Alright! Here's chapter 10. This is just a little waiting period as we get to see how the trial turns out. I've been working hard to figure out an idea of how to go with this. Thanks for everyone's reviews on chapters 7, 8 and 9. Those came out of no where and fast, lol. I'm going to hold off a bit after the holiday before I add any more chapters. I've got a lot on my plate now and I'm going through some life-changing things right now. I just hope after a while I'll be able to get back to doing this everyday. Oh, I can't wait! As always everyone please rate and review. I've seen that this story has been added to several people's favorite's list. If you do that, please let me know what you think of the story. Yeah, I get the idea when you add it to your favorite's but still...enlighten me.
Without further due...
December 1970
It's so quiet here. There's nothing here. I'm so use to hearing Katherine giggling while she played with her stuffed animals, waiting for me or the bitch to get up and make breakfast. Now…I hear the water dripping from the leaky faucet that I said I would fix nearly a year ago. I hear the wind rustling on the roof, hitting the shingles. Sometimes I can feel the wind through the windows. It's that quiet. I can't stand it. It's enough for me to go sane, since some consider me to be insane.
The papers found out about the whole deal with the charges of 15 counts of 1st degree murder and the appearing court date of my trial. I'm not sorry for what I've done though, the only thing I'm sorry for is that I couldn't keep Katherine with me while I did what I needed to do. It's a habit, an addiction. You want that rush, that adrenaline that bursts through your entire body. It's like you are re-born again. You are doing something that is not typical and it's exhilarating. I want to have the feeling all the time. I keep trying to contain my urges so that they won't find me out at night, snatching kiddies and killing them. They know all my secret places. I have to have a fucking police officer watching my house so that the angry parents of the ones I've killed won't come and destroy me or the house. The whole atmosphere is full of anger; I kind of like it. It's very energizing. But I can't do what I want to do. It just festers in me and buries deep. After a while I have to hit something. Usually it's me or the walls. I've got a few holes still I need to patch. I have to ask permission to go to the hardware or the grocery store. I have to have an escort come with me to watch me as I shop or fix something in my house. They do random tours of my house, trying to pick out any abnormalities that I've done since they did their tour not only an hour ago. NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED YOU PIG! I wish they would just leave me alone, let me go and live my fucking life. I'm getting sick and tired of watching a cop burst into my house, unwelcome and watch me for a minute while backup comes to watch me as he tours my home. It feels so hurtful. I've even mentioned it to them but they just turn their noses at me and say "I fucking deserve to go to the chair," or "If I didn't care about my own life or my job, my ass would be hanging from the trees and gutted like a deer." Sounds interesting to me. How would it look to see someone strung up with a noose around their neck? How would the slice from their neck to their secret places look like? Jagged or smooth? Ripped or clean? Would the entrails fall without any give? Would I have to unravel the intestine to get everything else to fall out freely? So many questions that I can't ever find out. It repeats in my head every night when I go to bed. I WANT TO SEE IT! I WANT TO DO IT!
I'm really surprised they haven't found this journal though. Well they haven't checked the floorboards to see if one is loose. They just walk through and look through the most obvious places; dresser drawers, kitchen, behind the toilet, inside the toilet. Yet they can't see that I've hidden this underneath their noses.
I still haven't seen Katherine. I keep asking and asking but they still keep silent. I'm getting really annoyed they won't tell me anything. I'm her father for Christ sakes. I have a right to know if my daughter is ok. Why won't they just tell me that she's alive? I'm OK with that answer. I miss holding her so. Even thinking about her makes my heart beat so lightly and softly. It hurts to breathe when I know that my baby girl is out there somewhere. Is this a way of torturing me since I took their children? No, that's not how it works. I take the other kiddies away; they don't take my child away from me. They will be paying the price for taking the one thing in my life that made me a sane man. Now, I'm the bastard son of a hundred maniacs. My daddies would be proud of me of how their son, the Springwood Slasher has proven them wrong. That I outlived them and became a God; I decide whether a little slime ball of a child should live or die. I decide how they should die; quick or slow. I so prefer the slow approach. I love watching them squirm and cry. The screams are priceless, music to my ears. I may start with those pigs in blue so that I can get a little kick out of it. Ha! Would be funny to see them together, strewn naked with their bowls hanging out of them. That could hold me for a few months. This time though so that I can at least control it, I guess, I would take pictures of it, admiring every night when I go to bed that I did the best for them. At least this world doesn't have to put up with some dumb fucks.
