Disclaimer: New Line Cinema owns everything.

Note: This story is pretty much dead. I just revised it. Some of it is re-written and/or the pacing is different. New title, too, BTW.

Am Dead

Written by detox

CHAPTER ONE - FRESH TURNED STONE

Soot smeared and covered in decay, the boiler room Jane Thompson had quietly entered breathed a sigh of death, weaving rows of smoke in front of her. She had found her way down to the boiler room after a friendly dare, ditching her as she headed in. Jane's stature was that of an impressionable, weak teenager, all the more welcoming. She pounded at the entrance leading back into Springwood High's hallways, it wouldn't budge, but the thought of getting the custodian to help her pushed Jane into the dreary complex. Fred Krueger was mopping up some common charcoal accumulated on the ground, not noticing the girl. Tiring of these mundane chores, he stopped to check if it was punch-out time. Noticing Jane looking helpless from across the dimly lit room, Fred chuckled, and slyly bared his pocket knife. The primary goal to Krueger was to satisfy his thirst at any cost, regardless of repercussions. Jane paced forward, beginning to call for help, "Hello? Mr. Krueger? I need some help unlocking the door, sir. Sir?" The horrid screeching sound of a steel blade scraping across copper pipes quickly silenced her. Fred put his mop slowly on the ground, deciding to further pursue his new found prey. Jane anxiously shuffled her way between two metal shelves with intentions on getting into the stock room. Closing in on the stock room door, the shriek once again sliced the silence in half with its volatile tone. Jane backpedaled towards the stock room door, hoping this is somehow a part of an elaborate prank. Back against the door, she nervously scanned the area for whoever is at the bottom of this. "This isn't funny, you assholes", she exclaimed, and shuddered as drips began to collect on her cheek. Fingering the mysterious liquid with her fingers, she looked upward to find nothing unusual.

Silence. Suddenly, Jane could hear slight ambience. It was tinkling sounds of kid toys, perhaps. Turning around, she began to inspect..

A rat burst from under the doorway, sending a heart-stopping jolt through Jane, and Krueger burst from out of the shadows onto the girl, sending the two into the janitorial stock room; Fred snatched away at Jane's blouse and skirt. Jane tried to get this crazy bastard off her with a barrage of rights and lefts--no luck. Krueger snatched off most of her skirt, and her blouse was torn to pieces. Jane reached back for something--anything to get this man off of her. Her fingers stretched to its full length to grasp a nearby broom stick, but slipped across the wood from her hands' moisture. Trying once again, Fred took notice, and violently punched her in the jaw. Miss Thompson's head lashed backwards onto the concrete with a snap. Krueger angrily heckled, zipping his fly down, and entering Jane. Jane began to weep in shame. Krueger slammed her head against the ground again to hush her cries, continuing to damage and deface her. Her anxiety peaked as her nose began to bleed, mixing with the tears streaming down her face, mascara diluting with the tears, and the blood from the corner of her mouth. Fred finished the deed, still lurched on top of Jane, and jammed the crippling steel of his knife into her lower abdomen. His eyes squinted in anger, "give Marge my regards", he threatened. Pulling himself to his feet, he looked down at his prey in perverse victory. The product of Satan's pumping adrenaline.

"Wait--that was his first? With execution like that, you would think Fred Krueger was a professional at this point", I chimed.

"The first of the Elm Street children cases, yeah. His step-father, before he died, would always ramble at the local bar about how he wanted Freddy to be, but Freddy was into deviant things. He was always a sick human being, if you would even consider him one", Alice offered.

"Why a Thompson? Or did he just go after her because it was convenient?"

"No. Krueger always had a problem with the Thompsons. From what I know, during the 70s.."

