Authors Note: Okay, here is a short side story I made for Nightmare on Elm Street. It could be canon to the story I'm working on right now, but it doesn't have to be, either, your choice. I rated this M mostly due to the fact that this one is a little more gorey than I'm used to and if it was shown in a movie, that movie would be rated R, so yeah. I will probably doing a few of these for when I can't get into a story I'm writing, that way I'm at least giving you guys SOMETHING to read. The character is kind a spastic and a bit of a drama queen, so if she's acting weird, blame it on that. Oh, and go check out the poll on my profile! P.S. I realized that this whole time I've been spelling Freddy Krueger wrong. I'll try to fix it in my other work later.
You know, I've always had this strange fascination with death. I live in a super small town called Springwood, so it's not like there's anything better to like. Just something about it gets me excited. It's probably the way they died that interests me the most, though. The more gruesome, the more I want to hear about it.
Died in their sleep? Bah, who cares! Fell on a piece of glass? Hmmm, maybe. A person dissected in a way similar to Jack the Ripper? Now you're talking! I always get the newspaper before my Dad just so that I can rip out the obituaries. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the horrific deaths of old times past.
Once, for example, Dad was talking all hush-hush to Mom about a man named Frederick Krueger. They kept whispering about how long ago it was, but how no one was going to forget about it, it was so horrible. When I tried to look him up at the library, but the librarians couldn't find anything, and it was like he had never existed… So when my parents weren't home I got on the computer to look him up, erasing the computer library to make sure they didn't know I was looking at.
Boy, did I find the jackpot! This guy, Krueger, had killed dozens of kids in Springwood, all by slicing them with a glove he made in his basement! I even found some pictures of the murders, bloody sheets over a small body, shoes of a toddler sticking out from underneath. They don't know the full extent of what he did to them, the electronic newspaper said. One that was dated a few days later said that he had disappeared, but the boiler room he had worked in had a fire break out on the inside.
All of it was enough to make me squeal with happiness. It was perfect! It was brilliant! They never found him and they never would! For a moment I felt sorry for the kids, but it quickly went away once I heard the front door open, causing me to shut it all off before anyone saw. Waiting to see my parents walk in, I was met with the gaze of my stupid brother, Jackson. He had probably just come home from soccer practice.
"What are you doing, Jackie?" he asked with a stupid look of curiosity.
I scowled at him, "What does it look like I'm doing? I was on the computer doing research before you came in!" I hated looking at my stupid brother, even if he was my twin. He may have had the same dusty brown hair, the same green eyes as me, but he was an idiot to say the least.
He laughed, "Oh, you mean you were looking up more murders? Must have been something really bad if you had to close it as soon as someone came in." He was the reason I had to be so careful that Mom and Dad didn't find out, he had told them I looked up Ed Gein! I remember being grounded from everything for a whole month because of it.
"For your information," I told him, "I was looking up Fred Krueger."
"Whoa, wait, Fred Krueger, as in, like, Freddy Krueger?"
"What's it to you?"
"I heard this weird story with the guys about a murderer with that name. Said he killed a lot of kids and that he's been showing up in people's dreams!" He placed his hand on my shoulder, an excited look on his face.
I shoved him, "You asshole! You think that just because I like death and looking up people like him that I'll believe some bullshit like that?" A startled expression popped up on his face, then a scowl. He jabbed his finger into my collarbone.
"I was just telling you something the guys were telling me! Honest to god, they told me that kids have been seeing the creep in their dreams!"
"Whatever." I huffed at him, running upstairs to my room. He was an asshole and he could have his stupid everything! He could have his stupid soccer team and his stupid cheerleaders and his stupid friends. I didn't need any of it. I slammed the door behind me and jumped on my bed, burying my face in a pillow.
Then all of a sudden I felt tired. I wanted to go downstairs and apologize, but I felt so… sleepy…
I fell asleep on my bed without another thought.
Looking around, I saw myself in some kind of industrial room. Pipes steamed all around me and I could feel the raw heat pump through the area. It made me think of the boiler room at school when I had to deliver papers to the janitor working down there. A grating sound on my ears interrupted these thoughts, a swift metal sound like nails on a chalkboard.
I couldn't help but slap my hands over my ears, trying to block out the screech. It wasn't until I saw a man with knives in his hands scraping against the pipes that I realized that I could be in deep trouble. Once he got closer, I could see that he wasn't holding the knives, but they were attached to his hand!
"Shit." I heard myself curse. I turned to run the other way, his laugh ringing in my ears. It was strange because I found that the more I ran, the longer the platform I was on got.
The man got closer and closer to me, "Come to Freddy!" This caused me to run faster and make the walkway even longer. Eventually a hand grabbed the back of my shirt, forcing me to fall backwards.
"Come on! That wasn't even fair!" I screamed to my captor. I kicked and punched as much as I could, huffing and gasping for air as 'Freddy' pulled me up so we could see face-to-face.
