Victor Crowley

Victor Crowley is the primary character in the Hatchet series. He first appeared in Hatchet as the vengeful spirit of a deformed man who was tragically killed by his father on Halloween night. Victor Crowley was conceived through an affair involving his father, Thomas, and Lena, the nurse of his terminally ill wife, Shyann. When Shyann Crowley learned of her husband's infidelity she placed a curse on the unborn Victor just before she died. As a result of the curse Victor was born horribly disfigured, and Lena died the moment she laid eyes on him. Thomas raised Victor lovingly despite his deformity, and kept him hidden from the outside world to keep other children from tormenting him. Many years later, Sampson Dunston, his brother, and another teenager named Trent Graves, went to the Crowley house on Halloween and tried to scare Victor out of the house with firecrackers so they could see him. Other teenagers were Sampson's friend Bob and Clive Washington (who would later go by Rev. Zombie) whom both decided not to go. Instead the house caught fire with Victor locked inside. The children fled as Thomas returned home. Desperate to save his son, Thomas attempted to break through the door with a hatchet, but Victor had his head pressed against the door in a panic to escape. Thomas broke through the door and hit Victor in the face, killing him.

Following the accident, Thomas became reclusive and depressed, and years later he died of a broken heart. After Thomas's death, people began disappearing when entering the area surrounding the Crowley house. Victor Crowley had resurrected as a vengeful spirit, trapped in the night that he died. Every night he wanders the swamp, crying out for his father, and brutally killing anyone that he comes across. Victor Crowley since became a legend in Louisiana. Locals do not dare to enter the swamp, for those who have never returned.

Read more about Victor Crowley:  Hatchet II, Hatchet III

Famous quotes containing the words victor and/or crowley:

    And in the next instant, immediately behind them, Victor saw his former wife.
    At once he lowered his gaze, automatically tapping his cigarette to dislodge the ash that had not yet had time to form. From somewhere low down his heart rose like a fist to deliver an uppercut, drew back, struck again, then went into a fast disorderly throb, contradicting the music and drowning it.
    Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)

    If one had to worry about one’s actions in respect of other people’s ideas, one might as well be buried alive in an antheap or married to an ambitious violinist. Whether that man is the prime minister, modifying his opinions to catch votes, or a bourgeois in terror lest some harmless act should be misunderstood and outrage some petty convention, that man is an inferior man and I do not want to have anything to do with him any more than I want to eat canned salmon.
    —Aleister Crowley (1875–1947)