A/N: This is probably the most far out story I have ever written. Okay, Nightmare on Elm Street meets Victorious. This was a long time coming for me. After my past experiences with listing crossovers, I decided to avoid that and just have it in the Victorious section. I want as many people to find it as possible because I am really proud of the ideas I have in this one. Trust me, you're gonna LOVE this one. Just give it a chance.

So, the setting is Los Angeles and our main protagonists are the Victorious gang, naturally.

Now, with me saying that, here is where the Nightmare universe is at. The events of Freddy's Dead are where things were left off. It's important because those characters are in this story. BTW, if you haven't seen Freddy's Dead, that's okay. I reference it enough times for you to be able to keep track.

As always, please leave your comments.

I live off of your reviews. They are the source of my inspiration.

;-)

And so, our story begins….

Maggie Burroughs was having a difficult time seeing her way in the rain. She had been driving all night coming back from a child psychology seminar in Peoria. All flights in this part of the Midwest were grounded because of the nasty storm, so Maggie was stuck driving. And the long hours of darkness coupled with no radio because her speakers were busted made it a struggle to stay alert.

The seminar itself was very interesting, despite her own exhaustion from traveling. There were several speakers at the event, held at the big community center, but the most prominent orator was Dr. Frank Worthington. Maggie met up with him after the people began to disperse and she had his recent bestseller in tow. The older psychologist smiled and talked with her for ten minutes. Upon being asked her name, Maggie almost had a Freudian slip. For a second, she was going to say Katherine.

Katherine Kruger.

That was the name on her birth certificate. Before the orphanage took her. Before her father died. Before everybody seemed to die all around her. Given the heinous nature of his crimes, the only daughter of Fred Kruger, was deftly renamed and place into the system. Low and behold, she was adopted and began a new life living with a kindly couple: the Burroughs. They were unable to have children of their own so they leapt at the chance to give this bright-eyed, though sad, brunette a good home.

She had a good home once. Katherine thought everything was fine with her mother and father. They both worked in the Springwood school system. She was a teacher and he was the janitor.

Katherine was an extroverted, jovial sort as a child so she acquired quite a lot of friends. It made sense that the neighborhood all knew her dad, Fred Kruger. And unfortunately, that created a web of trust. A trust that Mr. Kruger would exploit for years.

When nobody else was around, Katherine's father would do terrible things to her friends. He would threaten them not to tell anybody or he would kill them and their parents and brothers and sisters. He would roam the halls of Springwood Elementary, sweeping or taking out the trash, keeping a close eye on the kids when they looked like they were about to talk to one of their teachers or the principal. He made damn sure that they all knew he was close by, watching. And listening.

As unbelievable as it sounded, his urges became more grotesque than child molestation. He wanted to destroy them completely. It became about blood lust. With his tools and most of all: privacy; Kruger built crude but effective instruments of torture and murder. He would stake out houses and schools and find just the right victims. At first he went for sport further away from suburbia, in the inner city.

He would call those children his "practice."

The newspapers were calling him the Springwood Slasher and every parent was terrified of this unknown killer. A lot of houses were locking their doors and windows for the first time.

Once he was confident with his technique and selected the ideal torture chamber: an old boiler room; Kruger began to hunt for game closer to home. Katherine started to notice a kid here and there no longer seen at school. She was very little, so naturally such things were kept from her. To her, it was like they simply vanished.

Then one day, she stumbled upon her father's secret workshop in the basement. Hanging on the walls were newspaper clippings of the child murderer, Polaroids of his victims, and various versions of a glove with blades welded onto the fingertips. She wasn't the only one who found out his dark secret. Katherine saw her mother in the very last few seconds of her life, witnessing her father strangling her. When he saw his daughter crying and calling to her mommy, Kruger walked over and knelt down to her level in a very fatherly way.

He smiled and said, "Mommy just had to take her medicine for snooping in Daddy's special work." He then leaned in closer to the teary-eyes girl. "But you won't tell, will you?"

Katherine shook her head and chocked out, "I won't tell."

That was the first and last lie she ever told her father.

Within a day, police seized Fred Kruger and raided his house. They found evidence there and in the boiler room. The D.A. had enough to nail his ass to the wall. But none of it was admissible. The police in charge of the search didn't fill out the search warrant properly. Without enough sufficient evidence and a child too distraught to be a witness, Kruger was released.

But it didn't stop there. An angry mob of parents, mostly compiled of couples who lost their children, stormed the streets. Once they located Kruger, they trapped him in an inferno. The purging fire didn't leave anything behind.

Fred Kruger was dead. The Springwood Slasher was no more. But little did the denizens of Springwood know, they created something far worse.

Now, Freddy attacked their children where he couldn't protect them: their dreams. The country couldn't understand the strange epidemic in this humble Ohio town. Kids and teenagers were dropping like flies in (oftentimes) bizarre murders and suicides. It got so bad that many have moved away.

