** Don't own Freddy, don't own Springwood, don't own any of that stuff... all the characters are based on my friends (even Ginny's parents!) except Ginny who is, mostly, based on me but not by a whole hell of a lot... hope you this chapter's long enough for you! Enjoy, my dear friends, enjoy!
The funeral was Saturday.
Mei Rosenberg, laid to rest... deep in the ground, six feet under the Earth, dirt curling in through any crevice it could in the coffin... and bug, too... crawling in to feed; to eat away at the flesh and meat and eyes and tongue and drink of the sweet, sweet blood... or, at least, all that was left... and to lay eggs for their children to hatch from any dark, warm place where there is, yet still, more flesh and meat and blood for the babies to eat and drink of as soon as they escape from the eggs in which they grow in before they are strong enough to face the world; life.
Ginny hadn't been able to take her off the pale white face of the corpse with the taint of blue in the flesh, a spot of green rot already developing on her chin, with bright red lipstick and other cosmetics slapped on – too much – in an attempt to make the teenager look as if she were just sleeping...
Ginny couldn't take her eyes off the lifeless, hollow, soulless face of her dead friend... until they closed the lid and proceeded in throwing dirt on it.
The end.
"It was a nice ceremony, right?" TJ asked, trying not to sob. "S-she would have been pleased... with it... right? Right?"
Saphy set a hand on TJ's shoulder and spoke, soothingly "Yeah... she would have been happy with it... I'm sure."
TJ broke out crying, again, then... her green/blue eyes were already pink and puffy and red rimmed. The entire ceremony long all she could do was cry... and when they went outside to put Mei in the Earth; TJ and lost it and ran away to hide in the ladies bathroom... she hadn't come out until Saphy had gone in there and told her "It's over..." at least a million times.
Yeah, nice ceremony, but I prefer my friends' alive, thank you...
Ginny was tired... and depressed... she felt her bones aching inside her limbs. Death is so stressful.
They turned onto Elm Street; they were walking home because Ashley had fallen ill the night before... Helena thought it may be serious so she took her to the hospital at, around, 2:00 A.M...
They hadn't come home.
Though, Helena had called in the morning to tell them that Ashley had had a severe allergy attack... and that they'd probably be home tomorrow. Until then; they just had to take care of each other.
Ginny walked ahead of the two other girls. She didn't want to be caught in this huggy, lovey, comfort, crying fest the two were in... mushing their feelings all over the side walk. Feelings were best kept to ones self; in Ginny's opinion... as much as it could be helped, anyway.
She hung her head, strawberry blond and candy blue hair tickling her cheeks. She wanted to disappear... maybe she'd go to sleep when she got home... see the Nightmare King again... ask him what's doing... escape reality, if only for a little while.
She opened her gray marble eyes to slits, looking down at her funeral clothes... a pitch black mid-thigh-length long-sleeved hooded dress that buttons up the front in a series of little white buttons, white thigh-tall stockings, and black sneakers.
A cop car zoomed past, siren wailing; send a gust of ice cold air their way... Ginny opened her eyes fully, surprised by it, and watched it move... she hated the sound... hated it! The sound... the horrible, horrible sound! Shrieking... shrieking... every time... every time, it reminded her of the accident.
She watched it zoom down the street, her eyes chasing it, up, up, up... to Kris's house.
There was already a clutter. Two police cars were already there, and an ambulance, too... she watched the paramedics running into the house... a figure dressed all in black just standing on the porch... Ginny's heart leapt up in her throat.
Kris, Kris, oh God! Please don't let it be! Please don't let it be Kris or Donovan!
She broke into a sprint, running as fast as her body would move... jerking, jerking forwards, trying, running, hard... for dear life.
Saphy gasped as Ginny broke into her run, causing TJ to jump and scream. Ginny didn't care. She ignored them and just ran.
She ran past the houses up to her house; ran past 1428; kept running... running... ran past the house where she'd seen the girls before... running... running... she ran up to the clutter in front of Kris's house.
"What's happening?" she cried. "What's going on? Is someone injured? Is someone dead? Who is it? What happened? WILL SOMEONE PLEASE ANSWER ME?!"
The cops ignored her and continued to just walk around; pretending to do something impotent when, really, they were just bull shitting... they couldn't do anything until they knew what had really happened.
Ginny felt frantic. Their insubordinate was so unnerving... Finally; she just broke past them and began running towards the house.
"Hey! You can't do that!" Someone screamed at her... one of the cops, no doubt. "Hey! Miss! Miss! You can't go up there!"
She ignored him; just as he had ignored her, and ran up to the house... just as she reached the porch steps, the front door flew opened... a paramedic's back was in its frame... the scene all appeared so slowly.
The paramedic's back, the other one – still inside the house – yelling something to his comrade who yelled something – probably the same thing – to one of the police men... then it sunk into Ginny's head. The paramedics were yelling: "We got a dead one!"