My court date is approaching soon. The trial, the evidence, the parents will all be in attendance. My lawyer doesn't even want to talk to me. He already knows I'm guilty and he's DEFENDING ME! Did I really dig myself a hole I can't get out of?
February 1971
My lawyer is a genius! A REAL FUCKING GENIUS! He found a technicality that the pigs forgot to mention. When you are doing a search of someone's property, the person should be given a notice of a search and seizure. They didn't produce one at all. This is my one ticket to getting out and supposedly lives a decent life. I really don't need all of that. I just want out so I can continue my work. I want to help the children, ridding them because they fucking over-populate everything. They never sleep. All they do is screaming and yell just so they can get attention. If I could I would rip out the vocal cords in every child on the block so I could have some peace and quiet. Well, since I've kind of started that trend and had to stop suddenly, the parents now throw egg shells and tomatoes at my house. They cops don't do a damn thing to stop them. They just sit in their cars, eating dinner or trying to listen to the radio. I did catch one of them reading a playboy magazine and watching them getting off. The whole car was rocking back and forth, right and left. He has a funny face when he comes. It all shrivels up and he bites his lower lip, squeezing his eyes shut, then heaves and pants as he put so much into doing the job right. Seems like that's the only job he can really do. The lawyer stops by now a little, just to give me some updates on the case. I haven't been called in yet. Well that's not entirely true.
I did show up at the court house and sat on the defense side. All of the jurors were eying me. Almost like a dead on stare. Their eyes were big and pupils were small and pointy. It kind of freaked me out a little, but it was attention. I wanted it. I craved it. I haven't had this much attention in a long time, the fear soon dissipated. The lawyer presented the evidence of a lack of a search warrant. He went on to say that there was no solid evidence or record of ever appearing with the search warrant just a ravenous rampage. He is pretty good at describing things. I wonder why he chose to be a lawyer than a writer. I guess not enough money to pay on his fancy looking imported car. He always brings that thing by the house to pick me up in. Great! Just give me more attention on the streets so that I'll show up to the court house dead before I can even be freed. I feel so uncomfortable in that car. He keeps looking at me, trying to figure out why I did what I did. I think he's a fag though. He has always nice suits, colorful suits. Either it's a blue blazer and a white shirt with a blue tie. Or black suits with a blood red tie. He almost got fired from that little thing. They jurors thought it was uncomfortable that a lawyer was even representing me, for one, and two the colors reminded them of death and the murders that I've been convicted for. He keeps looking at me like he's checking me out all over. Yeah I've had a few bouts with some weight issues but I'm just really lean. I have muscle but I don't need to show it for all to see. Loretta did like my body, she loved to play with my stomach a lot and the hair that trailed down to my cock. That bitch was more of a nympho that what I could ever be. She constantly wanted it but I kept turning her down. With failure after failure she decided not to go after me. I think that saved me from having a heart attack with constantly fucking her, trying to make her cum. It was difficult at times. Yeah, I would do what every husband would; back rubs, sensual oils and eating her out. But after a while it got boring. So I just basically got off without waiting for her to. Fucking bitch.
Anyway...when I got there, there were so many people with cameras, voice recorders trying to ask me a dozen questions when I just put one leg outside of the car. Of course, my lawyer tried to shoo them away, but it just made it even more chaotic. There were parents out there, screaming "burn Freddy, burn" "I'll be the one to pull the switch" "you are gonna rot you child murder". I just shrugged it off. They are just words anyways. They really don't know me or what I've gone through in just a mere 30+ years of my life. Everyone gets like that when someone commits a crime. They will be screaming obscenities, picketing, everything you can think of within just a 30 second time period just moving from the car to the front doors. We went in and it was pretty quiet, heard whispering as I entered the court room of course. The other lawyer decided to kick things off by telling me that I'm a pervert and that I am a sick minded individual. I took it as a compliment really on the sick-minded individual. Who the hell is gonna defend me anyways? They took my daughter from me so I'll let them call me all the names in the world. What they don't know is that, I've got a plan.