Marge Thompson, a lively mid-twenties newlywed, was preparing dinner when she heard a loud clutter next door. Prying apart the blinds, she saw a nimble looking man that was fumbling around in his house. Marge teased her hair quickly, and exited her house to check on her neighbor. Marge was a relative newcomer to the neighborhood, but her husband lived in Springwood since his birth and now worked as a patrolling officer. Her knowledge of the town was low, thus, she tried to get accustomed to it by being, albeit overly, neighborly. Knocking on the door of a modest home, Ted Grudgen, Fred Krueger's redneck "overseer", opened the door with displeasure on his face. "What", he boomed, not taken by Marge's good looks. "Well, I heard a noise, and just wanted to know if everybody was alright", Marge replied. Ted laughed like she was out of her simple mind, and called for "Freddy". The nimble man from before, a creepy man with a harmless figure, stepped to the door. Ted put his arm around Freddy, and said, "this boy here is just a retarded fuck-up that is mad because he lost his knives, that's all." Marge was shocked how rude Ted was not only to Freddy, but to her for using such language. "You look like a pretty lady. Freddy, you go talk to her", and with a shove and quick closing of the door, Freddy Krueger unwillingly stood beside Marge Thompson. Fred's face cringed with anger, but Marge tried to calm him, "Are you okay?" "I'm fine, maim", Freddy warmly responded. Marge continued, "you shouldn't let him treat you like that. You know what? How about you come over for dinner?" Fred nodded as the two headed over to the Thompson house.

After ten minutes of casual talk, dinner was ready. Marge burst from the kitchen into the dining room with two plates in hand. Freddy eagerly wiped his hands, but something caught his eye. Marge's blouse was missing a button, revealing her white lace bra underneath. A sly smirk slid onto Krueger's face as Marge moved towards Freddy with an almost hypnotic style of walking. She placed his plate down in front of him as she quickly rounded the table to sit down. "Fred, would you mind saying grace?" Freddy's mind hit a roadblock. "I'm sorry, I have a slight cold, perhaps you could do it? It would only make this wonderful meal right if this food be blessed by the beautiful woman that made it", Fred smiled, hiding his disgust of grace. As Marge closed her eyes to bless the table, sinful thoughts raced through Krueger's mind. Under the lens of Freddy's mind's eye, he wanted to get his razor glove and cut Marge into four equal pieces to enjoy on occasion. Freddy began to slide his fork into his sleeve, and pulled bailing string out of his pocket. He tied the fork to the top of his hand, in case he couldn't hold himself.

"Dear lord, we ask you to bless.."

Her legs for the feel of her perfection.

"..this food.."

her lower torso to taste the devil's fruit.

"..our daily bread.."

The upper torso to reveal her heart, and devour her breasts.

"We ask this, lord Jesus.."

And the head. The bearer of emotion.

"...Amen."

Marge's head rose only to see Freddy across the table, demonic stare in tow, but tried to pass it off, "silly you, Fred." He didn't flinch. "What's the matter", she asked. Marge stood up, she didn't know this man very well, and realized the error of her ways. "Stop it, you're scaring me", she said. Freddy slowly stood, and devilishly chuckled. Marge began to threaten him, "if you harm me, I will have you thrown right in jail! My husband is a police off--" Freddy climbed over the table as Marge tried to run. Krueger gave chase as Marge ran up the stairs. Freddy tripped her right foot, allowing her to fall face first on the wood steps. Freddy flipped her over, and spit on her face as Marge began to yell and attempted to break free. Freddy snatched her bra off, exposing her perfect, round breasts. Marge silenced herself, awaiting an opening to get away. Freddy licked her left breast, but Marge thanked him with a kick to the crouch. Freddy tried to bear the pain. Backing off, he sliced Marge across the wrist with his glove. Krueger leaned over her again, as their faces were a mere matter of centimeters away. Marge tried to plead with him, "please, don't kill me! I'm only 27, and I'm pregnant. Oh, God.." She began to weep, but Freddy answered her, "you tell anyone about this, and I'll be back to kill you."

I had to ask, thus, I did, "Alice, how do you know all of this?"

"I don't think we're ready for that one, yet", she responded, and she was right--at the time. "Anyway, Marge Thompson was a drunk ever since. It became so bad she got a divorce, and lived with her daughter until her death."

"Now I know why Krueger is hated so much, but what does the house have to do with anything?"

It was getting late in the night, and Alice had to tend to her kid. Therefore, Alice had to pull the plug, stating, "we'll get to that tomorrow. Right now, get some sleep. If my schedule is clear, I'll head down to Springwood myself. I have faith I can deal with it now."

"Deal with what", I asked.

Alice paused, then responded, "nothing. Have a good night, Tina."

"You, too. See you later", I said.

I hung up the phone, but the thought and vision of Fred Krueger had totally infiltrated my mind. Yet, I didn't envision some nimble man, the Krueger in my vision was horribly burned or deformed. His attire was pretty dirty. "You do need some sleep", I thought to myself, and I sure did.

