DISCLAIMER: In order to maintain authenticity to character, some characters might have different viewpoints than my own, and use language or have actions I do not agree with. But if every character had my system of beliefs, there would be no legitimate character development and diversity. Any language one may find offensive, I apologize in advance. Those words I do not use, so please, keep this into consideration.

Nightmare Fuel

I am so beyond fucked.

Freddy's return was inevitable. I wasn't naïve, after all. I'd been wondering how long it would be until I woke up in tattered, blood-splattered sheets, screaming until my lungs burst as I beg for forgiveness. I shouldn't have been so surprised to see him, and yet every muscle in my body tensed. Now I knew how deer felt when a fucking Toyota Corolla comes barreling at it on the highway at 80MPH.

Only difference was, Freddy was going half a mile at best. Standing still in the shadows, barely making a move at all. What was he waiting for?

"Don't tell me you're not happy to see me?" Freddy feigned hurt, putting his claws over his heart, tilting his head like he was offended I didn't jump for joy. A breathless noise, like a god damned tea kettle, escaped my nose as I tried to catch my breath. Freddy snorted, "She's speechless," clearly amused, and flashed a wicked grin my way. Now my legs were shaking, and it felt like they would give up on me any moment. They were still sore, still weak, and this was not helping. Cold, hateful eyes watched me with intensity, and as much as I wanted to look away, I was frozen. The headlights were right there, the danger growing, and I couldn't move.

"Welcome back," I responded, a little more sarcastic than intended. My shoulders tensed as Freddy lifted his chin, his upper lip curling with amusement as he stared down at me. This was...odd. I'd expected him to come back in a fury. Eager to rip me to pieces. Behind his eyes I could see he was thinking hard, a list of possibilities running through his mind. Was he going to string me up, peel my skin off and make a fuckin' jacket out of it? Ooh, or was he going to grind my bones into dust? So many options, no wonder he couldn't pick just one.

"You had an eventful little break, didn't ya?" He sneered, "Such an exciting time. Freddy's away, the cunt gets to play?"

"I was doing what you told me to do. You owed Michael and Jason bodies. I got them bodies," I was afraid if I looked away, that would be enough to elicit an attack. I had to be careful. I had no idea how this dream would end. Whether or not he wanted to finish what he'd started kept my heart thumping at a wild beat.

"Doing what you're told for once. Didn't know you had the brains," Freddy continued to observe me, biting his lower lip, still deep in thought. He really didn't know what he wanted to do to me, did he? "I see your sister's friend is still around? Mikey and the Hockey Puck haven't gotten rid of her yet? Guess they left her for me after all..."

"Don't." Was all I could muster, and he laughed, leaning against the door frame, relaxed as could be. What the fuck was he waiting for? Irritation crept up on me; at this point I'd rather be screaming. The anticipation was worse.

"Let's see. What else have you been up to?" Still drawing this whole thing out Freddy crossed his arms, humming as if he was thinking. Or maybe, he was running his fingers down mine like a filing cabinet full of personal knowledge. Rummaging through my vulnerabilities. Yes, that's what he was doing. I could feel it, and it sent a disgusted shiver up my spine. He took a moment to pause, eyes scanning my face, lips splitting into a shit-eating grin. Whatever he was looking for, he had found it.

"Someone's been keeping secrets…" Freddy taunted, extending his right arm in my direction. I flinched, arms raising in defense, but his claws stopped mere inches from my face. Instead of attacking, he wagged his index finger back and forth, tutting, "Naughty." Seeing the growing confusion on my face Freddy rolled his electric blue eyes, and when they came to a stop, they were looking past me. Slowly, he curled his finger back towards his palm. Behind me I heard the familiar sound of the dresser drawer sliding open.

Oh no.

"Oh yes," Freddy was nose to nose with me, I could smell his foul breath and feel the heat emanating from him, "Now be a good bitch. And fetch."

Operating on their own, my legs carried me backwards. Somehow I managed to fight the puppeteering, and kept my torso facing him. I refused to look away. He noticed, a quiet chuckle rippled in his throat. Whatever his endgame was, he was enjoying the path to it. Hands reaching behind me, I waited until the smooth, cheap Wayfair wood hit the palms of my hands, and I slid them up until they were gripping the open drawer. Pushing socks and underwear aside, I dug until I felt the worn out leather, the thick and homemade claws. It's energy was off. Come to think of it, the energy of this entire dream felt wrong. Touching the glove stirred my stomach with nausea, a heavy feeling like my center of gravity had shifted.