We sat down, heard the judge come in. Those robes make the slimmest person look so bloated, like a water-down prune. He sat down and called the next case; Springwood vs. Frederick Charles Krueger. The lawyers bickered back and forth, objection after objection. I just sat there and thought of Katherine. I wondered if she was getting enough to eat, enough toys to play with. I want to visit her but with this going on, my lawyer thought it would be best not to have her be chastised as well or be introduced into this whole thing at a young age. Bullshit. He just doesn't want me to hold my child because he thinks I would hurt her too. I've never done a thing to her. I love that little girl. She's my blood. Like I said before, they are words to him. He can't feel what it's like to have a child taken from you and you can't find out if she's even alive and well. The little faggot couldn't be capable of a child since his ass would be plugged with the nearest dick in the neighborhood.
I just wanted to go home is all. I just wanted to have dinner and go to bed. I've had enough times of seeing people look at me and scream. I want to make them scream for a reason, not this. This was just a fluke that I screwed up. If I planned it better, no one would be screaming at me. They would be screaming for me to stop hurting them or cutting them with my blades.
When we finally left the courtroom after a horrible 8 hour drag, I came out and was bombarded with the same people again. Somebody got an idea in their head to throw something at me. A glass bottle. They had enough force behind it so when I felt it hit my head, I saw the stars come before my eyes. I kinda collapsed, according to my lawyer, into his shoulder and he saw the blood starting to drip from my hair. Everyone panicked of course and then I just don't really remember anything after that. I did wake up in my bedroom with a letter, stating that I would no longer be needed at the court room due to the fact of the incident with the glass bottle. Oh well, they didn't get their guy after all. He didn't die outside the courtroom doors. It's going to take a lot more than that to knock me down for good. So I just sit at home, watch mind-numbing television about the case and the updates every other fucking hour. I guess this is my life now. Stuck in a rut where I can't leave or even see my daughter. It's like I'm 15 again, stuck in a dark room, with only me to play with.
March 1971
Well...the case has taken a turn. The police wasn't able to produce a copy or the order for the search warrant to be placed at home or even at work. They just barged into the house and at work in the middle of the night. How nice. The pigs aren't going to pay the damages that happened when they decided to ravage my home where I've actually came accustomed to with my daughter. Luckily they haven't said anything about Loretta disappearing since she's still listed as a missing person. HA HA! Fucking idiots.
I think you got that pretty well covered, Fred.
I know I do and I'm pretty proud of that. What to do now? I still sit at home, watching myself getting fatter with stuffing my mouth with food just because I'm bored. I can't go outside for the bottle incident. I did get 4 stitches in my head for that little toss up. But yeah, sitting in your own home for a month with nothing to do, I'm about to scream my head off so that maybe I'll go deaf. The cop is still out there, unfortunately. He still comes in the house, still to "check" on me. What in the hell am I gonna do? The only thing I can see as a difference in my routine at home is hanging myself from the barrister. But that would just be pointless because who would carry out my duty? I've read through this journal about 200 times already and I can't stop laughing when I met up with Jamie, Mark and Loretta. I laugh until my stomach hurts. It's so good to laugh sometimes with this shit going on. The lawyer said that with the fact that the cops didn't have a record fo a search warrant, it may just end there and I'll get out with no time in the slammer. Could it be that I can actually live a life? I don't know but I'm pray that I can just live a regular life; no strikes on my record or anything. I could get Katherine back. I just see it now. She's getting out the back of a cop car and just running to me with open arms. I can feel her pressure on my chest when I pick her up and cover her with kisses. I can hear her crying and being so happy to see me. I can hear her calling me daddy. It's an never ending echo I have in my head. I hear it when I'm sleeping. I dream of her, crying in a dark room screaming my name, telling me she wants to come home. It still brings a tear to my eye. God, I want her back! I hate that she's living in someone else's house or in the orphanage. She only a baby. She needs her daddy. Bring her back to me you fucking assholes! She's mine, my blood, my body and soul. You have no right to rip her away from me and for her to deal with her childhood without a father. Please, I just want her back. If I can't just let me see her, let me hug her and tell her that I love her. Please. Please. Please.