I hated Springwood. It was intensely quiet. Or maybe just around us, I guess. We had moved onto Elm Street the May of 1994, and boy, did I hate it. Ohio wasn't my state, at all, but my social workers suggested that my baby and I would be better off in a new environment. Peering out the window, looking at passing Springwood locales, I immediately thought this was going to be hell. As my worker, Louis, turned onto Elm Street, one house stood out from the others. A dilapidated house loomed behind a tree, striking a chord in me with its deteriorating foundation, an almost brooding sense of danger. "Weird house", I muttered, still astonished at the property. "It's weird, alright. That house is this town's 'haunted house'. I hear the locals are arguing whether to knock it down or keep it up for some sort of historical project", Louis said, driving without any visual emotion. He pulled the car into the driveway of my new residence. Nothing spectacular, just a modest house, but what was spectacular was how happy my new foster parent looked while standing in front of his screen door. Confidently stepping out, he opened his arms as I willingly hugged him. "Hell, he provides me and my baby shelter, might as well be grateful", I thought. He let go as Louis handed me my baby. Louis shook his hand, and sealed the deal with, "I hope this works out. Tina has really toughed it out, looking for a home." "Oh, she'll be fine", the happiness in the guy's face remained unscathed as he responded.

Later that evening, the two sat across a small kitchen table. I worked some of my Kraft Macaroni and Cheese as I clutched my daughter, questioning how content we'll be with this temporary "new life" gig. The man, Henry K. Aerth, looked up from his plate, and noticed my inactivity. Not wanting to totally bore me on the first day, I guess, he offered me some entertainment, "Uh, if you want, I could put on the radio, okay? Maybe a little..", he stopped to think of the current popular acts, "Pearl Jam? Nirvana? How about some of that Dr. Dre guy?"

I chuckled; music wasn't really going to do much for me. "No, that'll be alright." Then I, myself, started to search for some conversation. I thought over what Louis said about the haunted house. It wasn't the most thrilling subject in the world, but it might make for some good filler discussion. "I noticed some house down the street, about half a block from here." Henry's mouth stopped, slightly open, as he halted his chewing of Mac and cheese. He looked down; he was trying to shield me from something I shouldn't look into, "Just some kids spreading rumors. Been going on for about 15, 20 years." Henry leaned forward, with an all-business look. "I don't care what anybody tells you, that house is nothing to worry about. Just..Just forget about it." With a few shakes of the head, and picking up of his fork, he continued eating but at a faster pace. He quickly finished, and wiped the crumbs off his face. Getting up, he paced into the living room. Yet, he stopped and turned towards me, and informed me that he was going to the weekly town meeting.

My boredom arose once again, but it hit me--I'm 17, have a permit, and this new guy is nice. So, I made Henry an offer he could refuse, but probably wouldn't. "May I borrow your car? I need to pick up some diapers." Truth be told, I just wanted to drive around to get my mind off things, and I guess he caught the hint by following my offer with a "sure". He continued, "just be back before 7:30, I have to be at the meeting at eight o' clock, okay?" I nodded, now out of the door. Stepping out of the house, I looked up into the late afternoon sky of Springwood. So relaxing, yet the town had given me this off-set vibe. I climbed into Henry's car, and started it up with ease. Henry watched me from the screen door; his expression one of worry, but he smiled and waved just in time for me to barely notice his worry. I backed out of the driveway, heading for Springwood's "shopping area".

As I entered the town's main shopping district, I couldn't help but compare it with a faceless town where everyone is over 69, sits on their front porch until dusk, and have too many season-specific decorations on their houses. Springwood was a ghost town. My thoughts became a broken record, "Springwood is a ghost town." Yet, I somehow felt like I could relate with the main struggle. Except, I didn't know what the main struggle was, but I felt it in my soul that I could relate--somehow--with the residents' struggle. I parked in front of Roy's Pharmacy, and entered the building with low expectations of seeing such rare things as "people" inside. I was right, but the cashier looked surprisingly lively, young, and even cute when I passed him. Getting only a passing glance as he lowered a Guitar Player magazine to see who I was, I could immediately tell his first-hand impression was mutual. Or so I hoped. I walked down a few of the aisles, looking for the diapers, when a voice nearly gave me a jolt that would rival a gun shot to the clitoris. "Sale on diapers!!!" It was the cashier, laughing at my lack of aisle mobility. "I'm kidding. You can just bring that up here." I followed his suggestion, lugging a pack of Pampers onto the counter. "That'll be..uh.." As he tapped away at the register, I took advantage of finally being able to see all of his face. "Shit, the register must be on the rag or something. You can just give me a 5'er, and I'll handle the rest, alright?" Our eyes connected as I slid the five across the counter. "Hey, did you just move in on Elm Street", he asked. I nodded.

