Nightmare Man: Part 2
He stumbled into his kitchen. Fredrick heaved a sigh, and looked outside, the windows covered in a light film of ice, the early morning sun slightly peaking over the horizon in the East. He hated his life early in the morning when there was nothing to do or say. Fredrick pulled a chair out from under his table, and slumped over in it. He hadn't been able to sleep at all that night. He tapped his index finger onto the now-bloody gauze that surrounded his chest. Never a good dream, He thought. Always them. They always win. Right before I finishem off, they turn the tables. Fredrick closed his eyes, and stood up from his slumped position. He'd probably go down to his room and work on his latest gizmo or contraption. He pushed the chair back to its proper place. Holding his side, and wincing, he made his way to the basement.
The steps were cold and damp. The wooden door creaked open and Fredrick stepped onto the stairway. Baggy cloth Pajama bottoms hung off his gangly legs, and his upper body was adorned with nothing more than bloody gauze. He flicked on a light to the left, and a bright, yellow light illuminated the lower basement. Grasping onto the handrail, he tromped down the steps, one step at a time. The steps creaked and groaned, and Fredrick finished his decent. A sharp pain ripped through his stomach. He doubled over, holding his stomach, gasping for breath, a fresh red blotch appearing on the already dirty gauze. He pulled himself up, groaning. This is too much, He thought, and made his way toward his "Secret Room." A dirty room littered with steel papers, red and green tattered pieces, a few brown, snap-brim hats, and a dented worker's bench in the far corner.
He leaned on the door, and it creaked open. He didn't even bother using his hand for it was too busy holding his bleeding stomach. Fredrick entered his room, and fell backwards onto the steel door. He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, jerking his hand back as it brushed his gauzed-cheek. "I should get paid for this." Fredrick muttered, and struggled to stand. The going was tough, as it usually was when his own "Elm Street Demons" (As the killers in his dreams came to be known around the Krueger House) attacked from the dark recesses of Freddy's subconscious.
2
He lay bent over his workers bench, sweat dripping from his brown, and his hand hammering onto a bent piece of steel, his opposite hand holding a rusted clamp onto the clawed glove. He pulled the hammer away, dropped it at his side, and used both hands to loosen the clamp. He caught the glove, and gently slipped it onto his hand. He smiled, the grimace of pain from his face finally fading as he slipped back to his earlier days. Fredrick pulled the familiar snap-brim hat from a nail on his workers bench, and dropped it onto his head, a perfect fit. He chuckled, holding his glimmering glove in front of his face, smiling. He closed his eyes, his head slipped, and he drooped forward.
Fredrick's face jerked upward. "No sleep Freddy boy, not now." He ran the claws in front of his face a second time in admiration. And then a loud, piercing screeched filled the air, the kind of screech that Freddy knew all too well, the screech that sent chills up and down his spine. He kicked the stool away, and turned around, facing the sound, only he wasn't Fredrick, he had again become Freddy, his Snap-brim hat clung to his charred skull. He wore his dirty red and green sweater, wrinkled black pants, and grungy worker's boots. Freddy held his glove high, lurched forward, and ran his claws across the steel pipes that clung to his basement ceiling. A wave of bright, fiery sparks issued forth, and the screech was maddening. Freddy chuckled, breaking into a run, his peals of laughter echoing louder and louder. "Little pig, little pig, let me in!" He laughed even more.
"Not by the hair on my Chinny Chin Chin!" a menacing voice roared. Freddy spun around, landing squarely, fast enough to see the blue bed sheet flying through the air, wrapping about him, blocking his vision, and throwing him to the ground, only now the floor had grown soft and cushion like. He struggled to be free of the binding sheet. He threw his arms and legs crazily about, ripping here and there with steel claws. Finally free, He threw the now-lifeless sheet to the side, and glanced about at his new surroundings, a large bed. Freddy lifted his claw to the side of his face. "Some rats are gonna die, today." He said, chuckling evilly.
