Ok..Here's another one-shot for you. Thank you so much for review my last one-shot, What If. I greatly appreciate your feedback and that you enjoyed it. If you haven't had the chance to read it, do so. And also thanks again for responding to the poll I created. I've got an idea for a diary-based entry/story based on Freddy when he was a child with his foster father (the one that beat him). So that's in the works. In the meantime, I had a dream/nightmare the night before I wrote this. I thought it would be a creative outlook into Freddy's victims. So..hope you enjoy. Please Read and Review; let me know whatcha think. Thanks Again!
Tattoo
The muffled screams echoed through the building. For some odd reason I couldn't understand them, as if it was a different language. The scream was barbaric and the cries were gut wrenching. I found myself on my stomach, three feet from the floor onto this cold steel table. Every time I tried to move, there was nothing; no activity. I strained and grunted to move my arms, my feet. Nothing. I felt panic surge through my brain but I still tried to slow my breathing. I stared intothe rust stained floor as I heard clumpy footsteps approaching, louder and louder. At last the stomping stopped and I felt a presence in the room with me. I knew that I wouldn't be alone for long. At that point I felt the figure standing the door way. The smell of rust, blood and something else... already burned. You know how you light a match and smell that sulfur as you blow the flame out? It was that but accompanied with burned hair and skin. My nose hairs wilted in my nose and I tried not to breathe, but the terror raged in my veins as my heart began to beat faster. The brown boots move a little forward, followed by the steel door slowly closing. The big rattle of steel , made me inhale sharply. God, that smell.
It walked passed me and I couldn't follow its brown boots anymore. I hate the feeling of something or someone behind your back and you can't move to see. The breathing from this figure was raspy, wheezing every once in a while. That didn't terrify me, but the hissing laughing that followed did. It trailed a rough finger down my naked back, circling around my shoulder blades, spine and hips. I felt its horrid breath hit my skin, all I could do was cringe at the smell of the rancid breath as it trailed up toward my neck and face. It left my body alone and soon I heard the sound of sharp steel clang together; the ringing penetrated my ear drums. This was my final warning and I didn't know it then. I waited in horror with my eyes squeeze shut.
For what seemed as an eternity, those brown boots appeared again. My heart raced again and I started to shiver as those boots came under the table. What I thought was rust upon those tops were nothing but dryed blood and pieces of flesh. My skin crawled at the sight. I wanted to scream but it seemed that I couldn't muster the power to do so. What the hell was going on? Why was I here? Where the hell am I?
"You are here with me," said the raspy voice. I felt a since of calmness as I figured who it was, unfortunatly it soon passed as I realized exactally who."You know. I see you kids sporting this ink on your bodies like it's a fucking attempt to be bad-ass. Kids do not comprehend the idea of being "bad-ass" or "scary" or whatever word that comes to mind." I felt pressure onto my back. The sharp point indented my skin and at long last penetrated the upper layer of skin. I felt it enter with a light give of the point and felt the coolness and itchy feeling of wetness on my back. I gasped at the pain.
"I thought that since you had the idea of getting a tattoo, why not I give it to you. Something that proves you are a bad-ass," he said as I felt several sharp pains enter my shoulder blades. I screamed and my voice was audible. I turned my head and saw him, the Springwood Slasher. I saw the blood run it's trail down my left shoulder and saw in utter shock what his project was. He had his blades digging into my flesh, following curves as if he was writing on a piece of paper. The searing pain ran across my shoulders to my spine back over to my right shoulder. I felt the hot tears fall from the corners of my eyes, fall upon the table and drop from my nose. I screamed and pleaded him to stop. He only laughed in response and still continued to write in his bare canvas, my back.
"You crying and screaming on lets me continue. It's a gift, child. You should always receive gifts." He held onto the 's' and felt his blade dig sharply into my shoulder. I cried out, " Stop God Damnit. I have done nothing to deserve this." He stopped suddenly with the blade deep in the crevice of my shoulder blade. He than began to twist slowly.I whelped in agony and he only chuckled. How could he chuckle? I thought to myself, thinking he wouldn't be able to hear my pleas and questions.
"Because child, I am the stuff nightmares are made of," he explained, "I am the demon that festers in your dreams of candy canes and gumdrops. The itch that you keep scratching until your skin rips and frees the pus to ooze from the wound. You are a child of innocence, and I am the one to rip you from that so that you know the evil within a perfect world. You were born unto this world with that innocence I must have. That's why you deserve this."
He worked diligently under my screams for help, my cries of pain. He never let up. It seemed hours passed and then he stopped. My body frozen in shock, I tried to relax but the pain was so unbearable. That peace only lasted for a few seconds until I a puff of black smoke invade my sight, followed but burning. My screaming continued until I was horse and nothing came out but exhausted air. I smelled what was being rubbed into my skin...ash.