They were the lucky ones. Survivors were a rare breed in Springwood.

But the bloodshed did stop. For nearly twenty years, there was silence. New couples were feeling confident to have children again. Even the older folks couldn't believe the tremendous feeling of safety that hadn't been around since the boomer generation. Maggie smiled a knowing smile for two reasons. Unwanted kids were becoming less and less frequent at the youth recovery shelter miles outside Springwood. Sure, there would be the occasional runaway but the place wasn't overstuffed like it once was. That meant more locals were adopting and being a child whose life was saved from adoption herself, it made her happy.

There was another reason for her being contented. Maggie saw Freddy die. In fact, she killed him with her own hands (ironically with his signature glove). She jammed a pipe bomb in his wounds and the thing went off, obliterating him for good. There were feelings on uneasiness following the battle in the evidence locker at the shelter. She found it still difficult to sleep. But Maggie attributed this to the psychological baggage of, you know, offing your own father.

He was a bastard but it still wasn't something a well-adjusted person like Maggie could just shrug off.

She passed by a sign for Muncie, Indiana. Maggie let out a loud groan. She was only halfway there. The never-ending lonely black road and the pitter-patter of raindrops on the car were hypnotic. She found herself nodding off. Her head began to slink to the side, her hands loosening their grip on the steering wheel.

Suddenly, she was shocked awake by what felt like a hundred tiny speed bumps. Maggie quickly realized she was dangerously close to running herself off the road. Many years ago, highway officials installed these indentations on the sides to keep drivers alert. Their target was truckers who had the tendency to veer off with those long hours. Legally speaking, a truck driver has only so many hours in the day to drive. But if he hadn't gotten enough sleep, that whole measure in rendered moot.

Maggie's knuckles whitened as her grip tightened on the wheel. She breathed a strong sigh of relief, slamming her head on the back of the chair swearing at herself.

"Get it together," she told herself. "You need to stay awake."

If it weren't raining, Maggie would have simply opened the window and taken advantage of the chilly night wind.

Her mind blanked when she felt a cataclysmic bump and heard the worst thing you could hear in the middle of nowhere: A flat tire.

"Perfect," she muttered, slamming the steering wheel.

Maggie got out of the car and walked over to her truck. Opening the lid, she exhaled and grinned. She remembered to fill up the spare. She used her strength to pull out the replacement and it bounced on the wet asphalt, rolled a little and toppled over. Maggie shrugged and dug through her mess of a trunk for the jack.

There was so much junk in this thing, it was remarkable that a tire could even fit. She shifted more and more things around until her eyes caught something shiny with a blue finish. Maggie reached for it but the damn thing was stuck. She pulled on it more and more. No luck. Her eyes widened when the pile of stuff gave way and she felt herself being pulled.

Her hand vanished into the void, her arm following suit. Maggie held onto the car, panic strewn across her face. As she began to make progress and pull herself out, steam rose from the gaping maw. Maggie screamed and fell onto the ground, the jack landing beside her.

She looked around, her heart sinking at the realization to what was going on. Shrill metal scraping made her jump but she tried to maintain her face. The last thing she wanted to show was her fear.

"We killed you!" she shouted. "I killed you myself!" She looked around, wondering where he was. Maggie knew her father was watching.

"Show yourself!" she demanded.

The rain fell silent and a voice from her distant past echoed through the darkness. It was her father's voice but raspy and raw. She never understood why he looked and sounded as he did when set ablaze. Maybe that was his true form, no longer able to hide behind a sweet voice and a trusting smile.

"Goodbye…sweetheart…"

Blazing lights obscured Maggie's vision. She shielded her eyes and in a split second could make out a speeding 18-wheeler.

A passing highway patrolman was making his rounds when he spotted the car in a ditch. The cop hit the brakes and ran to investigate the accident. He shined his light and expected to see the limp body of a driver; probably still alive.

When he saw was a mangled mess of blood and bones.

After puking his guts out for five minutes, the patrolman called it in.

Tori woke up with a start, screaming.

"You okay, babe?" Jade rolled over, still half asleep.

"Oh, god" Tori ran her fingers through her hair. "Just a dream."

"Okay," Jade responded and went back to her loud open mouth breathing.

Tori chuckled at the sound and flopped her head back down. Suddenly, a slew of feathers floated around her face. Confused, she looked at her pillow and saw it was slashed.

She let out a huff. "Jade, wake up."

After getting no response, she poked her dark-haired girlfriend.

The pale girl sat up, rubbing her eyes. "What? WHAT?"

"I think you stabbed my pillow with your scissors in your sleep."

"Tori," she sighed. "I haven't slept with my scissors since Sophomore year."

Tori brandished the ripped pillow. "Then explain this!"

Jade gave the situation one bloodshot eye's attention. "I dunno," she shrugged. "Maybe you did it."

"How? I was dreaming."

"Must have been some dream, Vega."

Tori looked closely at the straight, clean cut. "Yeah…some dream."