"Put it on."

In my dizzy state I hadn't felt Freddy come up from behind me. Chest to my back he lowered his head, his lips grazing the top of my ear and blowing the little hairs away as he spoke. With his left hand he squeezed my wrist, guiding my hand forcefully towards his creation. He wasn't suggesting I wear it. He was demanding I wear it. Knowing I was dealing with a short fused bomb ready to blow any minute I obliged, sliding my hand into the glove. It was already warm, like it was well worn. A feeling most unpleasant. Greasy and grimy.

"How's it feel?" Freddy asked, releasing my wrist and hunching forward. His right cheek pressed against my left as he pressed his hands against the dresser, caging me in. I looked down at the glove in my hand. Similar to Michael, I could feel the pulsating black energy that it gave off. Could feel it bubbling and brewing into a thick and viscous mass of pitch black nothing. You know that feeling when you run your hand under steaming hot water, and it burns so much that it feels cold? My entire hand tingled with this unpleasant sensation. But a small part of me, somewhere deep, deep inside, was enjoying it. My fingers even wiggled slightly with anticipation.

"Can you just hurt me already?" I asked, ignoring his question. My lower lip trembled, but all in all I was holding up well, "Don't pretend like that's not how this is going to end."

"Oh, after the shit you've pulled, after the games you've played, I'm gonna hurt ya," Freddy nodded, letting out a slow and patient exhale, "I'm going to make last weekend look like a goddamned playdate. You thought I was bad before? Everything that's come before now won't compare to what I'll have in store for you, Little Ash. I am going to destroy you from the inside out. Physically. Mentally. I will take away everything you love. Every day you'll wonder when it will end. You'll become so desperate for relief that you'll try and finish what I started. But I won't let you die. You will never know peace again," as he spoke, he dragged his claws down the dresser, deep gashes trailing behind the tips of the knives. I wondered if the soon-to-be scars on my own back looked similar, "And even when I grant you the mercy of letting you die, you will be stuck with me. Forever." The heat of his body disappeared, and I whirled around to find him standing by the foot of my bed, "But tonight? No. No, I'm not going to hurt you tonight. We'll have all the time in the world for that later." And then, he smiled. A smile so calm, so patient, that I knew he meant every single word of his threat. There was no need to be intimidating. He was in no rush, and he knew all I could do was delay the inevitable.

And it was inevitable.

"...Oh," was all I could think to say in response, put off by his nonchalant and rather calm tone. To make matters worse, he didn't reply. All he did was stare at me. For a moment I wondered why, until I remembered the glove on my hand. Lifting my arm, I extended my right hand to him, offering the glove to him without removing it from my hand. Underneath the shadow of his hat his eyes watched me, a glimmer of cruel amusement in them .Finally breaking the silence Freddy let out a laugh. Not a mocking one, or his trademark vibrato of over the top cackling. This was a short, brief, but genuine laugh. Like I had told a joke just funny enough to make him crack a smile. But somehow I didn't get the punchline.

Then he was gone.

All around me the temperature dropped significantly, the hum of the central air popping back into existence. Feeling as though I had been dunked in an ice box I only now noticed the sweat that was forming on my skin. My hand was still reaching for the unmade bed, the metal claws splayed, still reaching towards the now empty spot in the room. Physical TV static popped in my limbs, all four of them waking up, my legs wobbling slightly as if they had been barely able to hold me up before.

Had I...had I been sleepwalking?

For a moment I stood there, brows scrunched in confusion, eyes foggy with sleep. Arm still horizontal, muscle starting to burn just a little. How long had I been standing like this? Dreams moved faster than real time, after all. Or slower. Like someone flipped a switch I broke the paralysis, pulling my arm back in and removing the glove. Clutching it in both hands I turned to the dresser, eager to shove it back into its sock filled cell.

Four grooves, shallow but jagged, were carved into the wood. Flecks of black paint (or whatever the hell they use on this janky furniture) had peeled away, revealing some of the painfully cheap wood beneath. I blinked, thinking they would disappear, but they didn't. Hesitant, I brushed my fingers against them.

They were real.

I dropped the glove, quickly shifting my foot out to muffle the fall, gasping as the blades sliced the top of my foot before crumpling on the ground. Ignoring the sting I immediately went for my bookshelf, ripping the fake book from it's spot. The cover swung open, letting the poorly closed bag of candy fall to the floor, leaving gummy rings and sugar trailing behind as I kneeled down, picking up the glove.

