Crystal Lake was aptly named. If one could appreciate nothing else about the disused campground, the natural idyllic beauty of the calm waves sloshing about had to be admired.

The job of cleaning out the ratty, half-rotted cabins and making this place suitable for the coming summer season fell to you and your friends hired on as counselors. In a few weeks, loads of little brats would be offloaded by their parents and filling up the bunks, craft tables, and trails. After them, a troupe of scouts would be earning merit badges in the surrounding woods. But, for now, it was you young adults who had the run of the place, at least until the owner, mister Christy, arrived to help organize and whip you into a proper workforce.

In the meantime, it seemed second nature for unsupervised college students to cut loose. Camp Crystal Lake was your oyster. You could hang around with the guys that were setting up the music, drink beers around the fire, maybe even partake in enjoying some of the substances brought in little plastic baggies. The present company all being so young, pretty, and available meant it would be far from the hardest thing in the world to flirt, fool around, and slink off with to a secluded spot. There was plenty of privacy around.

You could enjoy the solitude of nature on your lonesome. The neglected hiking trails around the camp needed clearing in any case and it would be a good excuse to get the lay of the land. The maps mister Christy had passed around head of time were out of date, likely from the last time this place had been operating, before most of the structures had been abandoned while the site had laid dormant for years.

Or,