"Well, welcome to hell", a cocky grin ensued as we shared a quick chuckle. "Anyway, my name is Kelly During, but you can just call me 'Rez'."

"Okay, sure. I'm Tina, but I guess you already knew. Seeing how small this town is."

"Actually, everybody has been keeping to themselves since Fred--Nevermind. You probably already know about that bullshit. Whatever the case, I live two houses down across the street. Or I'll just stop by at your place."

"Wait, Fred who?"

"Just forget about it."

Somewhere in Heaven, God must've planned a lot of apparent opportunities for me to ditch my curiosity, but I egged on, "does it have something to do with that old house on Elm Street?" Rez began nervously flicking the tip of his nose, looking away, but pulled a card from his right pocket. "If you want to know all about that stuff, then..", he handed the card to me, on the front was his phone number, and on the back was somebody else's, "..here. That number on the back is a close friend of mine named Alice. She knows all about it, but I don't think you'd want to hear it. It's just--". He stopped, shaking his head while descending into deep thought. I eyed the card until he halted his train of thought, and sighed once again, "Give me a call sometime, okay?"

"I will, thanks."

And with that, I exited the store.

During the ride home I didn't really think about what "Rez" and I were talking about. His words, and the mysterious house took a cozy seat in the back of my mind amongst fellow sublime. I did, however, noticed that nightfall was here as the moon rose over Springwood, and the town's creepiness factor took a big jump. Deserted and weather-beaten store fronts and homes were awash in the blur made by Henry's car as I approached 60 miles per hour, the time approaching 7:35. Pulling into his driveway, he busily burst from the front screen door, "I thought I told you before 7:30? Jesus Christ, I was worried sick!" "I'm really sorry. How about I just drop you off?" I was sorry. The guy had been the male personification of Mary Poppins for the most part, and I didn't want to snatch his smile. So, I did the honorable thing, and drove him to the town meeting. Unfortunately, my daughter cried her eyes out during the car ride due to the horrid musical drivel known as..Garth Brooks. Henry had asked me to go home and comfort the baby, but then Rez's words moved from the back of my mind to the forefront as I wanted to see if the town was still debating over that spooky house. After a few attempts, Henry gave in and let me sit in on the meeting.

Numerous citizens sat inside the confines of an old cafe, gutted out due to some bad history and change of ownership. Judging from solely the emotions running in the room, I could tell this was the town's main forum and get-together. An older man, in his late 50s perhaps, stood behind a podium put at the far end of the room, he straightened his notes, and began to speak, "Citizens of Springwood, I would like to welcome you to our weekly town meeting for May 25th, 1994. The first order of business is the Krueger house." The room burst with yelling, encouragement, and profanities. The man pushed on, "our local government is against the turning of it into a tourist attraction, and hell, so should all of you. That son of a bitch, Fred Krueger, destroyed our town! Destroyed our children!" I turned to Henry, who seemed to show little emotion at any of this, a strong contrast between him and everybody else in the room. A yuppie motioned for the crowd to quiet down, but this only allowed time for him to speak, "If we get the Krueger house on 1428 Elm Street turned into an attraction, maybe this town won't be some joke. We had a strong economy before the Krueger crimes, and with the help of capitalizing on it we'll be able to give Springwood new life!" Half of the crowd agreed. The other half wanted this kid to be struck with head trauma. As the meeting pushed on, I became familiar with the name "Fred Krueger", his connection to the house, and how the town's teenage population was almost completely wiped out.

Later, on the ride home, Henry finally let his emotions show. His face was tinged with frustration and grief, and it was apparent that he wanted to let it out but didn't. All of the ride back involved him shaking his head, pointing at the window, and quickly halting himself before saying what he wanted to. I, myself, was surprised how much this Krueger guy heavily affected the town.