He was suddenly thrown into the ceiling, his head slamming against the wall, his back cracking. Just as fast as he had risen, he was thrown downward and sideways, the wall cracking and dust flying. Freddy's arms and legs lolled like a rag doll as he was forced into the opposite wall, and back onto the bed. He struggled to open his eyes. His back ached, his arms and legs felt as if they were broken off, and his hat had fallen off, forgotten in the corner. "Ughh.." was all Freddy could mutter.
Above him, a young teenage girl appeared. She wore only a long, white, button up T-shirt. Her hair was short and golden. "Good to see you again." She said, holding up a claw-laden right hand. Freddy mumbled, opened his eyes slowly, and spit out her name.
"Tina." He croaked. She smiled, and lifted the glove. "Your learning quite well." She spat, and brought her weapon crashing down. Freddy, using his last bit of strength, lurched forward, pitched headlong onto the floor, and rolled away. "A-a-a, Freddy, that's not allowed." Tina leapt to the floor after him. She crawled ever so slowly after him, almost seductively. "Come on, Freddy-poo." He sent his boot into her face, blood splattering, her nose crunching. And suddenly, he was lifted into the air again as Tina tumbled backward. Freddy doubled over, the invisible force controlling him slamming him into the dresser mirror, the glass shattering and Freddy screaming in pain.
Tina lurched into frame, her face dripping with blood, her nose cocked to the far right of her face. "That's not very nice." She pronounced, her voice now deep and grating. Tina stumbled forward, her claw stretched outwards, about to puncture Freddy's chest. He had since slid down the broken dresser, over broken glass, and laid leaning against the broken backboard of the mirror. The claws loomed closer to his chest. With a pink, burnt hand, he grasped a shard of glass, and shoved it into his hip. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his legs wriggling.
Fredrick leapt awake, on the floor of his Secrete Room. He tried to move but couldn't. His back, arms and legs pained him too much for even the slightest movement to cross his mind. Fredrick looked down at his hip, the shining shard of glass protruding from his hip, the blood flowing. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and pulled the bloody glass out with a quick gasp of pain. This couldn't continue, it had to stop. With a final heave, he fell unconscious.
He stumbled into his kitchen. Fredrick heaved a sigh, and looked outside, the windows covered in a light film of ice, the early morning sun slightly peaking over the horizon in the East. He hated his life early in the morning when there was nothing to do or say. Fredrick pulled a chair out from under his table, and slumped over in it. He hadn't been able to sleep at all that night. He tapped his index finger onto the now-bloody gauze that surrounded his chest. Never a good dream, He thought. Always them. They always win. Right before I finishem off, they turn the tables. Fredrick closed his eyes, and stood up from his slumped position. He'd probably go down to his room and work on his latest gizmo or contraption. He pushed the chair back to its proper place. Holding his side, and wincing, he made his way to the basement.
The steps were cold and damp. The wooden door creaked open and Fredrick stepped onto the stairway. Baggy cloth Pajama bottoms hung off his gangly legs, and his upper body was adorned with nothing more than bloody gauze. He flicked on a light to the left, and a bright, yellow light illuminated the lower basement. Grasping onto the handrail, he tromped down the steps, one step at a time. The steps creaked and groaned, and Fredrick finished his decent. A sharp pain ripped through his stomach. He doubled over, holding his stomach, gasping for breath, a fresh red blotch appearing on the already dirty gauze. He pulled himself up, groaning. This is too much, He thought, and made his way toward his "Secret Room." A dirty room littered with steel papers, red and green tattered pieces, a few brown, snap-brim hats, and a dented worker's bench in the far corner.
He leaned on the door, and it creaked open. He didn't even bother using his hand for it was too busy holding his bleeding stomach. Fredrick entered his room, and fell backwards onto the steel door. He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, jerking his hand back as it brushed his gauzed-cheek. "I should get paid for this." Fredrick muttered, and struggled to stand. The going was tough, as it usually was when his own "Elm Street Demons" (As the killers in his dreams came to be known around the Krueger House) attacked from the dark recesses of Freddy's subconscious.
