Match 19592 Norman Bates vs. Pamela Voorhees

[broadwaybeyonder]

From the files of Dr. Francis Yearwood, April 1960. 

                It has been nearly three years since Pamela Voorhees first walked into my office.  She had been court ordered to have regular sessions with a psychiatrist following a near total nervous breakdown.  The cause of her behavior was sadly obvious.  The loss of her son at Camp Crystal Lake left her extremely irritable and paranoid.  She told me she could even at times hear Jason calling out to her.  After many months, I thought we had reached a breakthrough, at least enough for her to return to work.  But the deaths of those two counselors seems to have shaken her up again.  Now we have returned to meeting once a week, and I’m not sure if it’s time for a new plan of action. 

With the camp’s future in doubt, it is my considered opinion that Miss Voorhees may be better served to get away from Crystal Lake for a while.  Give herself a chance to travel, to get out of New Jersey and find some new, happier experiences.  I am certain that she is no danger to herself or others.  The poor lady wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

 

Pamela Voorhee stood in the doorway of cabin 1 of the Bate’s Motel clutching her suitcase.  The rain rattled against the roof as it continued to pour down.  She tried to look pleasant as the boy Norman prattled on about the amenities in her room.  “There’s the stationary that has Bate’s Motel on it in case you want to make your friend’s back home jealous.  And over here is the um…” 

“The bathroom?” 

“Right.  And if you need anything, just give a shout.  I’m in and out of the office right next door all the time.”  

Pamela cautiously stepped further into the cabin and gently set her suitcase on the bed.  “Thank you very much, Mr. Bates.” 

“Norman.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

Norman smiled.  “Thank you very much, Norman.  It’s alright.  You can use my first name.  I don’t mind.” 

Pamela turned back to her suitcase.  “Thank you… Norman.  I think I can find my way around now.  I’m wanting to get to bed.” 

“Are you sure?  Wouldn’t you like something to eat?  You said yourself you’ve been on the road for hours, and it wouldn’t take me a minute to fix up some sandwiches or…” 

“NO!” 

Norman looked concerned as Pamela gathered herself after her outburst.  “I’m sorry, Norman, but I’m really not hungry.  I’m probably just going to take a bath and go to bed.”  Norman shot a glance at the bathroom then sighed.  “If you’d like.  I guess I’ll turn in myself.  You have a good night’s sleep now.” 

Pamela’s eyes followed Norman as he walked to the door.  She looked back to her suitcase before feeling compelled to ask.    

“Is it lonely?” 

“Sorry?  Lonely?” 

“I mean, don’t you get lonely?  Living in that big, old house by yourself?” 

“Oh no.  I’m not alone.  Mother is there with me.  I look after her, and she…. Well, I always say, ‘a boy’s best friend is his mother.’”  Pamela nodded.  “Yes.  It’s very true.  Good night, Mr. Bates.” 

“Norman.” 

“Good night… Norman.” 

Norman stomped up the muddy drive through the storm up to the front door of the Bates’ house.  He slammed the door behind him and locked it.  Then he could hear that familiar, ever-present voice. 

“So, how is my big, strong boy today?  Found another whore on the highway?” 

“She’s not like that, Mother!  She’s our guest!” 

“Don’t give me that!  I know that look in your eyes!  And I saw her!  How old is she?  30?  She wouldn’t even give you the time of day!” 

“That’s not true!” 

“Oh really?  Then why did she turn down your dinner invitation?  Because she didn’t want to spend another second looking at a sorry excuse for a man as he undresses her with his eyes!” 

“MOTHER, SHUT UP!”  Norman’s cry echoed through the house.  He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing as the voice came back soothingly. 

“You know I’m right, boy.  You know she is nothing but trouble.  She’ll never love you, no woman will.  Only Mother.  So, what do you plan to do about it?” 

Norman’s face twisted into a determined scowl, then he hurried toward the cellar door. 

At that moment, Pamela had finished unpacking her suitcase.  She could feel her heart being faster as if it was trying to keep up with the rhythm of the rain falling outside.  Between the storm and Norman’s taxidermized birds, she couldn’t shake that sense of dread.  She turned the faucet in the tub to start filling it with water, then took off her jacket.  She was about to remove her sweater when she heard a plaintive cry. 

“Mommy!” 

Pamela froze.  Her eyes began to widen with fear as she gazed at the bathtub.  The sound of water filling the tub mingled with the rain on the roof, making it sound as if she was surrounded by a torrent coming to engulf her. 

“Mommy!  Help!” 

Pamela covered her ears and closed her eyes tight, sinking down onto the bed.  “It’s not real!  It isn’t real!  Remember Dr. Yearwood!  It isn’t real!” 

“Help me, Mommy!  Please!” 

Slowly opening her eyes, Pamela watched as the tub slowly filled to the brim.  She rose to her feet, her eyes no longer seeing water pouring out onto the floor, but the lake where her poor son had drowned. 

“I did, Jason.  I found those two wicked children who let you die!  They’re dead and buried!  They can’t hurt you anymore!” 

“Please, Mommy!  Stop him, Mommy!” 

“Him?  Who, Jason?  You don’t mean Norman?  But why?” 

“MOMMY!” 

“Yes.  Yes, Jason.  You’re right.  I saw it too.  The way he smiled, the way he talked.  He’s just like them.  A boy like that only has one thing on his mind.  He’s just like them!” 

“Kill him, Mommy!  Don’t let him get away with it!  Don’t let him live!” 

