The woods seem like a great place to get murdered from someone sneaking up behind you, and what good are you going to do in a mess hall where you’re just one more body to mow down? Thinking about it, you’re still pretty early in the movie. Some people are doomed, sure, but a few get away to survive until the cast gets whittled down. Most likely among that group: the counselor who thinks to arm themselves. The logic isn’t great, but it’s enough to steel your nerves so you can advance on the tool shed.
Thinking ahead, you do a quick sweep of the perimeter to make sure no murderer is waiting to follow you in. Granted, Umpire Mask might already be there waiting, or could just show up inside without warning; however that’s no reason to make the job easier on him. Taking a deep breath and preparing to sprint like hell if anything moves, you shove open the tool shed’s door to reveal the dark interior.
Hands slap at your sides, but there’s no phone in your pockets. Hardly surprising, these aren’t actually your pockets, or pants for that matter. Leaving aside the sudden hygienic issues plaguing your mind, it means no cell phone to use as a flashlight. The best you can do is to push the door completely open, letting the sun’s dwindling light in to illuminate the various tools.
There’s plenty of stuff here, unfortunately not all of it is useful. The plastic rake, for example, probably isn’t going to do much unless you leave it in exactly the right spot for Umpire Mask to step on, smacking him in the face. And even that feels like it would happen to a comic relief character instead. Basically, you’d be setting a trap for Jim. Amidst the bags of fertilizer and thick gardening gloves, however, there are a few viable prospects. An axe is hanging near the back, right next to a shovel that looks like it could do some damage with a firm swing. Garden shears and hand-held spades are tossed into a box haphazardly, all of which would be fine if you went the dual-wielding route. Just as you’re about the move, a stray ray of sunlight punches through and reflects off a steel surface near the back. Holy shit, that’s a chainsaw. A real, functional-looking, chain saw. You have no idea if it’s practical or not, you just wonder if these khakis can hide a partial erection. Ew, come on, get it together.
After adjusting your pants for “comfort” you step deeper into the shed, partially blocking the light. A gentle squeak reaches your ears, the sound of the door drifting back into position. Ordinarily, you’d pay it no mind, but this is Halloween in a horror movie. Without a second thought, you duck on reflex. For a split-second, you feel incredibly ridiculous. That vanishes when you catch sight of the sharpened hockey stick swinging through the air right where your head was. Before you’re even finished spinning around, you know he’s there.
Sure enough, Umpire Mask is staring down at you, one of his trademark sports-themed weapons (wow, old movies are dumb sometimes) clutched in his hands. Yeah, fair enough, you walked into a treasure trove of weapons alone, at sunset. Some part of you had to know there was zero chance this didn’t end in a fight. He’s advancing on you slowly, murder in his misshapen eyes as you scour your brain for potential weaknesses. Short of finding his heart, he’s impossible to kill; even getting tossed in a wood-chipper just kept him down until the next sequel. You can wound him though, so that’s something. What else, what else? He hates counselors, which you’re dressed as, which means he really wants to kill you. Not a weakness, or a positive. Come on, there has to be something, anything else you can use. And then, like a bolt from the blue, it comes to you. This is a vintage murder movie, so there’s only one kind of person who can escape certain death.
“I still collect pogs!” The words are so random, even the menacing madman seems momentarily taken aback. You don’t let the chance slip, coming up with more lies as fast as you can. “And I attended an all-boys school while being completely heterosexual. My fear of physical contact is so severe I wear a bee-keeper suit when walking on the street. I live with a roommate who stinks up the place trying to cook laundry in the oven once a month, and the most constant woman in my life may or may not want to kill me at any given moment.”
Damn, getting a little honest with these towards the end, aren’t you? Its working though, with every fact you spout Umpire Mask seems less interested in planting that stick through your skull. Time to bring it home.
“Come on, do I have to spell this out for you? I’m a virgin!” While this is absolutely a lie (you haven’t been a virgin since Cyndi Moretti’s house party senior year of high school) Umpire Mask seems to be buying it. Maybe it was your cunning explanation, or your incredible acting skills, or maybe he saw you get a halfsie from the chainsaw. Heck, maybe you just don’t seem bangable. Whatever the reason, it’s working. He’s already back to the door, and with one last glance that seems to be full of pity, Umpire Mask steps out of the shed, vanishing around a corner.
Your heartbeat slows, even as you ready for him to jump back in and do a surprise kill. That feels like a genre twist that might have come later though, so hopefully you’re safe. Better not stick around here though, just in case he decides to circle back and ask what the hell pogs are. Still, you came in for a reason, and after facing down a psycho-killer it seems all the more prudent to arm yourself. Especially since the longer this flick drags on, the less it will matter how sexually experienced you are. It comes down to a final girl in the old school classics, so you need to get out or put Umpire Mask down before that point arrives.
Looking around, you find that you ended up right by the box of gardening shears, the axe, and if you reach for it a little, the chainsaw. Taking more than one would weigh you down, which is basically suicide in a genre with so much running, which means you’ll have to decide what to bring. You’ve earned a weapon for your fight, so choose wisely.