You should just throw it out, the voice in my head reprimanded, get rid of it.

I ignored it, shoving the glove into the fake book, sliding back into the bookshelf.

No one else seemed to get a late night visitor.

The only thing Tasha and Zoe complained about was their stiff necks and sore bodies; the couch had not been too kind to them. Tom was already gone for work by the time I had left my room that morning (after having pulled an all nighter) but I doubted Freddy would pay him any mind to begin with.

Our "research" (the glorified movie marathon) continued over the next few days. Zoe did not overstay her visit, even though she was more than welcome to. I think the couch just could not compare to her own bed. And I didn't blame her. By the time we were reaching the next weekend, we had made it to the remakes.

"I have to say," I murmured as we watched ReJay on the screen, "This one isn't as bad as I remember…"

"Honestly I don't hate it," Tasha agreed, "I didn't like the Halloween ones. Too aggressive for my taste. This is...surprisingly fun."

"It's so interesting to me how different this Jason is. Compared to the one I saw," Zoe added, still typing away at her laptop. I watched her hands curiously as they furiously smashed the keys, "I did not enjoy the Nightmare remake. Was the original Freddy a pedophile?"

"Originally yeah but Wes Craven got rid of it. He felt him killing kids was enough," I shrugged, "I guess it's implied though? I mean he is a pervert…"

"And a bastard."

"Thank God Michael took care of him," Tasha wrapped her arm around Zoe's shoulders, "It's been so nice not having to worry about one of us waking up screaming in the middle of the night." Guilt tugged at my throat, making it feel tighter, harder to speak. Now would be the perfect time to tell them I'd seen him. Explain to them what had happened earlier in the week. Instead I nodded, silently agreeing with Tasha.

"We haven't seen Michael or Jason since last weekend either," I noted, shifting positions and crossing my legs, "I know that's a good thing but... I don't know, I just have this feeling that something weird is happening. Like we should be concerned we haven't seen them…"

"It does feel like a ticking time bomb," Zoe agreed, chewing at her bottom lip as she took a quick glance from her computer to me, "What do you think they're doing?" The three of us sat there for a moment. Tasha wrapped her hands around her own throat, making a strange choking noise. Unable to help myself, I laughed, leaning forward to grab the TV remote and began "stabbing" Tasha with it, all the while she gurgled and gasped for air.

"What are you two doing?" Mom hadn't meant to scare us but somehow, her gentle footsteps had not triggered the creaky steps.

"Method acting," Tasha replied, releasing her own throat. Mom let out a soft half-laugh, her eyes slowly looking up to the screen. I saw her upper lip twinge. The urge to cringe was strong but she composed herself. She had never been a fan, and did not approve of Dad exposing me to these types of movies at such a young age. Still, she never stopped us.

"Working on anything fun?" Mom asked, directing her attention to Zoe.

"Sort of. I'm working on a research paper," Zoe let out a perfectly genuine sigh, the sigh of an academic, "I decided to take a summer course."

"What course?"

"Film," Zoe answered, motioning to the TV, "There's a section specifically on horror. Hence Ash doing me the favor of being my academic resource." Zoe gave a convincing performance, to the point where I started to question if she actually was taking a course. Satisfied with that answer, Mom turned her head to me.

"Ash, can I talk to you for a minute?" She paused, glancing in Tasha's direction, "Upstairs?" The question was sudden. We knew Mom wasn't daft, or even ignorant, but I had done a fantastic job of hiding my limp, and all of my injuries. Especially given the season. I couldn't think of a single reason she would want to talk to me.

"Sure," hands in my pockets, I followed her upstairs, gently shutting the door over behind me. Mom continued through the kitchen, walking onto the back porch, sitting herself down on one of the chairs by the fire pit. I did the same, taking a seat. There was an awkward expression on her face, like she wasn't sure what to say to me. This was odd.

"Honey," she started, her voice lulling into an almost nervous tone. Whatever she was going to say, she was worried it would start something, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way. I know this summer took an unexpected turn, and you are coping with what happened. And I am so, so happy to see you and Tasha get so close again. You're even making new friends!" A lump formed in my throat as I thought about the prior weekend. All of the bodies, all of the carnage. I nodded, she continued, "But...hon, are you going to go back to the golf course? Or are you going to get another job?"

That's what she wanted to ask? I almost laughed, but held back, given the situation. For a moment I wondered if she was going to ask me, "Honey, are you associating yourself with bloodthirsty murderers? If so, I'm going to have to ask you to stop."

