The Curse, the Killer, and the Calendar: Unmasking the Origins of Friday the 13th

Written by Mandie Stevens, Staff Writer.

This Friday? Yeah… it’s that Friday. The 13th. The one that makes elevators skip a floor, makes your mom clutch her crystals, and makes horror fans grin like they’ve got a machete behind their back. But how did one poor little date get so demonized? Why does “Friday the 13th” make people whisper like it’s Beetlejuice’s birthday? Let’s pull back the curtain—and maybe the shower one too—on the unlucky lore and slasher icon that made this day infamous.

13. It’s a number that just has a bad vibe. Twelve is tidy. Twelve is polite. The world runs on 12s—months, zodiac signs, eggs in a carton. Then comes 13, crashing the party like the drunk ex no one invited. The number’s been called cursed for centuries. Buildings pretend it doesn’t exist. Planes skip row 13. Even witches are like, “eh, let’s keep our coven to 12.” There’s even a clinical term for this irrational fear: triskaidekaphobia—which sounds like a spell, but mostly just means you’ll never book Room 13 at a motel. And if 13 is the problem child… Friday’s the babysitter who forgot her pepper spray.

Fridays weren’t always fun and casual. In many old traditions, they were a day to avoid big decisions—or any decision at all, really. Bad omens, bad deals, bad endings. So now we’ve got two bad vibes holding hands. One’s a rogue number. The other’s the week’s moody ex. Together? They form a calendar-based jump scare. The superstition didn’t really explode until 1907, when a bestselling novel—Friday, the Thirteenth—played on public fear. In it, a crooked broker uses the date to trigger a stock market crash. Fictional? Sure. But society ran with it like a final girl sprinting through the woods. Ever since, we’ve collectively agreed that Friday the 13th is the day the universe throws shade.

Enter Jason Voorhees…

Then came 1980—and Friday the 13th got a makeover in blood, with the iconic slasher that changed the horror genre. ‘Friday the 13th’ exploded on scene and a legend was born. The first film didn’t even feature Jason as the killer. That honor belonged to his mother, Pamela Voorhees, whose maternal instincts went full chainsaw. Jason didn’t rise from the lake until the sequels—silent, masked, and not big on forgiveness. By the time we hit Part VI, Jason’s basically undead. He’s been axed, drowned, blown up, frozen, rebooted, and sent to space. Still shows up. Still hates camp. Still can’t be bothered to run. He’s not just a slasher—he’s a franchise. A lifestyle. A machete-wielding meme. And, by the way, happy birthday to Jason Voorhees who was born on June 13th, 1946.

So what is it about Friday the 13th that sticks in our guts? Maybe it’s the thrill of pretending we’re not superstitious. Maybe it’s because horror lets us feel in control of chaos—for 90 minutes, at least. Or maybe it’s just fun to believe the universe gets a little freaky on certain days.

Just don’t go skinny dipping at an abandoned summer camp. Jason hates that.

 

Lynn Makes

Hi, I’m Lynn, and I Make.
Props, Cosplay, Scale Models, Home Projects, and just about anything else that involves me Making.

Eldwenne’s Fantasy™ and Wire Wrapture Artistically Twisted ™

Jodi invites you to explore your well-being with designs from Wire Wrapture Artistically Twisted™ and to declare your favorite fandom proudly with designs from Eldwenne’s Fantasy™.

System Reactor