It had started when he'd killed that annoying dog that lived next door. It was always barking, barking, barking…He'd never got enough sleep. He remembered climbing over the fence separating his and the neighbor's yard and strangling the dog with his father's belt. He had to do it fast because the animal made a lot of noise…There had been no enjoyment. Next time, when killing the little girl across the street, he'd made sure that she had been unable to make any noise while taking his time. The satisfaction of watching her eyes pop out while her mouth making strange guttural sounds was definitely worth it.

Then when he was 14 the enjoyment of killing waned. Of course, he was very careful; always killing far out the town's limits so nobody would ever suspect. He began to panic. Killing was the one thing, the only thing that kept him sane. After his father had dealt out with one of his beatings and lay snoring in bed, he would go and take out his anger on an unsuspecting victim.

He began murdering with more ferocity and the list of his victims grew. But the satisfaction of taking another life still dwindled. Then one night, the young teenager he was in the process of murdering became feisty. He was well used to that and matched her moves with ease. Too late to regret picking someone who knew the martial arts, he thought.

They had brought the fight to the kitchen and he'd grabbed the butcher knife…He remembered enjoying that part; watching as the blood soaked through the baby blue T-shirt she was wearing, watching her eyes widen and fade. She had been foolish, too. Leaving her door unlocked, expecting her boyfriend to waltz through the door and recieving a killer instead.

He'd been ecstatic that night. He had found a new way of killing that guaranteed much more satisfaction than his old method. He practiced again and again and his enjoyment never waned, not for one second. But then he lost his focus.

He'd started killing with abandon, closer and closer to the town. The townspeople started to whisper, to mutter with suspicion about the man living in the white house on Elm Street. Then he had slipped.

One of his victims had escaped. How, he never knew. But he was insane, too crazed to keep track...The fifteen year old girl with black hair and green eyes. Whenever he thought of her hatred still churned in the pit of his stomach.

The townspeople had knocked down his front door and hauled him out. He hadn't seen them until they had surrounded his house entirely. They were very quiet…

He was tied to a pike stuck in the middle of a large pile of wood soaked in tar. The people were shouting, waving their fists and he remembered that their eyes had been glazed over with hatred. Furious at the man who had killed their children. As if he cared about their dirty words or crazy accusations they threw at him.

The mayor had done the honor of setting fire to the pile of tinder. The pain was beyond words. He was roasting alive in the middle of a bonfire and nobody cared. So much hatred had boiled in him that right then and there he swore to come back and kill them all. To make them feel his pain. A while later Death with its cool hands and soothing blackness had claimed him. He went with it willingly, grateful. But the promise to come back still burned within him, a glowing talisman that he kept clutched to his deceased heart.

Death had sensed this and made the deal with him. It would let him return to the world of the living and in return he would claim as many souls as he could and relinquish them to Death's unyielding grasp.

So he returned. The carnage on Elm Street began.

A/N: Hi! This is SilverStories (or SS) again and I just want to say that this is my version of Freddy. I know that it mayn't abide by the exact movie plot but, again, this is how I picture Freddy. K? So please please please R&R! If you like it then I may just write up another. *smiles* SS signing out!