"Oh. Well...no." My answer was so abrupt, Mom reeled. I shook my head, my brain was scouring my mental dictionary for any string of words that could pass for an excuse, "I just...I will get one. Eventually. I just...can't right now." That was it; that was all I could offer her as an explanation. It was obvious by her expression she was torn. On the one hand, her daughter was doing what she had wanted months ago. Socializing, getting out of the house, living a life. But on the other hand...she wasn't doing anything at all. Which, of course, wasn't true; I was fighting for my life and hers. But she didn't know and I couldn't hold that against her, "I was thinking of maybe...looking into therapy."

That was the ticket; the worry lines that had begun to etch into her face turned into relief, and a small smile escaped onto her lips.

"That's great! I'm really proud of you Ash. And I don't mean to come off harsh, I just care about you. I just want what's best for you," she held her arms out, and I approached, allowing her to take me into her arms. Like a punch to the gut, emotion overwhelmed me. This was the first gentle physical contact I'd had in months. The days and nights had become such a blur, my brain was being torn in several directions, and despite my Mother, my safety, being right there, I hadn't been able to receive that comfort, that real love, in what felt like ages. I hugged her back, tighter than she was expecting, burrowing my face into the crook of her neck.

"I love you," I said, all the while thinking don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"I love you too," Mom's voice was a gentle whisper, and she let me hug her, for just another minute or two. A Mother knows when something is wrong. Controlling my breathing, I managed to get my emotions in check, and with eyes mostly dry l let her go, pulling back to tell her I would be okay. I gasped, and fell backwards, my hip landing on the deck hard enough to make me cry out in surprise.

Behind the chair stood Freddy. Basked in the beaming sunlight, such a jarring change from the shadows he often hid himself in. I could see every muscle curve into his vicious expression, his tongue gliding over his teeth as he eyeballed the top of Mom's head. I shook my head, my mouth forming an O, and Freddy grinned, nodding.

"Ash?" Mom leaned forward, "Are you alright?" I couldn't answer. I was too busy watching as Freddy dug his fingers deep into her dark curls, twisting them in and tugging her head back. I shook my head again, more frantically this time, and Freddy nodded again, resting his blades against her exposed skin.

"I guess you could say I have Mommy issues," he shrugged, ripping his arm backwards to tear her throat wide open.

"Mom!" I screamed loudly, but as quickly as he was there, Freddy was gone. Mom whirled around, trying to see what on Earth had scared me so badly. Of course there was nothing for her to see, and it took all of a millisecond for her to stare at me; she most definitely thought I needed a therapist now.

"What's wrong?"

"I...thought I saw one of those uh, big ass...hornets. The black ones, that burrow near your garden," I put a hand over my chest, hoping to calm myself down. Visibly shaken, it was hard to pretend it was just a bug that had startled me. Still, not wanting to press the matter, Mom nodded slowly.

"Okay. Well I won't keep you any longer. Go back to your movies!" Mom waved her hand, ushering me to go. Before I could get through the sliding door, she added, "Although you girls really should get some fresh air. It's going to be really nice this weekend."

"Maybe we'll go to the beach," I agreed, quickly leaving and shutting the door behind me. What the fuck was that all about? Running my hands through my hair, I groaned. I needed to tell Tasha. But I couldn't tell Tasha because then I'd have to admit to taking the glove. And if I admitted to taking the glove, she'd make me get rid of it.

And why would that be a bad thing? I wondered, You should get rid of it! Clearly it's getting to you. Peeking over my shoulder, I could see Mom sitting there on her phone, quietly scrolling on Facebook. No Freddy in sight. Groaning, I covered my face with my hands, continuing my groan as I paced through the kitchen.

"Ash!" Tasha yelled from downstairs, "Are you done up there?"

"Yeah I'll be down in a sec," I responded.

"You're gonna wanna see this...scene," she added, her tone hesitant in case Mom was still listening. That couldn't be good. The stairs whined as I trampled down them, as fast as one can with a limp.

"Oh God what happened," I asked in a hushed voice, and Tasha waved for me to come to the couch, patting the cushion.

"Look at this," she shoved her phone in my face. Her brightness was all the way up and it obstructed my vision for a second.

"What am I looking at?" I asked, squinting.

"Our pals," Tasha emphasized, shaking the phone. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw the tweet she so badly wanted me to read:

My tweet was taken down again. Inappropriate content. But I don't care. People need to know about this. My sister was killed and no one believes me. Here's the fucking proof.

