A Nightmare on Elm Street

Written by L3af Con3yb3ar

Based on

Wes Craven's A Nightmare on Elm Street

FAN FICTION PRESENTS

"One, two, Freddy's coming for you…"

A L3AF CON3YB3AR FIC.

"Three, four, better lock your door."

LEA MICHELE

"Five, six, grab your crucifix."

CHRIS COLFER

"Seven, eight, better stay up late…"

MARK SALLING

"Nine, ten, never sleep again…"

His head shoots up from the table glasses still seated on the bridge of his nose. In front of him, Tina looks on in sympathy, handing him a napkin to wipe the sweat from his forehead where his hair sticks. He's still at the diner. With Tina. He takes the napkin from her hand, silently thanking her, and begins dabbing at his damp face. Both turn to the window where the rain outside rattles against the pane. Darkness.

Her eyes glance back to Artie, questioning herself if he's watching the rain or his reflection in the window. She gasps at the sight of the blood on the table and Artie looks down at his finger.

"Artie, you're bleeding."

He pouts and closes his eyes, removing the glove from his hand. He pulls a napkin from the small dispenser and wraps it around the sting in his fingers. The lights flicker off. At this point, Santana walks by, a coffee pot in hand. Artie's arm shoots out, grabbing her elbow. "Santana, I need another—"

"I don't think so," she cuts him off with a gesture of her hand slicing the air and roughly pulls her arm out of his grasp. She glares at the five cups that had started taking up space on the table. "I think you've had enough."

"She's right Artie," the Asian girl agrees with a quick nod of her head, "We should go home—"

A gloved fist pounds the table, interrupting her speech, causing her to flinch and Santana to raise an eyebrow. She turns to the Hispanic girl and nods, removing a five dollar bill from her pocket. Leaning over to pour the dark liquid into one of his cups and snatch the bill from her glee-mate, the other girl purses her lip. Artie continues rubbing his eyes as if he'd sleep again any minute.

As soon as she was gone, the wheel-chair-bound boy immediately begins to add sugar and stir, softly muttering something about "boiler room" and "glove." Meanwhile, Tina helplessly looks on. She bites her lip and then stares down at her black nails, pulling at the fabric on her glove. She couldn't stand to see her boyfriend looking so glum, as if he hadn't had sleep in days. And there was no way all of this coffee was good for his health. She watches him remove a medicine bottle from his lap. When did he start taking pills?

With his thumb, he opens the lid with a POP and shakes the contents of the bottle into his hand. Two or three pills land onto his palm while five or six land on the table. Tina takes the bottle from him and reads the label aloud. A boom of thunder and the fluorescent lights above begin blinking on and off, startling Artie. Tina reaches out a hand as Artie pulls his away. "Artie, why are you taking these?"

He ignores her and casually looks down at the capsules in his hands and pops them into his mouth, downing them with whatever's left in the cup. Her empathetic eyes search his. "Have you been having any dreams?" she finally asks.

Artie freezes. Tina continues, watching him bite his lip, "You have, haven't you?"

"Look, Tina, something's happening—I—I can't sleep. I'm stressing out," he slowly starts, "It's like every time I close my eyes…I see the same thing." Tina reaches out to take his hand again, which is still being nursed by the brown napkin. Her thumb strokes his pale skin, urging him to continue.

"What?"

Artie opens his mouth and at the same time, a bell had rings just as the door opens. Puck, Mike, and Matt enter. Santana, writing something in a notebook, probably homework, looks up from behind the counter and exclaims, "What the hell, guys. We're closing in fifteen minutes." Mike yells for Artie and Tina's attention, and he and Matt join them at the table while Puck saunters up to the bar. Santana gives a disapproving shake of her head as she points the pen in her hand toward him. "I swear to god, if you start-"

"You'll what?" he challenges, snatching the pen from her then twirling it in his hand and jabbing at her. She laughs out, yelling for him to stop while the rest of their glee teammates watch.

"I'm still not convinced they're not sleeping together." Mike breaks the silence and then turns Artie. "You look like shit." Tina gives him an obvious 'you're not helping' look and he shrugs his shoulders. "I don't think you'll be getting any sleep tonight," he continues, motioning toward the cups.

Artie turns to him, "That's kind of the point."

"I'm almost an insomniac myself but, dude, you can't not sleep."

"I can sleep." Artie challenges, "I just don't want to."

