(If this isn't my harshest Freddy story EVER, I don't know what is . . . )
Bad Dream
George Smillie
She was nothing special. She looked around six years old, with long blond hair, tied up in pigtails. A pure face without blemishes. Clothed in a pink dress, she looked like the typical American girl. What was her name? Not that it really mattered. She was in a world where nothing about the other people mattered. They were just pawns. Pawns in his game.
"Mommy?" The girl found herself in a place she had never been. The air was thick with steam, and the girl wiped away the sweat gathered on her brow. She was walking along a metal catwalk, clutching tightly on to the rails, gazing on in wonder of the machinery around her. Massive boilers grinned wickedly down upon her, with endless metal limbs stretching out of them, waiting to embrace the next living creature to pass them. Below the catwalk was a jungle of pipes, twisted grotesquely in a maze of metal. She walked on.
Watching from behind a boiler, the figure, tall and thin stared on at the girl. Perfect. Beautiful. Happy. Everything the figure was not.
The little girl was now feeling the heat more than before. Her body was glistening with sweat, and her view was clouded by a thick mist in front of her. Coughing, she walked a little faster, determined to find a way out of this place. She discovered that she had found a new part of this boiler room. Reaching out with her tiny hands, she found that the walls were no longer made of hard metal, but were sticky and wet. She looked at her hands. They were coated in a layer of black slime, which seemed to dry so quickly that she barely had time to feel it before it crumbled to the floor. She broke in to a run, her fear feeding her energy. The rush to escape.
The figure, covered by shadow, grinned and chuckled under his breath. She was playing his game now . . .
She tripped, her hand moving instantly to her knee. The skin had been cut, and fresh blood was begin to spill. Moaning she lifted herself up. Her dress was now smeared with dust and mud (Where it came from she did not know) and it smeared horribly with the girlish pink. Uncaring, she continued running, until something made her stop dead in her tracks. Three little children stood in front of her, wearing what once must have been beautiful white clothes. They were now bathed in blood, there eyes staring lifelessly towards the girl.
"One, two, Freddy's coming for you."
"Three, four, better lock your door."
"Five, six, grab your crucifix."
"Seven, eight, gonna' stay up late."
"Nine, ten, never sleep again."
Something in that song struck the girl in terror. She turned and fled, only to hit something that felt as a hard as a brick wall. She shivered, not daring to look up, hands covering her eyes.
"Peekaboo." The hands were taken from her eyes, and a cold, dead hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to stare in to the eyes of the attacker. He was clothed in black working trousers and wore a red and green striped sweater. His head was covered with a tattered old hat, and his face. God, that face. Burn marks were melted on to it, and the skin was wilted and dried. "Come to Freddy, little bitch." He picked her up, his hand clenched tightly around her throat, cutting off her oxygen supply. She was thrown across the boiler room, her back cracking as her body smashed into a system of pipes. Trembling, she looked at the Nightmare Man. On his right hand, he was wearing a glove with four deadly-sharp razor blades attached as fingers. His teeth were rotted and crooked, his smile evil and broad. He picked her up again, and held her high in the air as he prepared to bring his glove down upon her. "Nighty-night, princess."
"Nooooo!"
END
Bad Dream
George Smillie
She was nothing special. She looked around six years old, with long blond hair, tied up in pigtails. A pure face without blemishes. Clothed in a pink dress, she looked like the typical American girl. What was her name? Not that it really mattered. She was in a world where nothing about the other people mattered. They were just pawns. Pawns in his game.
"Mommy?" The girl found herself in a place she had never been. The air was thick with steam, and the girl wiped away the sweat gathered on her brow. She was walking along a metal catwalk, clutching tightly on to the rails, gazing on in wonder of the machinery around her. Massive boilers grinned wickedly down upon her, with endless metal limbs stretching out of them, waiting to embrace the next living creature to pass them. Below the catwalk was a jungle of pipes, twisted grotesquely in a maze of metal. She walked on.
Watching from behind a boiler, the figure, tall and thin stared on at the girl. Perfect. Beautiful. Happy. Everything the figure was not.
The little girl was now feeling the heat more than before. Her body was glistening with sweat, and her view was clouded by a thick mist in front of her. Coughing, she walked a little faster, determined to find a way out of this place. She discovered that she had found a new part of this boiler room. Reaching out with her tiny hands, she found that the walls were no longer made of hard metal, but were sticky and wet. She looked at her hands. They were coated in a layer of black slime, which seemed to dry so quickly that she barely had time to feel it before it crumbled to the floor. She broke in to a run, her fear feeding her energy. The rush to escape.
The figure, covered by shadow, grinned and chuckled under his breath. She was playing his game now . . .
She tripped, her hand moving instantly to her knee. The skin had been cut, and fresh blood was begin to spill. Moaning she lifted herself up. Her dress was now smeared with dust and mud (Where it came from she did not know) and it smeared horribly with the girlish pink. Uncaring, she continued running, until something made her stop dead in her tracks. Three little children stood in front of her, wearing what once must have been beautiful white clothes. They were now bathed in blood, there eyes staring lifelessly towards the girl.
"One, two, Freddy's coming for you."
"Three, four, better lock your door."
"Five, six, grab your crucifix."
"Seven, eight, gonna' stay up late."
"Nine, ten, never sleep again."
Something in that song struck the girl in terror. She turned and fled, only to hit something that felt as a hard as a brick wall. She shivered, not daring to look up, hands covering her eyes.
"Peekaboo." The hands were taken from her eyes, and a cold, dead hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to stare in to the eyes of the attacker. He was clothed in black working trousers and wore a red and green striped sweater. His head was covered with a tattered old hat, and his face. God, that face. Burn marks were melted on to it, and the skin was wilted and dried. "Come to Freddy, little bitch." He picked her up, his hand clenched tightly around her throat, cutting off her oxygen supply. She was thrown across the boiler room, her back cracking as her body smashed into a system of pipes. Trembling, she looked at the Nightmare Man. On his right hand, he was wearing a glove with four deadly-sharp razor blades attached as fingers. His teeth were rotted and crooked, his smile evil and broad. He picked her up again, and held her high in the air as he prepared to bring his glove down upon her. "Nighty-night, princess."
"Nooooo!"
END