"You child are a part of me, to show you are my whore now," he said as he rubbed his coarse hands upon my back, rubbing in the black soot as my blood still seeped through the wounds. My cried became moans of despair and stifled wails. My eyes felt tired and sore as he finally rubbed enough ash into my gashes. With the click of his red-stained blades, water fell upon my skin, searing the wounds and washed the black away from my pale complexion. With the splash of calm he disappeared from the room. Soon, I was able to feel sensations in my hands, arms and then the rest of my body. I fell upon the floor with a hard thump with my t-shirt covering my chest, still on my shoulders. I crawled to the door, opening it slowly with my right hand. I left the room and climbed the wall for stability as I gathered myself onto my feet. I heard the faint echoes of my name, getting louder.
"MOM!" I screamed and soon found myself surrounded by light then surgical equipment; scalpels, bloody gauze strewn all over the floor, IV's leading to my left hand. My mother silently whimpering in the corner as the pain soared through my body again.
"Jesus, if we do not get this bleeding under control, we are going to have to do a transfusion. Give me 2ccs of Morphine." the nurse ordered as she tapped rough gauze over my cuts. "Jesus what the hell did this?" asked the nurse toward my mother, cleaning the blood from my back.
"I don't know," responded Mom, sniffling, "She was sleeping in her room and the next she was screaming. When I came to her, her t-shirt was covered in blood and it was everywhere on her bed. It was like she was attacked."
"The nurse soon found the Morphine and injected into the rubber tube on the top of my hand. I felt myself fall heavily under Hypno's curse as the pain reliever flowed through my veins. I fought it as my back stung with ointments coated onto the gashes. The Doctor walked into the room and went directly to examined my back.
"Hello miss. I'm Dr. Bond. Do you know where you are?" he asked quietly, looking over the gory mess.
"A hospital. Possibly St. John's Medical Center." I replied, drunk under the medicine.
"Yes. You are at St. John's." He turned his head away, "I take it you are her mother?"
"Y-Yes, sir. I am. What on earth is on her back?" asked my mom with sobs in between.
The doctor didn't respond immediately. Soon, his voice went from being strong to silent. "Ma'am, from what I've gathered and what the nurse and relayed to me. It seems that your daughter has severe wounds on her back, possibly from broken glass or sharp stabs of a sharp object. We will take as much precaution as to her pain but she's in good hands."
"But what is it?" asked my mother.
The doctor grew silent, trying to find the correct words to describe what he's viewing. "Well, Ma'am," he began, "It looks like a very bad tattoo. You see these curves and punctuation marks, it looks to form words. I don't know what it says until we clean the wound and get rid of this soot and ash we will know more."
The nurse came back with a small tub of warm water and soap. That's what I didn't need to see. My body has gone through enough pain to make anyone want to end their life. The nurse approached on a swivel stool and began to clean my wounds. It stung but the Morphine was doing it's job, keeping me calm and from flailing from the burning. The ash and soot soon cleaned away, revealing my ivory skin underneath. The nurse began to see grouping of letters forming words, forming sentences. The nurse stopped because her pressure wasn't there and the cool of the air conditioning hit my skin.
"Doctor Bond. Will you please come here for a second?" the nurse asked and the doctor came close. He stumbled his footing as he came to a stop. He approached me, slowly.
"They are words. Acutal words," he said to his amazement. The blood started to pool again and cascaded to my sides. The nurse grabbed gauze and blotted the blood away.
"Oh my God. What is it?" my mom asked, gasping at the result upon my back.
"It's German." Said a voice behind the curtain. It was pulled back, and it was the face of a young girl, no more than 2 years younger than me. She came closer to me as I smelled her perfume, powder and musk.
"What does it say?" pleaded my mother. I could hear her frightened hand shaking as her bracelet chiming quietly against her wrist.
"It says Auf der Haut von unschuldigen, meiner klingen wird Forderung und Verbreitung der Blut für alle zu sehen."
"And what does that mean?" asked Dr. Bond, impatiently.
The girl studied my back as I felt her breath exhausted upon the open wounds, making my back muscles spasm.
"Upon...the skin...of ...innocents,...my blades...will claim and...spread the blood...for all to see."
My eyes shot open and I knew what had happened. The knives. The table. The laughter. It was real. I felt my heart sink into my stomach as I was one of the many claimed victims of the man in the green and red sweater. Another whore to add to his collection. I felt my eyes again fill with tears and I wept silently as they continued to examine my tattoo of torment.