Title: Welcome to the Other Side
By: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167@yahoo.ca
Rating: R
Disclaimer: don't own Fred, sadly….but I do own Amanda. Ooo lucky me!
Summary: Ever wonder what happens when you die? Fred's not quite done with Amanda yet… Not to be taken seriously.
Notes: Blame Neph and Cavewoman for this one….they hounded and this is what happened. Shame on them! Shame! Also the title is a song lyric from ICP…again, Blame Neph! hehe
Completed: November 25, 2003
When Amanda awoke there was no pain. In fact, there wasn't much of anything. She didn't feel anything, her eyes just…opened. At first she figured she was only waking from another dream, but this was different. There was no cold sweats, no stinging pain, no sticky blood. And for the past week all her dreams had ended that way, but then why couldn't she remember the end of this dream?
"Maybe 'cause you didn't wake up," a now familiar, raspy voice commented from the sidelines, it answering her thoughts.
She perked up at this, not so much at the voice, but the answering her, "What?"
"You didn't wake up," the annoyance was clear as if he had explained this before.
Wide-eyed Amanda looked over at the voice. Fred Kreuger was leaning against one of the grimy walls. He waved at her, his trademark blades twitching toward her like snipping blades.
The realisation of death, actually still the fear of it at this point, hit her and she began scrambling to stand. In her frantic struggle with her own feet the girl kept slipping – remaining on the floor.
The nightmare stalker stood over her, his menacing laugh filling the space as he watched her slip about in her own blood, that had pooled on the floor earlier. He loved playing with them at this stage – at all stages really – but now where they were stuck in-between, before going up or down. The place between life and death, the place where he lived. It was so much fun to torture them in their purgatory.
"Having a problem?" he snickered, pointing at the puddle she was sitting in.
Amanda slowly looked down at her hands, noticing the thick, scarlet liquid coating them and farther soaking the dingy night-gown cladding her body. The discovery prompted her to slowly start scanning over herself, to assess the situation. Her eyes widened at the horror of the bloody, gapping hole in her chest – but no sound could leave her equally gapped mouth. She was too shocked, too sickened, too unsure. With a shaking hand she moved to touch the murky void, a sharp breath sucked into her chest as she felt the very real, slick-sting of pain. Her eyes darted away, only to fall on something much worse. Beyond the wound, on the floor next to her, was a corpse. A tangle of limps and gore that was eerily familiar; that hair, that wound, that face...
A scream pushed its way out of her constricted lungs as she pushed herself across the floor, scurrying away from it. It was a pale, mirror image of herself. It was her. The body was her. The realisation hit her like a tidal wave.
In her haste to get away from the bloody scene, that was herself, she crashed into the legs of the monster who created the very mess that terrified her.
Fred smiled to himself, his human hand coming down to stroke her shaking head, regarding her like a small, scared child. The sick thrill of it. The hand smoothed the blood-matted curls as a rumbling cackle started building in his chest. The sweet, scared child, lost and alone.
"Wha…what…" Amanda sputtered, confused and frightened by the whole thing. She looked up at the dream demon, her eyes shinning like a lost child seeking salvation.
Freddy broke off from the girl, walking over to the used cadaver. A sick feeling of satisfaction filling him as he pulled the human rag-doll up for display. His clawed fingers digging into the dead scalp to pull up the limp body. It bent against the floor – an impossible image in human flesh. The blind eyes staring out at and mirroring the seeing ones. A gaping chest wound bleeding for the other. Memento Mori in the vivid flesh.
"It's your body babe," he cracked, forcing his hand though the back of the meaty hole. His fingers waving to her, beckoning her.
"Ooooohh," the girl doubled over, the idea of nausea building in her stomach. She heaved, but it was in vain. There was nothing to cure this. No retching that could cleanse her now.
He shrugged, tossing the corpse like the used carcass it was.
Collecting herself the dearly departed dreamer looked up at him again, "Then…then why am I here?"
