Peter was getting bored watching anime porn, so he flipped it to HBO. Wes Craven's New Nightmare was on. Peter got an idea.
He picked up the white phone and called a random number.
"One, two. Freddies coming for you," Peter sung in a soft voice.
"Who's this?" answered the person.
"Three, four. Better lock your door. Five, six. Grab your crucifix. Seven, eight. Gonna stay up late. Nine, ten. Never sleep again."
"Who the fuck is this? Is there someones idea of a joke?"
"Shut the fuck up bitch or I'll mother fucking gut you!" The person hung up. Peter began to chuckle. He always got amusement out of doing stuff like that. He then yawned.
"So fucking tired. Guess I'll go to sleep now," he said to himself. He then heard a scratching sound under his bed. It sounded like a big cat with metal claws.
"Think Freddie is funny, bitch?" Freddie said.
"Who's there?" Peter asked.
"Maybe this will answer your question. One, two. Freddie is coming for you!" Freddie then came up from under his bed. Peter screamed as if he was a little girl.
"Somebody help me!" Peter screamed. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could. He ran into the kitchen. He saw his mom.
"Mom! There's some guy in our house and," Peter said. His mom then turned around and turned into Freddie.
"Fuck! Leave me alone, please!" Peter said in a scared voice. Freddie then grabbed him by the throat. His turn his gloves and slit the knifes through Peter's chest. The red blood ran down his shirt. Peter tried to run off. Freddie made his arm stretch out real far and he grabbed Peter. He took his knife gloves and shoved it into Peter's head.
"Peter, time to get up," his mom said in a friendly voice as she opened the door. She screamed. She saw her son, on the floor, scratch marks on his chest, and through his head. She couldn't believe it. Her little Pete was dead. She then slit her own throat to join him in death.
He picked up the white phone and called a random number.
"One, two. Freddies coming for you," Peter sung in a soft voice.
"Who's this?" answered the person.
"Three, four. Better lock your door. Five, six. Grab your crucifix. Seven, eight. Gonna stay up late. Nine, ten. Never sleep again."
"Who the fuck is this? Is there someones idea of a joke?"
"Shut the fuck up bitch or I'll mother fucking gut you!" The person hung up. Peter began to chuckle. He always got amusement out of doing stuff like that. He then yawned.
"So fucking tired. Guess I'll go to sleep now," he said to himself. He then heard a scratching sound under his bed. It sounded like a big cat with metal claws.
"Think Freddie is funny, bitch?" Freddie said.
"Who's there?" Peter asked.
"Maybe this will answer your question. One, two. Freddie is coming for you!" Freddie then came up from under his bed. Peter screamed as if he was a little girl.
"Somebody help me!" Peter screamed. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could. He ran into the kitchen. He saw his mom.
"Mom! There's some guy in our house and," Peter said. His mom then turned around and turned into Freddie.
"Fuck! Leave me alone, please!" Peter said in a scared voice. Freddie then grabbed him by the throat. His turn his gloves and slit the knifes through Peter's chest. The red blood ran down his shirt. Peter tried to run off. Freddie made his arm stretch out real far and he grabbed Peter. He took his knife gloves and shoved it into Peter's head.
"Peter, time to get up," his mom said in a friendly voice as she opened the door. She screamed. She saw her son, on the floor, scratch marks on his chest, and through his head. She couldn't believe it. Her little Pete was dead. She then slit her own throat to join him in death.