A Cry In The Dark
George Smillie
Authors note: Having only seen Edward Scissorhands once, I may get some of the facts wrong. But I am a huge Freddy fan, so there won't be many mistakes on that front.
PROLOGUE
What is Hell? The Bible describes hell as the home of the damned, and the refuge of Satan. When we picture Hell, we see the classic idea of fire and brimstone, blood and scorched flesh, devil beasts with wicked smiles, dancing amongst the bodies of the damned. But in reality, Hell is what we make for ourselves. Our sins, our fears, our hate, makes Hell. Depending on how evil you were in your lifetime, your Hell can be somewhat less horrific than others. So imagine, the most evil soul on the planet, imagine it's Hell and its eternity spent there. . .
The man sat, slumped in a chair made of burnt rock. His hat partially covered his face, but it was clearly visible that he was horribly burned. Chunks of skin were missing, and were replaced by scarlet scar tissue, leaving ugly holes in the man's head. And yet, the man held an irrepressible, wicked grin on his mouth, the corners of his lip twisted upwards to form a disturbing smile. He wore a torn sweater, with a red and green striped pattern running horizontally downwards. He wore black worker trousers, and black worker shoes. On his right hand, he wore a cowhide glove. Attached to the glove were four straight razor blades, each one glittering viciously in the light. As if it were a way to pass the time, the man flexed each of the blades, and every now and then would lift up his sweater, revealing his scarred chest. He would then slowly slice away at the skin and would laugh as what only could be described as vomit seeped out, alive with pale maggots which wriggled as they hit the ground. Then, he took pleasure in wiping his un-gloved hand in the mixture, and licking away at it, enjoying the foul taste of used waste.
Finally, the man stood up, and shifted the rim of his sweater, to allow a rush of cool air into his system. Fred Krueger yawned, stretching his arms wide.
"Hotter than usual," he muttered to himself. "Storms coming." He laughed. Of course there were no storms in Hell. At least, there hadn't since he'd come back. Just the same old fires burning endlessly at the same old rocks. 'It was fun at first,' he thought. 'But now it's all going sour . . .' Freddy's brain had begun to lose its old sharpness and wit. No need to use it down here.
Suddenly, the scene changed. The cave melted, giving way to a huge system of pipes and catwalks. Red lights shone down around the boiler room, soaking it in a colour of watery blood. Freddy smiled broadly, and allowed his blades to scrape against metal, his mind in ecstasy over the screeching sound. Sparks flew, and Freddy laughed again, a guttural, rude cackle. It had been so long since he had had children in the boiler room.Allowing his mind to wander, he found his hand clutching a small, soft toy. A child's doll. Looking down, he began to search through his trophies. A discarded phone, a china doll with a chunk missing from its head, a torn nightgown, a bloody hearing aid, a hockey mask . . . Freddy frowned. Jason . . . It would take a long time to forget about that humiliation. Stabbed with his own blades.But he would get back on Jason. No doubts about that . . . But not now. He had more important matters to attend to . . .
Freddy allowed the boiler room to disintegrate around him. The new set was that of several pools. Stepping over to one, Freddy dipped a blade in to the liquid, and tasted it. "Still warm." The pool contained a sticky, black juice. 'Tastes like shit,' Freddy thought. 'But what do I know?' As if waving a magic wand, Freddy cast his glove over the pool, and as he did, the black liquid began to clear. From the murk came a figure, dressed entirely in a tight, black suit. His face was deathly pale, and there was evidence of scar tissue on his cheeks and forehead. But what really interested Freddy, was the man's hands. Well, not hands exactly. Blades, but not straight razors like Freddy, actual scissor blades. As if testing the water, Freddy dipped a blade in to the pool, and watched as the figure with scissorhands vanished in to the murk. Freddy smiled, allowing his crooked teeth to be exposed. Raising his glove to his cheek, he began to laugh. "Interesting . . . Very interesting!"