Fred shrugged again, stalking over toward her, "They must not know where to put you…heaven, hell, up, down, heads, tails," he tossed his hands around at the idea. Stopping before the other he crouched down in front of her, dropping to the level of the kneeling child, and leaning in close to her ear, "I think it's all those naughty thoughts." His hot breath hissed across her cheek before his tongue licked the cold flesh. The lewd beast tasted the blood that covered the living dead girl. Her own blood, that he had made flow. That he had spilt.
She shuddered at the sensation. The dirty feel of that tongue on her body that thrilled and disgusted her, even now.
"There's one of those thoughts now," rising to his feet Kreuger laughed again, but darker and throaty.
Amanda looked up at him again, still awed but strangely daring. The childish fear changing under the erotic tension. Curiosity building. "So…I'm dead?" she bit her bottom lip, dragging it between her teeth as she thought about the question. Visualising the meaning.
He nodded, staring down at her with a new confusion. In a new way, like a new toy. A new game.
Under the guise of freedom at death the shaky girl climbed to her feet. Slowly her eyes scanned up the brown slacks and tattered sweater – sucking in a sharp breath – to rest on the burning orbs of his eyes. Searching them for…something. She tilted her head to the side, "Serve in Heaven or rule in Hell," she spoke the cryptic message in a horse whisper.
Before the Springwood Slasher had a chance to delve into the statement the girl pressed her lips against his scared ones. The boldness surprising her.
He stood there, momentarily stunned by the situation. This had certainly never happened like this before. Fred stared down at the silly girl, her eyes closing in anticipation for a romantic interlude. The dream demon snatched her neck in his good hand, pushing the dead child away from him. Her eyes popping open at the tight force.
"This is my hell," he spat at her, the grip around her throat tightening until it popped, causing her to gurgle. He didn't like anyone playing the power game in his world. Fear and power were his, and he intended to prove that. Though it was doubtful that she would even learn, not like that mattered. "And it's my rules," he hissed. The libidinous tongue snaked out from behind his jagged teeth again, licking at the side of her face, tasting of the spilt blood. Slick, wet slapping against her cheek as he held her there by the grip on her neck.
She shook her mind away from the erotic, concentrating on the painful lack of air reaching her lungs. She made a futile attempt to free herself. Clawing at his hand with her own, scratching into the scares and tendons exposed by the burnt skin.
But the movement of the tongue was unabated by the defences of the young maiden. It stretched and snaked along her, slithering from the metallic taste of her neck to the luscious hole the claw had dug, that had killed her. One cavity bracing both life and death. Pain and Pleasure. It flicked into the torn flesh – lapping at the cannibalistic treat as it borrowed into the soft tissue.
Amanda gasped at the stimulation. It was as if the inner flesh was given the same stimulation as lower parts of her anatomy. Heated lapping. A pleased, haggard breath followed as the girl shuddered against the slippery beast. Her eyes slipping shut.
Fred watched as she writhed under his mutilations. A murky haze veiling his sharp eyes. He would have fun bending her to his will, manipulating the simple flesh. Twisting the girl's very soul. He withdrew his bloodied tongue from her, rolling the taste around in his mouth. The taste an intoxicating metallic. The tangy copper.
Cocking his head to the side, he pondered. A slow, sick smirk slid across his face and with a simple snap the plan unfurled.
Releasing her frail neck two chains sprang from the concrete wall. Moving on the command the lined snakes wrapped themselves around her writs, neck and abdomen: securing her to the wall. The sacrifice was ready.
The pure, sadistic smile split the slasher's face, "much better." The tip of the lewd tongue running across his lips: prey. Defenceless prey.
The girl's eyes had changed during all this. The tingle of pleasure changed to confusion then quickly hardened to terror as the chain tightened around her middle. The hunger in his eyes was far more than she expected, far more sinister. Far more deadly.
"May—" she gagged against the chain around her neck, "Don't," she choked out the plea.
He shook his head, stalking up to her. His gloved hand covered her mouth, the sharp blades digging into the side of her mouth, "shhh." He almost cooed in his raspy voice. One hand still clasped over the girl's mouth, the other travelled to her hair. With a disturbing gentleness Fred felt through the carnage covered hair, searching for the cute, little red ribbons – almost like gaining the trust of a small child, petting her.
"You like Freddy don't you?" his voice almost sounded human. Knowing that captive dead girl wouldn't reply he nodded her head, forcing the movement against restraints; both hers and his.
