Slumber Party Slaughter: Don’t Go Into the Shower

“Jason loves me, this I know . . . ”
Friday The 13th, 1980

The seriously disturbed aspect to the festivities continued with some pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey action and a water balloon toss. Pizza and more snacks and soda followed. Soon, it was time for us to hunker down in front of the giant, but antique-looking, television and get good and scared. The violence started almost immediately and I realized quickly and with growing panic that most of the slashing, bloody action took place outdoors. (Because I come from such a wholesome family, it isn’t surprising to learn that we often took camping trips. Not to mention church camp.) This didn’t look promising.

There were also some problems with showers in the movie. If someone stepped in the shower or stepped out of the shower, it became obvious that they would not be long for this cinematic world. My eight year old eyes started to squeeze shut at the sound of the whispering “Jason refrain” that was supposed to say, “Kill Kill Kill Kill” but sounded to me like the noises Mrs. Bethel made in Sunday school with her ever-present handkerchief. So, now Sunday school was shot, vacations were shot, and church camp was shot. I vowed to never attend any of them ever again for fear that a man clad in a hockey mask and coveralls would come out swinging whichever weapon was closest and then take me out.

A couple of the girls were clasping their hands tightly over their eyes and peering alternately between the fingers. This didn’t work for me and only filled me with even more dread. When I did work up the nerve to look, I saw a man’s head pop like a grape between a vice affixed to a tree and a woman stabbed through the eyes while sunning herself after a playful wrestling fight with the gentleman whose head was ready for wine-making.

Since I had lost my appetite, there was no birthday cake and ice cream for me. I just sort of huddled in the corner of the playroom. A few girls tried to shake me out of my self-induced coma, but most couldn’t tell the difference between that or my normal shy girl routine. My cousin figured I was just tired and asked everyone to be a little quiet so I could go to sleep.

Then, her teenage brothers returned home. Immediately, the mother who was babysitting this gory event giggled and showed them the other box with the Anna Wintour-looking woman. Their eyes bugged out of their heads; the movie had to go in the VCR right away. Soft tinkling jazz music began to play and slowly the other girls from the slumber party pulled themselves away from the table strewn with birthday cake crumbs and sat down in front of the television. Most of us didn’t understand what was happening between this ice princess and the lumberjack on the park bench. What they did in the kitchen with the leftover cake batter seemed unproductive and they didn’t even eat the cake, afterwards. Then, there was the shower scene. . .

Of course, yes, we were watching porn. Heaven knows why the mom decided it was okay if we just happened to be there as witnesses to such confusing activities. It only served to make those of us who had been terrified by the previous bloodbath incredibly confused. The two boys soon grew bored with the film and wanted to watch Friday the 13th, too. So, that movie was popped back into the VCR.

“I’m just so tired.”
Friday The 13th, 1980

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