The last time Annie Phillips saw the sign she shivered.
It read: CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE
Her long, brown hair glistened in the sunlight.
She was tired due to the walk near the haunted campground.
Her plaid shirt was ironed.
She wore blue flares, red socks, and grey shoes on her feet.
The place was ominous—and silent.
The main idea was secure a placement as an Assistant Camp Cook.
Annie, who was nineteen, grew up in New York.
She had been going to school in the tough areas around the city that never sleeps.
For a month, the dangers of urban crime during the Jimmy Carter Administration, meant today’s youths were stoned out of their minds, and gang violence on the subway station, had meant the city became a ‘No-Go Zone’.
Dean Myerson, 25, the radio announcer, said: ‘Good morning! It’s a black cat day in Crystal Lake. You don’t want to walk underneath ladders today. Make sure you don’t see witches, or they’ll hex you with bad luck’.
Annie stopped near Burl’s Gas Station.
A dog appeared.
‘Hello, boy! Sorry, girl. How far is it to Camp Crystal Lake? That far, huh! Okay!’. She walked towards Miner Road, that led to the Crystal Lake Diner.
She opened the front door.
And went inside.
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Page 3.