My feet dragged on the ground, letting me know that I was taller, also letting me know how strong he was. The first thing I noticed was his face, covered in agitated red burns, like he had been placed in a furnace and taken out. An old fedora sat on his head, just above icy-blue eyes. This was all I really noticed before I was thrown over the platforms railing to the floor below.
What was just a few seconds felt like an hour in slow motion, like the old Alice in Wonderland movie Jackson and I used to watch. Was I ever going to see him again? Would I see my parents again? Would I see… anyone again? Thoughts like this buzzed through my mind like flies as I crashed into the ground, landing on my arm.
There was so much pain shooting through, I'm positive that I saw stars, bright, happy little stars that seemed to make fun of the fact that my arm was probably busted to little tiny pieces. Looking down at it, I saw it was my right arm, making me think that if I had to choose between arms, I would have chosen the one I could write with. Blood pounded through my head as more pain shot through my arm. I tried to pull myself up, only causing more throbbing, which I was pretty sure had been impossible.
I couldn't even move my fingers on that hand when I heard that laughter again. I kicked my legs, trying to get up with one usable arm. Somehow I got to my feet, holding my arm close to my body. Warm sticky liquid passed through my fingers as I ran that I correctly assumed as blood. Laughter continued to echo all around me and I couldn't tell where it was coming from.
"Jackie…" The voice called, "Hey, Jackie…."
"Shitshitshitshitshit!" I mumbled angrily to myself. The whole right side of my body was wet with blood and the smell making my nose scrunch up. I kept looking around to find him, to run the opposite way of him, but all I could see was the darkness around me. In a flash, he appeared in front of my eyes, showing a smile of rotten teeth. Secretly, I was happy that I had a strong gag-reflex.
"Jesus, what do you want from me?" I asked, backing up from him, "What'd I ever do to you, man?" He clicked his fingers at me, enjoying my fear, the sick bastard.
He grinned even wider, "I just want to have some fun. I heard you liked death, Jacks. I do too. The difference: I like creating my own." I could feel my eyes widen with his every word. His clawed hand brushed my face.
"Oh, god." I choked, "If you're gonna kill me, just… get it over with, please. Please."
"Aw… But that's no fun, is it?" His hand stabbed into my left arm, one of the knives coming out the other side. I screamed at the pain. He twitched his hands in a fast motion to slice my arm on the inside. I don't even remember feeling so much pain in my entire life. The world around me got fuzzy and I blacked out.
When I woke up, I was in my bed. Immediately I felt my arms. No blood…. No pain! It had all been just a dream! I hugged myself, happy to be alive. I ran over to a desk in my room, writing a note off all the things I needed to do: I needed to apologize to Jackson, to my parents, I would stop cutting up newspapers, I wouldn't look up another murder ever again, I just wouldn't! Maybe I would get more friends; I would stop wearing so many dark colors.
In fact, when mom got back I would get her to take me to the thrift store that she likes so much and I would get some nice bright-looking clothes. Then people wouldn't think I was so sad all the time and I wouldn't embarrass Jackson! Oh, Jackson, I had to go apologize to him first! I ran down the stairs, everything as normal as it was to find him at the bottom of the stairs.
"Jackson!" I yelled, hugging him. He looked stunned.
Slowly, he wrapped his arms around me, "Uh… Yes?"
"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you."
He still looked surprised, but he smiled, "That's okay, really… You know, I should tell you something." I listened intently as he leaned in, ready for him to whisper in my ear.
"You're a really deep sleeper, little bitch." Over his shoulder, I could see the room morph and change back into the industrial room, and his shirt morph into a sweater of red and green.
The soft cheek that had touched mine was growing ridges and getting rough as a laugh erupted in my ear. I could feel blood rush down my arms from my wounds. The pain still pounded through them both and they hung limp at my sides as the monster shoved me into a wall. Tears ran down my cheeks.
"I-I'm sorry! I don't w-want to die!" I wailed, "W-why are you d-doing this to me? Out of a-all the p-people you could d-do this to, w-why me?" I couldn't even get up, really. I pushed my legs, trying to push myself up against the wall, only to fall down again. A moment of silence passed as he got closer and closer until his face was right in mine.
"You just happened to drop in." He chuckled darkly, "Oh, you trying to stand up? Let's see what we can do about that…" Taking his gloved hand, he stabbed into my leg, laughing louder at my screams. He pulled out his knives and rubbed my face with his ungloved as I quieted down to whimper.
"Aw… Poor little baby…" He mockingly cooed, "Don't worry, this will all be over soon… Very soon." With that, his hand came down again, this time landing in my stomach. A bit of blood bubbled out of my mouth. I wondered at that moment how they would find me, broken and bloody. Would they present me still at the funeral, or would it be closed-casket?
As everything fell to black and as my eyes fluttered shut for the last time, I suppose I still had a strange fascination for death.
Authors Note: Please check out the poll on my profile page. Thank you for reading! Comments are greately appreciated!