When we got home, I took the baby upstairs to put her to sleep, and retraced my "to-do's" in my head. Not much was recollected, but what was remembered was a promised call to Rez. Thusly, I took off my jacket, and pulled the card with his number out. I dialed the number, prepared for a typical conversation. 2 and 3/4ths of a ring later, Kelly also known as "Rez" picked up.

"Hello?"

"Rez, it's Tina. Remember? From the pharmacy earlier?"

"Oh. Hey, what's up?"

"Not much outside of the town meeting."

Rez sighed. "Is your curiosity cured?"

"Not really. I don't understand how this Krueger guy could become such a controlling figure after his death, I mean--"

"Small towns always have some fucked up issue they can't let go of. Unfortunately for everybody, Springwood hasn't gotten over Fred Krueger in the slightest."

"I want to go to that house."

Rez burst with nervous laughter. "You're kidding, right? It's all smoke and mirrors. This town has tried to milk Krueger's rep for tourism boosts."

"Maybe I should talk to Alice."

"No. You've heard enough, Tina. Trust me."

In perhaps bad taste, I faked that something had came up, and that I had to go. When I hung up the phone, I immediately picked it back up to call Alice. The line was busy. "Hey, are you alright?" I jumped out my damn socks as I turned around to see Henry, holding a stack of pillows with a cup of milk on top. I smiled and replied, "Yeah. Thanks." He nodded as he backed out of my room, closing the door, but he came back in as I tried to hide the phone behind my back. "If any kid around here tells you about what you heard at the meeting, don't worry, it's all lies. Okay?" He grinned with a false sense of assurance that I immediately picked up.

"Okay." Finally inviting himself to get out, I quickly dialed Alice's number. A polite voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Alice?"

"Yes."

"My name is Tina. Uh, Rez suggested I get in touch with you about this Fred Krueger guy--"

Alice interrupted with a tone of fear, "Freddy Krueger? My god, it's been years since I've talked about it."

"I'm sorry if I'm picking old wounds."

"No. No, it's no problem at all, I just didn't expect anyone outside of Springwood to care much about it."

"What were the 'Springwood Slasher crimes'? What happened?"

"Well...", a reluctant sigh ensued but Alice continued, "fine, I'll tell you.."

Alice told me what she knew with excruciating detail as I mentally recorded everything as much as possible. Later that night, loud, abrasive shrills of metal slicing against metal entered my ears with thunderous force as I immediately picked up a headache from the sounds. The environment around me began to violently shake as I stumbled to the ground, awakening. I instantly sat up, but the headache was still there. I placed my hands on my head, trying to take the pain as best I could, but then I felt it. Blood slowly rolled out of my right ear as I felt the liquid on my hand. I looked down in horror as I saw the blood. Earlier, I said God gave my tons of chances to get rid of my curiosity. This was one of first callings to wage war on the target of my curiosity. At that moment, I decided to drench myself in the life and crimes of Fred Krueger.

Awakening with the aid of Smashing Pumpkins' "Disarm", blaring from an annoying alarm equipped radio, my eyes snapped open with every intention of scratching this intriguing itch. Little else to do in such a town, outside of drowning myself in the monotony that found its way into Springwood after Fred Krueger. I sat up, curiosity still buzzing, and just wanted to have a clear answer why. "God may work in mysterious ways, but hopefully these citizens won't", I thought. As quickly as I found myself once again compelled to find more, Henry stood in my doorway, gripping a breakfast tray with a welcoming grin in tow. "Good morning. I made you breakfast." I instinctively nodded at him, not really caring. Somehow, we both read through the facades in which we easily presented. I could tell he was privy of what I was doing, but the feeling was mutual. The question was: how privy? "I don't want to seem so strict on just the second day, Tina, but..", he slowly placed the tray on a nearby night stand, "I'm sorry to say that I can't allow you to be on the phone after 7:30."

"Is this about what was being talked about at the town meeting?"


"Yes, Tina. Yes. That's something you should not, under any circumstances, look into. A lot of lives were lost, so just--", Henry caught a hold of himself mid-rant. Instead of squashing my ambitions of learning more, he fueled it. Yet, the sliver of emotion that he showed definitely hinted at a bigger picture. Shortly after, we came to an agreement on the phone deal, and set other rules in order to basically prevent me from doing much outside the house. 10:00 curfews and such.

Ah, rules and regulations, those little slices of death, how I loathe them.