Pamela Voorhees’ face was finally calm as she walked back to her suitcase.  She lifted up a flap inside to reveal a leather belt and sheath containing a knife.  She put on the belt, drawing the knife and holding out towards the bathroom as water poured out.  “It’s alright, Jason.  Mommy will protect you.  Mommy will get the bad boy.  Just like she got the others.  And anyone else who tries to hurt you!” 

Leaving her jacket behind, Pamela Voorhees stomped out of her cabin, and into the stormy night, heading straight for the Bates’ house. 

 

OK:

Both combatants are at full strength (If not sanity).  This takes place at the same time as Psycho (1960), so Pamela Voorhees is around 30 years old (5 or so years older than Norman Bates). 

The fight takes place in the Bates’ house. 

Last killer standing wins. 

Game On! And Happy Friday the 13^th! 

[Callisto]

Learn More About
Norman Bates
Read more about Norman Bates at Wikipedia
Official Site: Universal Pictures Links: Wikipedia: Norman Bates IMDB: Psycho Horror Asylum- Norman Bates

Pamela Voorhees
Read more about Pamela Voorhees at Wikipedia
Official Site: Paramount Pictures Links: Wiki-Pamela Voorhees IMDB-Friday the 13th Camp Crystal Lake.com

[Macklemore]

I think that Pamela Voorhees would win a fight against Norman Bates in the Bates Motel. She is more aggressive, relentless, and resourceful than Norman, who is more passive, cowardly, and dependent on his mother’s persona. Pamela would not fall for Norman’s tricks or pity him for his condition. She would pursue him until she found him and killed him with one of her weapons. Norman might be able to injure or scare her with his attacks, but he would not be able to stop her or escape from her. Pamela would prove to be too much for Norman to handle.

[Pizzaguy2995]

I honestly think Norman will win. He’s got the home field advantage, he’s killed grown adults instead of hapless teenagers, and honestly Pamela might hesitate to kill Norman as a mother to a demented young boy, wheres Norman once he’s under the mother persona won’t hesitate for a second to butcher Pamela. The Bates Motel will check in yet another resident who will never EVER leave.

[Callisto]

Match Final Results

Member Ratings:
5.00 - Macklemore
4.00 - Boratz
4.20 - Pizzaguy2995
5.00 - patrickthekid

FPA Calculation:
4 Total Votes cast
18.20 Total Combined Score
18.20 / 4 = 4.55 Final Rating on the match

MATCH SCORE
Norman Bates: 2
Pamela Voorhees: 2

[broadwaybeyonder]

THE BOTTOM LINE

Pamela peeked her head through the door of the Bates’ house.  She scanned the foyer, her every sense straining for even a hint of movement.  Quietly closing the door behind her, Pamela crept towards the staircase that led to the second floor.  Her hand tightened it’s grip around the handle of her knife as the plaintive cries of her son echoed in her mind. 

“Kill him, Mommy!  Don’t let him get away with it!  Kill him dead, Mommy!” 

“Hush, Jason,” Pamela whispered.  “Mommy will take care of everything.” 

Step by step Pamela worked her way up the staircase.  She was just about to reach the landing when she heard the creaking of a door.  Pamela spun to look to her left just in time to see a figure in a dress lunging toward her with a knife raised in the air.  Pamela let out a scream and stabbed forward at Norman.  The boy’s face was twisted into an expression of sadistic glee, grinning madly as the wig he wore slid off his head.  The two howled and collided into each other, slashing were their knives again and again.  They spiraled across the landing as they fought to deliver the killing blow. 

“You aren’t going to take my boy from me!” Norman snarled in a wheedling feminine voice. 

“Why didn’t you watch Jason?!” Pamela wailed. 

Blood splattered across the walls and the two slammed into the railing.  Wood cracked and splintered as Norman grabbed Pamela by the throat and raised his knife high.  Pamela swung wildly and finally stabbed Norman right in the gut.  Norman let out a tortured gasp, but let his arm and knife come crashing down into Pamela’s chest.  Pamela moaned in pain but couldn’t free herself from Norman’s hold.  His weight pushed her back into the railing and the combined force of the two psychopaths caused the wood to finally shatter completely. 

Pamela and Norman fell from the second floor and crashed back first into the railing, finally coming to a halt at the foot of the staircase.  They both lay panting for breath, the blood from their multiple wounds pooling out across the floor.  Pamela strained to look to where Norman had landed next to her.  The young man was staring transfixed at Pamela, his eyes welling with tears that mingled with the blood from the cuts on his face. 

“Mother?  Is it you, Mother?” 

Pamela gasped for breath and groaned as she struggled to roll over to her side.  She reached out a hand and brushed a tear from Norman’s cheek. 

“It’s alright, Jason.  Mother’s here.  Everything’s going to be alright.” 

 

A few days went by when Marion Crane arrived at the Bates Motel on a dark and stormy evening.  She was tired and stressed after a long days drive and was desperate for a place to take a shower and rest.  She honked the horn a few times, but despite the lights being on in the motel office, nobody seemed to be around.  There was a light on in the house behind the motel, so she decided to go up and see if the owners were inside. 

When she opened the door, she let out a piercing scream, and ran out into the night.  The scene she had been greeted with was the sight of two bodies on the floor, a man and a woman.  The man was in a tattered old dress, and the woman had her arms wrapped around him, like a mother comforting her child after a bad dream.  And on the faces of both corpses were expressions of contentment and peace.  A beautiful tableau, if not for the pools of blood and the stench of decaying flesh.