Tina hesitates a moment and then nods her head slowly. As if making his presence known for the first time, Matt speaks. "Have you been having weird dreams too?"

Artie tenses and looks into Matt's eyes, which seem to hold genuine concern. He shakes his head and returns to staring out the window, suddenly feeling his eyes go heavy. At the bar, Puck whispers to Santana, "You said you get off in fifteen, lemme take you home."

She scoffs, "Yeah and then what?" she says, leaning in.

"We can work on making some of those sexts reality."

"I think that's plausible."

"Excellent, babe."

"First, you get rid of your friends and the scrubs."

"Done." He gives her a quick peck on the lips and crosses over to the table with the others. "So, Santana is offering some hot sex, you guys are gonna have to go."

Mike arches an eyebrow with a disgusted look, "Here?"

"No, ass," Puck counters, "but the quicker she closes the diner, the quicker she opens her legs for Puckasaurus," he finishes with a proud smirk.

"Do you listen to yourself?" Matt speaks up.

"You think I'm gonna let a mute talk to me about speech?"

Matt slams his hands on the table stands, "Fuck this, wish granted. Later Artie. Tina." Mike nods at them both and pats Puck on the back, following him out to the parking lot.

"That was just cold, Puck," Artie states.

"Yeah, that means you two."

"Give us a minute, Puck," Tina pleads.

Puck nods and sits at the bar as Tina turns to her boyfriend. "Do you think a Starbucks or something is open?" Artie asks.

"You don't need any more coffee. You need to go home."

"Tina, you just don't understand…"

"Then tell me, Artie!"

"Look, I'll call my dad to pick me up or something…just leave."

"I'm not leaving you here at this time of night—"

"Tina."

"Artie."

They stare at each other, the boy in the wheelchair not phased a bit. Tina shakes her head and lifts the backpack strap over her shoulder. "Fine. Call me when you get home." She stalks past the bar, waving a quick goodbye to Puck and Santana, who calls over to Artie:

"You too, scrub!"

"Hey, Santana, unless you want me to let Mr. Schue know about your guys' little fling in his office the other day, I'm sure you'd like to get me another cup of coffee.

Puck lets out a hysterical howl of laughter at this as Santana whacks him across the shoulder with her notebook. "Whatever," she breathes out, filling up yet another cup of coffee and bringing it to his table. Just as he reaches a hand out for it, she pulls it back. "But I expect a large ass tip in my hand before the night is over."

'I guess glee club didn't actually make us all real friends,' he thinks as he takes the cup from her and downs almost half the cup.

He continues staring out of the window and the lights flicker on and off. Eyes close—no, no open. Eyes open. Puck and Santana's giggles are almost mute now. And the lights flicker off again, sending the entire room into darkness.

He looks up again and notices the giggling has stopped. The lights are off now but he can't even make out their silhouettes at the bar.

"Santana?"

Shit.

"Puck?"

He hears the sound of a bell behind him—the front door swinging open.

"Tina?"

And then he hears laughter…a low, gritty chuckle. He wheels himself away from the table and toward the front door, which swings open freely. However, no one else is in the diner.

"This can't be happening…someone, please…"

Just then, a burnt hand clutches his shoulder and he turns to the owner's face, concealed by a brownish fedora. The hand pulls him out of the chair, which seems to vanish into the ground.

"Oh, god!"

The same low chuckle and he can see the man smile even within the shadow. "Poor, poor Artie…"

"This isn't real!"

"Not so fun being the cripple left behind by his friends, huh?"

"You're not real!"

"I'm as real as you make me," the man counters, throwing him into the table which topples over, making Artie sprawl out onto the ground. The man raises his other hand, which wears a glove—a razor knife on each finger.

Artie, to no avail, pulls at the chairs in front of him in an attempt to block the other man's path. "You're gotta learn to walk before you can run, kid." A cruel maniacal laugh follows as the burnt man lifts the boy up into the air.

"Fuck…you…" Artie challenges.

"This may sting a bit."

Finally, he slashes at Artie, blooding spraying out onto the opposite wall.

A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET

And, there you have it. The first chapter of A Nightmare on Elm Street. This will be based on both the original and remake films. Of course the former is far superior. I, in no way, want to seem like I'm copying from either. But I love Freddy's story and I love Glee. Plus, if I could merge Texas Chainsaw Massacre and High School Musical, why not this?

Anyway, a new chapter shall be up soon. I'll leave this one up to see how much feedback it gets. I hope you all enjoyed! :)