Will Stanton fallen asleep again.
For the past five days, he had been awake, refusing to sleep, despite pleads from his parents. Drinking cup after cup of coffee and soda, taking caffeine and fast acting stay awake pills like they were candy, but it was all in vain, once again, he'd succumbed to sleep, as he always eventually did.
Now he was back in this place. He couldn't be for certain, but he was almost sure it was the old abandoned factory on the outskirts of Springwood. There had been a fire in there, in the late sixties, it had been boared up and locked off, refusing entry to anyone that dared try to break in, not that many did.
The place was dimly lit with a red, flickering light, corridors snaking off in different directions every few feet, grated catwalks providing access to higher areas of the room. Pipes aligning the walls discharged small jets of steam every so often, thermostats and pressure valves were also littered around the room. Machines that had been long forgotten and tainted with rust sat solemnly in corners, while chains were suspended from the ceiling. Some of those chains had hooks on the ends of them, he didn't even want to know what those were for.
The heat was immense. The sweat broke out of his pores almost as soon as he'd entered the building, matting his dark wavy hair to his forehead, his pyjama's sticking to his body uncomfortably. The condensation from the steam would set on the lenses of his thick glasses, forcing him to take them off and clean them every now and then, to his annoyance.
His bare feet made slapping sounds that echoed through-out the building with each step, his heart was beating a tattoo in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. His breathing was shallow, his breathes coming out in short, sharps gasps. He needed to calm down before he was locked in the firm grip of a panic attack. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he took a couple of deep breaths, before marching on with a little more purpose than before. He was going to find a way out of the nightmare unharmed this time. He came to the end of a corridor, the walls widening into a clearing. Curiously, he made his way forward, gasping at the sight that was held before him. An old boiler stood in the middle of the room, a fire blazing with-in. His dark orbs darted around the room. There was a small wooden work bench to the left of the boiler, leaning against a far wall. He stepped forward to inspect it, reeling back in horror of his discovery. Upon the bench, laid out in a line were various forms of blades, from serrated saws and stanley blades to eight inch kitchen knives and cleavers. Each blade was crusted with dry blood, which was now a rust colour and small strips of flesh. Broken and dirty childrens toys were stack on a shelf above the bench. One in particular caught his eye. It was a small rag doll, it's brown woolly hair was now in clumps, it's once sky blue dress was now ripped and dirty, smeared with blood. He'd seen that doll the first time he had visited this place. It had been carried in the arms of the a small blonde girl, with blue doe eyes. The girl had pleaded him to help her, to save her from Freddy. Will had witnessed her bloody demise, 'caused by the metal claw of the man of his nightmares.
The man had been horribly burned, parts of his flesh had melted away, revealing the tissue beneath his epidermis. What did remain of the skin, was nothing but charred scar tissue, leaving deep ridges in his face. His eyebrows and hair had been singed off, he covered his head with a brown fedora though. He always wore the same dusty black trousers, and tattered green and red striped sweater, with old work boots. It was his hand that had stuck in Will's mind though. His left hand was in the same condition as his face, his right hand however, adorned a brown glove, which had been crafted into some kind of weapon. Four long razors had been attatched by metal plating. To think someone could have made such a lethal creation was enough to make Will shiver, the knowledge that this man was trying to use it against him, was almost unbearable.
He didn't know who the man was, or what he wanted with Will, all he knew was, he scared the shit out of him and he wanted Will dead.
A long, high screech that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, caused Will's breath to catch in his throat. Spinning on his heel, he walked quickly away from the bench, hoping to avoid another run in with the man. He almost jogged up to a metal stairway, taking the steps two at a time, he could see a door just to the left of the opening of the stairway, the man was nowhere to be seen. This may just be his lucky day. Quickening his pace, Will grabbed onto the door handle with both hands, turning it. He let out a moan of dispair as he realised it was locked. Another screech sounded, followed by a harsh chuckle. He turned, his back to the door. The burned man was at the foot of the stairway, his claw resting on the metalic railing. He made his way up the stairs, with slow deliberation, a cruel smirk upon his face.
"Will...Gonna get you." He taunted.