2
He lay bent over his workers bench, sweat dripping from his brown, and his hand hammering onto a bent piece of steel, his opposite hand holding a rusted clamp onto the clawed glove. He pulled the hammer away, dropped it at his side, and used both hands to loosen the clamp. He caught the glove, and gently slipped it onto his hand. He smiled, the grimace of pain from his face finally fading as he slipped back to his earlier days. Fredrick pulled the familiar snap-brim hat from a nail on his workers bench, and dropped it onto his head, a perfect fit. He chuckled, holding his glimmering glove in front of his face, smiling. He closed his eyes, his head slipped, and he drooped forward.
Fredrick's face jerked upward. "No sleep Freddy boy, not now." He ran the claws in front of his face a second time in admiration. And then a loud, piercing screeched filled the air, the kind of screech that Freddy knew all too well, the screech that sent chills up and down his spine. He kicked the stool away, and turned around, facing the sound, only he wasn't Fredrick, he had again become Freddy, his Snap-brim hat clung to his charred skull. He wore his dirty red and green sweater, wrinkled black pants, and grungy worker's boots. Freddy held his glove high, lurched forward, and ran his claws across the steel pipes that clung to his basement ceiling. A wave of bright, fiery sparks issued forth, and the screech was maddening. Freddy chuckled, breaking into a run, his peals of laughter echoing louder and louder. "Little pig, little pig, let me in!" He laughed even more.
"Not by the hair on my Chinny Chin Chin!" a menacing voice roared. Freddy spun around, landing squarely, fast enough to see the blue bed sheet flying through the air, wrapping about him, blocking his vision, and throwing him to the ground, only now the floor had grown soft and cushion like. He struggled to be free of the binding sheet. He threw his arms and legs crazily about, ripping here and there with steel claws. Finally free, He threw the now-lifeless sheet to the side, and glanced about at his new surroundings, a large bed. Freddy lifted his claw to the side of his face. "Some rats are gonna die, today." He said, chuckling evilly.
He was suddenly thrown into the ceiling, his head slamming against the wall, his back cracking. Just as fast as he had risen, he was thrown downward and sideways, the wall cracking and dust flying. Freddy's arms and legs lolled like a rag doll as he was forced into the opposite wall, and back onto the bed. He struggled to open his eyes. His back ached, his arms and legs felt as if they were broken off, and his hat had fallen off, forgotten in the corner. "Ughh.." was all Freddy could mutter.
Above him, a young teenage girl appeared. She wore only a long, white, button up T-shirt. Her hair was short and golden. "Good to see you again." She said, holding up a claw-laden right hand. Freddy mumbled, opened his eyes slowly, and spit out her name.
"Tina." He croaked. She smiled, and lifted the glove. "Your learning quite well." She spat, and brought her weapon crashing down. Freddy, using his last bit of strength, lurched forward, pitched headlong onto the floor, and rolled away. "A-a-a, Freddy, that's not allowed." Tina leapt to the floor after him. She crawled ever so slowly after him, almost seductively. "Come on, Freddy-poo." He sent his boot into her face, blood splattering, her nose crunching. And suddenly, he was lifted into the air again as Tina tumbled backward. Freddy doubled over, the invisible force controlling him slamming him into the dresser mirror, the glass shattering and Freddy screaming in pain.
Tina lurched into frame, her face dripping with blood, her nose cocked to the far right of her face. "That's not very nice." She pronounced, her voice now deep and grating. Tina stumbled forward, her claw stretched outwards, about to puncture Freddy's chest. He had since slid down the broken dresser, over broken glass, and laid leaning against the broken backboard of the mirror. The claws loomed closer to his chest. With a pink, burnt hand, he grasped a shard of glass, and shoved it into his hip. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his legs wriggling.
Fredrick leapt awake, on the floor of his Secrete Room. He tried to move but couldn't. His back, arms and legs pained him too much for even the slightest movement to cross his mind. Fredrick looked down at his hip, the shining shard of glass protruding from his hip, the blood flowing. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and pulled the bloody glass out with a quick gasp of pain. This couldn't continue, it had to stop. With a final heave, he fell unconscious.