Psycho

This is my first fanfiction ever. I hope it does well. I have good ideas, but it's hard to convert it to words. I was going to write my Friday the 13th fanfiction first, but I decided against it. Elvira is more fun to write about.

Anyway, I don't own Nightmare on Elm Street or Freddy. (I'm not going to complain, it's probably better that way) I only own my character and her friend, who you will see, hopefully, in my Friday the 13th story.

This is rated M! Smut and perverted humor will remain. Not to mention potty-mouths.

Enough with my bitchin'. On to the story.

Name: Elvira Madeline Spencer

Appearance: Gold eyes, long white hair that fades to red at the end, odd green markings on legs and hands

Clothes: Up-and-down striped black and white shirt with long sleeves, black jeans-skirt

Chapter 1: Brain Damage

"Elvira, stop! You're going 90 on the freeway! Don't hit that squirrel!" I laughed. Who cares about a squirrel? "You're mad!" Emma said once again. And then, a dog was on our rear. That was one fast dog. The speedometer must be broken. Emma sighed. "Please don't do it. The dog doesn't deserve it." I laughed again and suddenly hit the break pedal. "Did you hear that? That's the sound of a dog running into a bumper," I chuckled. I looked over. Emma was nearly in tears. "It's not dead, pussy! At least it wasn't a cat. You would've gone ape-shit."

Emma has been my friend since we were about 8. It didn't start all that well. I was a brainwashed, groveling little brat and she was a quiet, blunt, sheepish little brat. Only when I was a teen had I went truly downhill. I think I lost it right around then. I had "it" contained in my body for a number of years, I know that much. I was still a sweet little blondie then. I went insane, ran away with Emma, started killing, and then became immortal. Sounds great, I know, but knowing you can't die takes the thrill of life away.

And yet all those years I still kept my music box.

Now I was about to go on my routinely killing spree. It became fun after it wasn't necessary for immortality. Emma calls it prostitution but I cut 'em off instead of sucking. Money and a screaming man, what a brilliant sight. Slit his throat with scissors, one down. "Hey, Emma, should I cut it off and let him live? I want to mix it up tonight." I commented, hoping she would agree it was a great idea. "It's bad enough slicing it off, why can't you just kill him? A guy is very upset without his manhood. His sex life depends on it." "That's the point, dumb ass. Poor fucker doesn't get fucked." Her face turned sour. "I understand you swear, and I respect that, but do you have to use it in every sentence?"

Here she goes with her "righteous" act again. She'll crack someday. "Whatever, I'm tired. I'll kill some guys tomorrow." "Bored of killing?" How dare her. "Hell, no! I just want a day's break. Can I crash at your house tonight? I'll talk to the realtor tomorrow," I said. I have decent enough money. "Yes, but hopefully she has enough balls to sell you a house." She responded. "That criminal record is going to prove trouble. Can I borrow your ID?" "If you can dye your hair brown like mine, yes. Only one day, though"

I slept on her couch and dreamt about some little girls playing jump-rope and singing about God-knows-what. They were singing about hiding from some guy, but I didn't catch his name. "5, 6, Grab your crucifix." Like a crucifix is going to prevent anything. They were cute, though. Children are probably the only thing I have a soft-spot for. I hate being called a pedophile. I have no sexual thoughts about a child! They're just… so innocent. I hate when they grow up, though. They start having sinful thoughts like I did. They remind me of my music box. I had it back then, too.

I woke up, took some spare eyes I left in her fridge and ate. "Once you move you can stop stocking your 'food' in my refrigerator." Emma was in her nightgown and slouching. She never was a morning person. "There'll be more room for ears in the freezer, too!" I was now excited to have a home of my own. "Eating frozen ears? Gross," she gagged. "Eat them raw? No way! Frying is the way to go. Don't knock what you haven't tried. Flesh tastes great if you keep some blood in." People call me a freak because of my cannibalism. They haven't heard the half of it. I get turned on by causing pain, for God's sake!

I realize there's something wrong with me. It's no fun being normal, anyway.

I put a brown wig on and went out to buy a house. A perky woman was just thrilled to sell a house. Those perky ones annoy me. I put on a fake smile and we rode around trying to find something that suits me. "Wait, back up," I shouted. 1428 Elm Street. I lived across from that house as a kid. He lived there. He was the only one who understood my sadist thoughts. That memory tugged at my heart. They killed him. He was dead now. The least I could do is live where his memory lasted.

I pointed at it and said "I want that one." Her eyes grew wide and frightened. "That's… a bad house." Heat rose to my head. A bad house? "I don't care who lived there. I want that one." After much arguing she gave up and sold it to me. As my things were dropped off there, she whispered "He's still here." What did she mean? Mr. Krueger was dead. After I moved my items in, I explored the house. Downstairs, I found the basement. There was some sort of furnace oven. Out of curiosity, I opened it.

I gasped. What I found inside was his glove.

It was still here. I put it on and shivered. It feels so good to have it on, like the power I felt from wielding my scissors for the first time. I went back upstairs and slept the glove still on my hand.