George Smillie
Authors note: Having only seen Edward Scissorhands once, I may get some of the facts wrong. But I am a huge Freddy fan, so there won't be many mistakes on that front.
PROLOGUE
What is Hell? The Bible describes hell as the home of the damned, and the refuge of Satan. When we picture Hell, we see the classic idea of fire and brimstone, blood and scorched flesh, devil beasts with wicked smiles, dancing amongst the bodies of the damned. But in reality, Hell is what we make for ourselves. Our sins, our fears, our hate, makes Hell. Depending on how evil you were in your lifetime, your Hell can be somewhat less horrific than others. So imagine, the most evil soul on the planet, imagine it's Hell and its eternity spent there. . .
The man sat, slumped in a chair made of burnt rock. His hat partially covered his face, but it was clearly visible that he was horribly burned. Chunks of skin were missing, and were replaced by scarlet scar tissue, leaving ugly holes in the man's head. And yet, the man held an irrepressible, wicked grin on his mouth, the corners of his lip twisted upwards to form a disturbing smile. He wore a torn sweater, with a red and green striped pattern running horizontally downwards. He wore black worker trousers, and black worker shoes. On his right hand, he wore a cowhide glove. Attached to the glove were four straight razor blades, each one glittering viciously in the light. As if it were a way to pass the time, the man flexed each of the blades, and every now and then would lift up his sweater, revealing his scarred chest. He would then slowly slice away at the skin and would laugh as what only could be described as vomit seeped out, alive with pale maggots which wriggled as they hit the ground. Then, he took pleasure in wiping his un-gloved hand in the mixture, and licking away at it, enjoying the foul taste of used waste.
Finally, the man stood up, and shifted the rim of his sweater, to allow a rush of cool air into his system. Fred Krueger yawned, stretching his arms wide.
"Hotter than usual," he muttered to himself. "Storms coming." He laughed. Of course there were no storms in Hell. At least, there hadn't since he'd come back. Just the same old fires burning endlessly at the same old rocks. 'It was fun at first,' he thought. 'But now it's all going sour . . .' Freddy's brain had begun to lose its old sharpness and wit. No need to use it down here.
Suddenly, the scene changed. The cave melted, giving way to a huge system of pipes and catwalks. Red lights shone down around the boiler room, soaking it in a colour of watery blood. Freddy smiled broadly, and allowed his blades to scrape against metal, his mind in ecstasy over the screeching sound. Sparks flew, and Freddy laughed again, a guttural, rude cackle. It had been so long since he had had children in the boiler room.Allowing his mind to wander, he found his hand clutching a small, soft toy. A child's doll. Looking down, he began to search through his trophies. A discarded phone, a china doll with a chunk missing from its head, a torn nightgown, a bloody hearing aid, a hockey mask . . . Freddy frowned. Jason . . . It would take a long time to forget about that humiliation. Stabbed with his own blades.But he would get back on Jason. No doubts about that . . . But not now. He had more important matters to attend to . . .
Freddy allowed the boiler room to disintegrate around him. The new set was that of several pools. Stepping over to one, Freddy dipped a blade in to the liquid, and tasted it. "Still warm." The pool contained a sticky, black juice. 'Tastes like shit,' Freddy thought. 'But what do I know?' As if waving a magic wand, Freddy cast his glove over the pool, and as he did, the black liquid began to clear. From the murk came a figure, dressed entirely in a tight, black suit. His face was deathly pale, and there was evidence of scar tissue on his cheeks and forehead. But what really interested Freddy, was the man's hands. Well, not hands exactly. Blades, but not straight razors like Freddy, actual scissor blades. As if testing the water, Freddy dipped a blade in to the pool, and watched as the figure with scissorhands vanished in to the murk. Freddy smiled, allowing his crooked teeth to be exposed. Raising his glove to his cheek, he began to laugh. "Interesting . . . Very interesting!"