"Cause Freddy likes you," the voice cracked, the characteristic cackle following.
The girl sobbed and he smiled.
"What's the matter, you liked the game before," his claw moved to cup her face, squeezing to pout out her lips like a pudgy child. He watched her eyes dancing with a fear, forgetting that she was already dead, but knowing pain could still be delivered – much like his pleasure. He laughed again. The dark, foreboding sound. The sound of nightmares.
The dead girl found herself desperately pulling away, at least attempting to. The chain was making it difficult, that and the fact that she hadn't realised the powers of death – the freeness of no physical body. But some people are just too tied to the material world. Freddy knew this – common with all the victims that get stuck around for one last game. His game, of course. Also his rules.
The claw was moving again, unable to stay off the dead body, the cut up child of his amusements. The bladed fingers began up her legs, raising the hem of the nightie up her thigh. Sharp lines leaving deep, bloody trails on the pale flesh, the untouchable area under the skin.
"Stop," she sobbed, feeling the cold steel kiss her inner thigh, her breath hitching in her chest.
"You talk too much bitch," he looked up at her, berating her, "It's ruining the mood." One bladed finger waved in her face, illustrating his displeasure with this. Tisking her behaviour.
As the one hand teased her, the other touched. The bumped and blistered hand slid up the slashed, smooth thigh. Sticky blood coating pale skin, curving from the outer to the inner. Kneading. A rough touch on the gentle region.
Amanda gasped out at the new experience. Neither fear nor pain, but sensation. Heated touch on dead skin. Fingers running on his new domain. Her startled hiss giving him access- not that he wouldn't have just taken it.
The girl's eyes slipped shut and her mouth dropped open. And with a wicked grin Fred replaced his fingers with blades. A dark desire to see blood flow. Her blood.
Her lids flew open, eyes rolling back forward, all colour drained from the vibrant orbs. A violent scream seeking exit from her drawn lips.
The demon licked his own before capturing hers, swallowing the scream for life like the souls he thrived on as she thrashed against his taunt frame. A desperate attempt to keep him away from her, keep him out of her.
With a grunt he thrust his knee against her, pinning her lower half to the concrete wall. Stilling her movements enough to extract the scarlet-soaked glove. Wiping the gore from the steel onto the leg of his pants, he brought it up to the still intact breast. The sharp tips tracing into the mounded flesh, drawing the girl's attention there. Her eyes wide, her head light, the feeling of consciousness slipping away with pain and pleasure as she watched still more red seep from her body.
Taking advantage of her weakness, much like the typical Krueger way to attack the defenceless, he thrust again. And again the maiden cried out, in surprise now. Surprise at the new, hard, sharp stab filling her.
Still swallowing the sound, the snaked tongue battled for territory in her cavernous mouth, growing cold as the movement increased. The girl was slipping away. The killer was reaching release.
The claw crawled up again, tangling its blades in the childhood curls and ribbons, death's blood and butchery. The hand digging into her hip, holding his prey still, forcing her to still.
She writhed.
He bucked.
She shook.
He rammed.
The only living colour left of the girl was the darkening red staining the thin cotton. Her animation draining as his picked up.
His thrusts now only cushioned by the cold, colourless carcass. The only sound a growled groan among steam pipes and fire ovens.
Freddy ripped his claw from the matted hair, clumps still clinging to the serrated edges. He began stroking Amanda's cheek with them. The cool, smooth sides sliding along her face. A moment of pure satiation.
A bright light emulated from the girl. The purple and white dissolving the once animated body into a simple ball of energy. Released. Vanished.
The torn and soiled night dress crumpled to the floor, mirroring the way she had fallen in death – the first time, at the feet of the one who had taken her. A relic of his other twisted night game.
In reality the girl was found leaning over her desk, dead. Another mysterious victim of sleep in a small town. Her slashed body was laid to rest quickly. No investigation, no questions, no comments. No panic. Just another young woman dying in her sleep, common, tragic place. Nothing more, never anything more.
Although the four parallel scratches in the tombstone would suggest otherwise.
A/N: This is after 10 essays, so forgive me on the style.