...You know, I don't think it will ever happen. I've lost her. Now I've got to figure out a way to get her back. Where do I start? Killing the people that she's living with? Yeah, it would be something out of the way but these people who have taken my daughter in do not know what has happened, hopefully. I imagine they are trying their best at this difficult moment. I just want to take her away, far away like Peter Pan and Wendy. I want to fly her to Neverland and have her spend her days having the joy of seeing her father and eating candy that won't rot her teeth. I want her to smile at me and giggle again. I want to hear myself laugh again. Why?
I can't do this...it-it hurts too much.
June 1971
This trial has gone on long enough. They got their evidence that they screwed up. Why does it take more than a month to figure out that reasoning? Why does it take 9 stupid asses to come up with a decision that takes only 15 seconds? How come that I have to STILL SIT HERE...BORED OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD, LISTENING TO VOICES TRY TO CONVINCE ME THAT SHE'S GONE AND NEVER COMING BACK?
I'm losing my mind. My head hurts. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be out in the air. Why the fucking hell do I have to sit on my ass when I could be doing something productive?
What killing another child?
Well...yeah true but I want to mow my lawn, tend the garden, clean up the bushes, paint the house. ANYTHING TO GET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING PLACE. I feel the walls are closing in; they've moved. I know they have. They are moving everyday when I'm sleeping. When I wake up and head downstairs, they've moved closer into the house. With all this anger, sadness I would imagine that the walls would just explode with the pressure I have on me and what's around me. I want them to get on with the fucking result of the fucking trial so I can either chose to kill myself or to live my life.
You know...I think they want me to kill myself, just so that there was some sort of "justice". How can there be justice when the one who cause the chaos, is dead? Who is going to carry out the justice? Their kids aren't coming back. I'll be with them. I'll be playing with them, fucking them, killing them day in and day out. I would have won in that battle rather them winning. I would have myself a bonus because I could chose from fifteen different children. FIFTEEN! If only I could see Jamie, that would be a great pleasure for me. I would imagine she's around fifteen...almost there child. I know where she lives, I know where she goes. I see her all the time walking on the sidewalk across the road. She keeps looking at the house, remembering all the good times we had playing. I still remember them too, then I have to run to the bathroom. I think that there is helping me deal with the closing walls. I think of Jamie and that body of hers when she was just ten. I can't wait to get out again. She's close to the age where consent is not needed. I'm ready to go. I'm so anxious to see her again.
Now, now, Fred-
SHUT UP! I've had enough of the talking, the whispering. I'm ready to get her and I'm bringing her home. If I can't have Katherine here, fine! I'll have Jamie and she'll be my wife/daughter/friend/sister...whatever the fuck I want her to be. She's my whore. I broke her. I have her innocence. I still smell it on my fingers. I taste it on my tongue. I feel her tightness on my cock. She's waiting for me. Don't fucking talk to me anymore. Your countless lies are about to make me shoot my fucking forehead off so I won't have to hear it anymore or just rip my ears off from my head. Shut the fuck up and let me have my life.
Too late. You're life is over. You killed your own wife. You have no job, hardly any money and your precious Katherine has been taken from you. Read the fucking signs, Fred. You are nothing again. Just that little red hair piece of shit in the basement with the bruises on your body.
(sighs)
!
What's gonna happen this time? Stay tuned for more, Kruegerites! I'm not done yet! There's still plenty in store before this story comes to an end. Keep checking for posts and your e-mails if you have subscribed to the story!