one of the scarier masks
and crouched behind the counter. It was time to play a
little "welcome" trick on Michael.

The door opened. Footsteps came towards me. It was
time to meet my cousin, and let our adventure begin.



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