Her heart leapt up in her throat, just as it had done so many times since that damned night she had wandered into the twisted world that was under Freddy's control.
Kris! Kris! Please, God, don't let it be Kris!
She jumped half way out of her skin and scurried away from the porch when one of the paramedics yelled at her to do so as they began down the steps. She just watched, feeling wide eyed and shaky. She could see the pale blue/white blanket over the body but she couldn't make out the form... it could be anyone! From Donovan to Mr. Carrigan...
She waited, just watching, her marble gray eyes wide, almost perfect circles... glassy. One of the police man walked up to the paramedics and urged them to stop... he wanted a look at the body, she realized, quickly... and waited for, what seemed like, all eternity as the officer hesitated... then, grasped the edge of the sheet at the top... hesitated again... and then, pulled it down off the face.
Ginny felt vomit rise quickly in her throat and before she could fight it back down it filled her mouth with the sour and bitter burning... she turned and spit it out but fought to keep the rest down... she hadn't eaten anything, yet, all day, anyway, so it was just a crystallized white gook... like not-so-therally melted sugar.
She closed her eyes but the image seemed melted, imprinted, on the backs of them... the pale white face, the dark brown eyes opened wide in an eternally frozen look of terror, the spots of spattered blood on the cheek, the mouth slightly agar in a forever lasting scream.
... It was Donovan.
She choked on the impulse to allow more of her stomach to come up and turned around again, forcing herself to open her eyes, and it took her a long to piece together what had happened while she wasn't looking.
The ambulance just started up, then... they must have already wheeled him inside of it... and, moments later, as if in a chain of events, the police cars started up, too... and then, another few minutes later, the ambulance sped away... and then, yet another few minutes later, the cop cars followed.
She turned back to the porch, turning her eyes to the pale figured dressed all in black. It was Kris... Kris was standing on the porch. He looked like he had dressed in the very first thing he picked up off the floor... his eyes were wide, too... but hollow... almost as if he was not there at all... like he had left and gone deep into his mind to a whole nother place.
Ginny began with slow and careful steps towards him... as she began up the steps she saw Mr. and Mrs. Carrigan inside... Mr. Carrigan had his wife wrapped up tightly in his arms while she shuddered and shook with raging sobs; her face berried in his chest.
Ginny looked back at Kris... he was still starring off into no where... his mouth opened just a little and in a mindless O. She walked up to him, hesitated, and then tapped him on the shoulder without a word.
He looked at her, but didn't seem to really see her... for a long time. Ginny opened her mouth to say something – she didn't know what – but before any words could be formed her suddenly threw his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder.
She was only surprised, unsure, for a moment... then she slipped her arms around him, too, and held him... he closed his eyes, she could feel the lashes tickling her cheek as he did so... and she did too... and all was silent – as if nothing had ever happened – except for the heavy sobs of Mrs. Carrigan.
Ginny lay on the floor, in the middle of the bed room.
TJ had fallen a sleep on the couch out of exhaustion... probably because of the fifteen thousand tears she'd cried all day... she'd even cried through Buffy the Vampire Slayer; her favorite show... probably because it was a rerun of the episode where Angel leaves town... for good. That episode even made Ginny cry the first time she'd seen it... just that had been TJ's fifth time.
Saphy had remained there, in the living room, and eventually found some forensic show to watch... only then did she cry, when no one was watching... and Helena and Ashley were still at the hospital; they hadn't returned home… so Ginny was all alone... alone in space and time... laying on the floor of her bedroom, shivering.
It was a cold night but right after they'd gotten home Ginny had thrown off her funeral clothes – she couldn't stand them anymore! They made her feel like hundreds of spiders were crawling all over her skin – and thrown on a crisp white tank top under-shirt-type-thing (not caring that you could see a hazy imprint of her black bra through the fabric) and a plain rag-like crisp white knee-length skirt... she hadn't bothered to take off the thigh-high white stockings she'd worn all day, though.
She felt as cold as a Ginny-sickle with her bare arms, stockinged legs, and shoeless feet... so close to the ground... her strawberry blonde and candy blue hair was sticking, gently, to her skin... which seemed to be a little damp, somehow... she must have cried... but she didn't remember crying.
She was shivering badly but she felt unable to move. She just wanted to lay there until she evaporated. Too much death... too much... it was stalking her... haunting her... it wanted her... it wanted to suck her down into it's never ending blackness, too... she could feel it... it was all coming back to her, now... it wanted to punish her for what she'd done.
I can't be punished, she thought; it's not my fault! I don't want to die... I don't want to die! Freddy did this to me... I never had a chance! It's not my fault! It's not my fault! Please don't kill me... I never meant to hurt anyone.
But it's all my fault...
She painstakingly brought her arms back to her body – where as they had previously been stretched out, along with her legs – and crossed them over her frail chest, as if that could protect her... as if she could protect herself.
