Disclaimers, ratings, name, etc can be found in prologue.

Author's Notes: Trick or Treat! First trick! Keep your eyes peeled, I plan on trying to update everyday straight to Halloween - things are going to start moving real fast here on out.

More warnings…

WARNING: BAD LANGUAGE

WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/GORE

WARNING: DISTURBING IMAGERY

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Chapter 20

Disher's legs kicked effortlessly and he opened his eyes, licking his lips. Man was it hot. It had to be well over a hundred degrees. He found his body was soaked in perspiration. He moaned. Shit, was he getting a fever? He sat up, scratching the back of his soaked scalp. How did it get so hot?

TWANG!

A frown formed, "What the fuck…"

He looked around, wondering what he had just heard. No one was around. Were his band mates fucking with him? He cleared his throat, "Chris? Kevin? You guys out there?"

No answer.

"Come on guys, don't mess around with me, all right? I'm not in the mood."

Once again, no answer. Disher sighed and rose to his feet.

TWANG!

He cursed and looked around again, wildly this time, trying to locate the source of the sound. His vision eventually landed on his metal guitar. Two of the cords had broken, snapped in half. His eyes narrowed as he approached it, how had that happened? Had they been cut?

He got closer and could tell the base of the instrument was beaded with water. The two busted strings appeared as if they hadn't been cut but melted. His forehead crinkled, that was impossible. It couldn't get hot enough to do that. Heck, even cutting them seemed far-fetched as it was a bit of a challenge to gnaw through the thick metal coils.

Then he heard a sound above him. He looked up at the catwalk to see no one there. He could have sworn he heard footsteps up there, someone walking across the metal grating. He tried to focus but it was so hard in the blazing heat that was engulfing the room, the very air thick and hard to breathe.

Scrreeeechhhh!

Disher froze, eyes widening in fear. He knew that sound, it was prevalent in his nightmares. The ones that featured him. His head tossed from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of Freddy but he was no where in sight.

"If anyone's out there, just come on out!" Disher bellowed. He looked up at that catwalk again. It was shaking slightly and he thought he saw something on one of the pipes above.

He strained his eyes and could make out light scratches marks marring the metal. He swallowed, "Oh shit…"

He turned, ready to run only to come face to face with Freddy, who cocked his head to one side. Disher let out a loud scream and backed up as Freddy chuckled, not advancing.

Instead he looked down at the guitar at his feet. There was a rapid set of loud twangs as the rest of the cords on the guitar broke and came loose, unraveling, freeing themselves from the base of the instrument.

Disher was shaking his head vehemently, "N- no, look, look, you - you stay- stay the fuck away from me, all right!? Just back the fuck off…don't - don't make me hurt you…"

Freddy tossed back his head and laughed, "You should be proud, Disher, you get the honor of being the first."

"F - First?"

"First of my children," Freddy purred, "It's been so long since I've done this, so you'll have to excuse me if things get a little…sloppy."

Disher turned, starting to run but the guitar cords flew after him, wrapping around his neck. He gagged, hands going to his throat, trying to pull the coils away but they merely grew tighter, digging into the skin.

Freddy sighed, contemplating aloud, "In the beginning I was very methodical. Gut a Springwood brat, move on to the next but recently I've found myself being over the top, infatuated with torture and jokes. I've been thinking of changing again. Reverting back to my old methods. As the first, I'd like your opinion."

His eyes slowly rose upwards and the cords, under his mental command, followed his eye movement, rising upwards, wrapping around the catwalk railing above. Disher began coughing, sputtering as the cords formed a noose around his neck and started to lift him into the air, choking him. Freddy was next to his side in a flash, "So what do you say? Quick and vicious or slow and entertaining?"

Disher merely gurgled, his eyes bulging, face red, fingers clawed, still struggling with the guitar strings that were slowly killing him. Freddy laughed, "Or maybe a little bit of both is in order, hmm?"

The cords began to reel in upwards, tugging Disher higher into the air. Disher's feet dangled above the ground, toe tips bearly brushing the surface of the stage. He let out a rattling gasp, tears leaking out of his eyes. Freddy eased near his ear, "That's what's wrong with you musicians today. You can't just listen to the music, you have to feel it."

Freddy looked at the boy and watched with overwhelming joy as he began shaking his head vehemently, pleading for his life. He let out another laugh and jerked his head upwards violently, causing the cords to react, tugging upwards higher, harder, more tightly, quickly pulling Disher into the air.

He let out a cry as they constricted roughly around his throat, the last of his oxygen cut off, his neck snapping slightly under the pressure. His whole body struggled a few moments, limbs flapping with a twinge of the death nerve then stopping, feet bowing downwards, pointing towards the ground.

Freddy looked up at his masterpiece, felt a fresh new soul slip into his charred body and laughed. He was back and boy did it feel good.

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"Man, you - like- see Disher anywhere, man?"

"Nah, I don't know where he's gone off to."

"Dude! We - like - have to play in - like - five minutes, dude."

"I know, man, we'll just have to go ahead."

"But we need Disher, Chris, he's – like - the lead singer."

"I know Kev, but we'll just have to make do. Maybe he's off taking a shit or smoking herb or banging a chick, you know how he is. If he hears the opening chords of our song, he'll come running no matter where he is and you know he'll hear it because the sound system here rules! People in Tokyo'll probably hear us."

"You're right, dude, and, - like, - the show must go on or some junk - like - that."

"Right on!" Chris laughed and the two high fived. They grabbed their instruments and set up quickly. The techno music outside the curtain ended and a voice announced the band was ready to perform. Howls and applause filled the air.

The two boys were nervous but ready, confident their leading player would show. But just as the curtain was about to part something wet dropped onto Kevin's shoulder. He frowned and reached up, touching it. It was some sticky substance. He ran it between his fingers and looked upwards, wanting to see where it came from.

He let out a loud scream of terror as the curtains parted. Paige, who had her eyes fixed on the stage, saw exactly what Kevin did and released an ear splitting screech. Hanging high above the center stage from the catwalk was Paul Disher's body, guitar cords wrapped so tightly around his throat that blood had trickled out of his mouth.

Suddenly, those knocked out from too much drinks, drugs, and fun in the back began screaming. Blood burst into the air in fresh sprays as the sleeping people began being butchered. Alice and Maggie both leapt up, simultaneously saying loudly, "FREDDY!"

The two women turned, facing each other, both opened mouthed and wide-eyed. Will too was shocked and slowly rose, looking from woman to woman, asking aloud, "You two both know about Freddy?"

Samara had all ready risen and had backed away from the group. So all the prey was finally together in one place. Meeting for the first time. It was almost poetic. As was the blood and hunks of flesh that were flying through the air. The club had become a frantic mad house, screaming, hysterical people running for their lives.

The exits were jammed, some unfortunate souls even being trampled under foot. Samara looked around, not able to take in all the sights and sounds. It was amazing. Wonderful. She had never seen anything like it. So much terror, so much death, so much panic. She was in complete awe.

Freddy was moving quickly through the crowds like an invisible monster, tearing through whatever sleeping individual was in his path. It was a massacre. Samara's white gown was liberally coated in fresh blood and she ran her hands over it, blinking. And for the first time that she could remember, it was hard not to smile.