Attached was a thread of photos; each taken late at night, each slightly blurry. But it was obvious what it was a photo of. Hidden behind two shrubs, mattyice69 (Jesus Christ that username..) had managed to capture several photos of Michael viciously gutting some poor schmuck. Even with the subtle blur you could still make out the gap in the victim's gut, the intestines spilling out as Michael held him up with a single hand.

"Oh no…" I murmured, taking the phone from her hands and scrolling through.

"He's been tweeting about this for days. Started tweeting about his sister being killed a couple days ago. Said someone dressed like Michael Myers killed her, that no one seems to remember her, that there's no trace of her ever existing…" Zoe had the same account pulled up on her own phone, "His friends have been replying, asking him if he's okay."

"Some have been dickish, just calling him crazy. But like, the man went out hunting for a killer. That's crazy to me," Tasha pointed out. I ignored her, continuing to swipe through his tweets. Oh boy, the poor boy was going through it. It wasn't hard to sympathize.

"He isn't the only one, though. A couple people have agreed with him. Saying they've lost loved ones that no one remembers. There's another account that posted a picture of Jason. I just had it. One second….here!" Zoe traded me her phone for Tasha's. Similar to mattyice69, jessica_lee_1998 was going off about how her cousins were killed but no one seemed to believe her. Jessica had even captured a picture of Jason, shish-kebabing the two with a pool skimmer, a third body floated in the deep end of a luxurious pool.

"Are there any more?" I asked.

"A handful. Some not even from around here, and from a while ago too. No pictures or anything but similar descriptions. I think some might even be the Remakes," Zoe took her phone back, and arms akimbo I held up a finger.

"Wait...how do they know?"

"They...saw it…?" Tasha looked at me funny.

"No I mean….how do they remember?" I emphasized the word, "You didn't remember Drew. But you both remember your friends. I bet if you were to ask Tom or Mom who any of you friends are-"

"Were," Zoe corrected me, sourly.

"...I bet they wouldn't remember any of their names." Tasha and Zoe exchanged a skeptical glance.

"I still don't follow."

"Look," I huffed, sitting down on the couch a little too aggressively, "Several months ago, people started talking about loved ones dying and there being no trace of their existence. I'm there when Drew dies, but he disappears, no one remembers him. Freddy talks about killing people...but we never hear of any deaths in the area. Then, at the party, you two remembered, but no one else did."

"Trey remembered," Zoe pointed out.

"But Trey doesn't count. He wasn't there, when the carnage happened. He didn't see any of it. But he was around us, and the slashers." When they continued to stare at me blankly I groaned loudly, putting my fingers to my temples, "What if they - the killers, the Tulpas, whatever you wanna call them - are purposefully letting people get away who have seen them to further fuel them? The more people who see or believe, the more people who feed into that thinking end up feeding them energy. It's like…" it dawned on me. I remembered what Jason said a while back, "what if the Remakes were breaking the rules?"

"WHAT RULES?" Tasha raised her voice, annoyed and impatient.

"I don't know, of fucking reality?" I yelled back, standing back up, "Whatever the case, the Remakes start getting greedy, our boys wanna fight back but they need something to catch up. And that something, is me!" I pointed to myself, and could feel the manic expression painted on my face. Zoe looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or leave, and Tasha had put her head in her hands.

"I barely understood a word of what you just said but if all of that is true," Tasha lifted her head and waved her hands around, "it is far too complicated. Way too much going on there and honestly, I don't really feel as invested anymore knowing this plot is more complicated than 'bad men be bad' alright?"

"I think I followed it and I think I understand what you mean. Like selective amnesia," Zoe came to my defense, and Tasha shot her a look so dramatically aghast you'd think Zoe insulted our mother, "Oh re-lax."

"You're like Teacher's damn Pet over here. This isn't graded."

"Oh shut your mouth."

"Shut it for me?"

"Can you two stop flirting during my light bulb moment?" I clapped my hands, drawing their attention back to me, "Thank you. I think we need to find Michael and Jason. Ask them straight up. If I'm right, well...then at least we are finally, fully in the know."

"And can better plan a way to get rid of them?" Zoe tacked on to the end of my thought, and I put one finger to my nose and pointed at her with the other.

"Bingo!"

"So how do we find Michael and Jason? It's not like we can call them," Tasha asked, wiggling the phone in her hand.

"I think I know how."