For the last few decades, the date Friday the 13^th had become a strange sort of public holiday.

Albeit, not one worth celebrating.

Unlike other holidays, nothing really changed as the sun rose that morning. No decorations were hung, people didn’t go about wishing each other “Happy Friday the 13^th,” and no gifts were handed out to eager children.

In terms of the notable, perhaps there was the occasional superstitious person blaming their own misfortunes on the day. Maybe if you squinted hard enough and were privy to such things you would notice those involved with the supernatural casting enchantments for additional barriers or sprinkling salt behind them as they conducted daily affairs.

But, really, life in New York City genuinely continued on as normal.

Well, as normal as a world after “the Incident” could be.

And yet…

The residents of the city didn’t talk about it. Who would want to talk about these things? Who would want to be the one to invoke it?

But it was there.

A strange sensation of anticipation.

It was like waiting for an important phone call with your medical results. Waiting after texting a crush for the first time. Waiting to be assured that a loved one had made it home safely. It was a feeling of terror that hung in the gut. Of pain, even as you tried to distract yourself from the darkness that had been made apparent in your life.

Only, on a societal level.

They all were waiting for the next day. They couldn’t put it into words, not even the newscasters dared say it out loud or offer warnings. It was an unspoken rule not to pose questions about the pattern.

But they all wanted to see what the headlines would confirm.

They all wanted to know if it had indeed happened again.

And as the sun descended, as Friday the 13^th ended, so did New York hold its breath.

Ki ki ki… Ma ma ma…

With the red rising sun, Saturday the 14^th dawned and with it came the terrible reports.

All over the country, various versions of the same headline appeared on the cover of newspapers, on the front page of websites, and dominated the 24 hour news cycle. The black and white text revealed the sordid affair in as much details as could be allowed, depending on the medium.

News websites were running live updates and informed its obsessed readership with details of the events in a more and more thorough manner as the story came in. The comment sections were flooding with activity as those with time on their hands tried to piece together the accounts. Some sent thoughts and prayers, others denied it had ever happened, and a strange subgroup suggested that this wasn’t even news since there was other more important things going on.

Twitter had exploded, with the topic becoming the most trended subject for the day.

It seemed to be all people could talk about on Instagram, and the “Friday the 13^th Victim Dance” was everywhere on TikTok for far longer than it should have been.

The Survivor received both requests for interviews and death threats before it had reached 10am.

Reddit and Tumblr were actively trying to organise fundraisers for the victims’ families, in a desperate yet futile attempt to try and bring about some peace to the situation.

Realising it was everywhere; politicians from all over the country stood on platforms and made pledges, promises and offered useless hopes and prayers. The worst of them tried to blame it on the lifestyles of those who had been persecuted all their lives, or to try and use the tragedy to improve their own political stance with the people.

Celebrities were contacted to visit the survivor. A notable comedian was cancelled for making light of the situation with a horrific joke, and the President conducted a Press Conference at 10:30am to speak of the slaughter.

It was an insane time of media blitz and there was a sigh of almost relief that it was, at least, finally over.

The worst had happened.

“Slayings at Camp Blood! Seven Murdered as Killing’s Resumed at Cursed Grounds”.

Of course, as the story began to reach its peak in the middle of the day on Saturday the 14^th, people who were considered influential or worthy of having an opinion that others would be interested in were suddenly hunted down and asked to share their feelings.

And it was on this day, one of those people interviewed was the Hero of Harlem himself.

Luke Cage.