Will's eye widened, his hand danced along the doors surface, clasping onto the handle, he tried once more to turn it. The door swung open, making him fall back through it. He scrambled to his feet and slammed the door closed, turning and leaning his back against it. He scanned his new surroundings, his only light coming from small beams of moonlight that shone through the cracks in the boarded up window. He seemed to be in a combined sitting and dining room of a house, although it clearly hadn't been occupied in years. The dated wall paper was peeling, a thick coat of dust covering the surfaces.
He reached over and grabbed a wooden dining chair, jamming it against the door. He manoeuvred around the fifties styled furniture, small clouds of dust rose around his feet from the carpeted floor. He moved out into the hall, glancing into the kitchen. A loud creak came from a door just a little down from where he was. He began to move forward, before stopping. He assumed behind the door was the basement, and how many times had the person in who wandered off into the darkness of the basement in moves, ended up dead?
Turning, he made his way to the main door, pulling the handle down. The latch clicked, but the door remained tightly closed. Frowning in confusion, Will pulled the handle once more, receiving the same outcome. He pulled with more vigor, using both hands, but came to no avail. Huffing in frustration, he made his way into the kitchen, trying the back door, meeting the same outcome. He turned to the boarded up window, digging his fingers into the cracks, trying to pry the wood off. He hissed in pain, a splinter was the reward for his efforts. He examined his finger, which now had deep purple groves from where the wood had cut into him. He pulled out the splinter with caution and moved back into the first room, looking for a window that loosely or wasn't boarded, no such luck.
Stomping back through into the hallway, he pulled open the basement door, with ease. He took a gulp, before descending into the darkness. He felt along the walls with his fingertips, flicking on the lightswitch. The small, naked light bulb flickered a few times, before becoming solid, a faint buzzing sound accompanied the light. Will glanced around the basement, which was surprisingly small. He found a hatch, which lead to outside, however, chains were laced through the handles.
Stamping his foot in frustration, Will turned once more, noticing a solid metal door across the room. He frowned in puzzlement. Could that be a way out?
He stalked towards the door, dread growing in his chest. He stopped around five foot away from the door as it slammed open with a resounded clang. Will let out a cry as the burned man stood in the threshold, his glove held in an attacking stance. He darted up the stairs, the man close behind him. He closed the door once he reached the top, holding it as there were nothing to block it with. The man slammed against the door a couple of times, making Will's arms vibrate when the door shuddered, he held on, none the less, only letting go when four sharp blades were slammed through the door, stopping half an inch from his face and retracted once more. Deciding his only way to escape was up the stairs, will started to climb. The stairs seemed to enlongate every time he thought he was near the top. He was getting out of breath. The basement door was flung open, causing a yelp to tear from Will's throat. He finally managed to reach the top of the stairs when the man was around half way up. He ran down the landing, into the master bedroom. Will eased the door closed and looked around in desperation. He had to find a way out of this place, his life depended on it. He almost cried out in relief when he spotted a window that hadn't been boared. He threw it open and poked his head out. It was a rather long drop down to the ground. He'd had to climb onto the roof and shimmy down the drain pipe if he wanted to reach the ground safely.
Swinging his leg over the ledge, Will ducked his head under the window and grabbed onto the edge of the roof. He heard the bedroom door bang, indicating the man had found him. Will frantically climbed out the window and hauled himself onto the roof as the man leaned out the window, taking a swipe at his achilles tendon, missing by milimeters. Will heaved a long sigh, a half smile on his face. He'd gotten away. He turned to make his way to the ground, a strangled gasp leaving his lips. The man was infront of him. He shrank away as the man chuckled darkly. Will lost his footing and slipped from the edge of the roof, grabbing onto the edge of roof slates with his finger tips. The man loomed over him, his blades poised.
"How's it hanging, Will?" The man sneered, bringing his blades down. Will screamed. The slates slipped from their position, sending Will plummeting to the ground. Darkness consumed him. He could hear commotion around him. Fuzzed voices. They were talking about him, to him? He couldn't tell. He faded in and out of reality, catching snippets of conversations.
Paralyzed from the waist down..
Wheelchair bound..
Sectioned?
His eyes fluttered open, he was in a white room, feeding tubes attached to him. He couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't move. A face loomed over him, it was blurred, he couldn't make out the features. The person held out something to him, he took it, feeling lenses. His glasses. He placed them onto his face. "Where am I?"
The person, a grey-haired mid-aged woman grimaced. "Hello, Will. I'm Doctor Simms. You're in Westin Hills psychiatric hospital."