I have to go to sleep...
But why? What was this urge to go to sleep every time death was breathing down her neck? Why? Why was Freddy the escape? Did she really believe he had all the answers? But he'd never tell her! He'd never tell her a thing... not a thing that he didn't have to.
She crossed over on to her belly, keeping her arms tightly crossed over her chest, until she managed to force herself up onto her knees... her clothes wrinkling a bit in the process... and then, she finally brought her hands to the ground, looking at her pale white skin... so pale... too pale... she hated it! She hated everything.
She could feel her stomach turning in her belly, her throat burning, her forehead being the only part of her that felt warm... infact; it felt down right hot. She felt very fevered.
She forced her limbs to move – slowly and sloppily – crawling a crossed the floor and all fours towards the closet... she needed to get there, she needed the bottle of pills... she had found a bottle of sleeping pills in the cabinet of Mrs. Dana's private bathroom... she'd stolen it, shoved it in her shirt, and then hidden it in jewelry box – complete with high-pitched music and a little ballerina that spins around and around and around endlessly as long as the lid is opened – and stuffed it in the closet under a big black Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (JtHM) hoodie where no one would find it; her secret. She stuffed all her secrets in that closet.
She rested her hot forehead against the cold wood of the white door to the closet, once she reached it... resting a moment before forcing her limbs to move again, back, and her arm to stretched up for the knobs. She only had to mess with it for a moment before the door came open... it flew back, as if something was pressing against it, and then a box flew from the top of the closet.
Ginny threw herself out of the way, not wanting to get hit by the UFO (unidentified falling object). Seconds later she heard the heavy thud of it hitting the ground.
She turned, slowly, still on all fours. Her mouth fell opened and she gawked in disbelief... her box... her private box... the box no one else knew existed... it was the box that had fallen from the closet... the box she'd decorated with tin-foil when she was only seven to put all the clippings in... all those horrible, horrible clippings... all covering the accident.
She crawled over, slowly, up to the box, still starring at it, her marble gray eyes wide – almost perfect circles – someone had been in her box... someone had opened the closet, found her box, and then stuffed it back! The lid was even off... it had fallen down after the box itself.
Someone knows!, the thought hit her suddenly; someone knows! Someone knows... Oh, God, someone knows!!
Now her stomach twisted more violently, rising in her chest. She touched the clippings inside the box with shaky fingers, the headlines still so dark and bold in their big capital letters... all talking about the accident. "TWO PEOPLE MURDERED SUNDAY NIGHT", "DAUGHTER IS SOUL SURVIVER OF DOUBLE MURDER", "CAMERON AND LUCY JENKS: DEAD", "PARENTS DEAD, CHILD GUILTY?", "YOUNG GIRL SLAYS PARENTS", "GABRIELLE JENKS: 6-YEAR-OLD MURDERER", "JENKS KID SENTANCED TO TWELVE YEARS IN A MENTAL ASYLUM", "GABRIELLE JENKS: DEEMED SANE AND OUT ON PAROLE AT FIFTEEN".
She shuddered. The head lines... the horrible, horrible head lines... all true! She hugged herself again, and began to rock back and forth slowly...
"No, no, no, I didn't do it," she whispered to herself. But that was a lie... she knew it was a lie... she knew she'd done it... the only problem was she barely remembered doing it... she remembered stepping out of her room in the middle of the night to get a glass of milk, then nothing... and then... the next thing she knew... she was standing my her parents bed with a shot gun in her hand and their bodies laying plain as day in front of her… dead.
Suddenly and violently she grabbed the lid and slammed it on top of the box, wrinkling the cardboard down, but it sprang back up into place after a few seconds that she let go of it.
"I didn't do it!" She yelled at the box, then picked it up and forced it into the deepest and darkest part at the top of the closet... but it was too late... someone knew... someone already knew!
She crumbled to her knees, ignoring the pain that shot up her thighs to her hips and down her calves to her feet, and snatched the hoodie off the jewelry box most violently, her hands shaking like Hell, she had become a quivering nerve mass. She forced open the jewelry box, pulled the lid until it jerked to a halt, then groped for the bottle, twisted at the child-proof lid for a million years, then quickly dug out two pills and popped them into her mouth, holding her hands as steady as she could which just seemed to make them shake more.
She could feel the effect of the super strong proscription medication beginning to edge at her body only minutes after taking them. By the time she had stuffed everything back into place her hands were barely shaking anymore... She closed the closet door, gently, turned around, and began to crawl along the floor again... until she reached the edge of her bunk...
It took all of her strength to pull herself up onto the soft surface... by the time she was in bed she just crashed and allowed herself to drift away... not even bothering to cover herself or situate herself or anything... soon the cold wouldn't feel so strong on her body as she could be asleep... and everything would be fine again... as long as fine is hissing pipes and third degree burn scars...