Title: The Horrors of Springwood High
Synopsis: Even serial killers had crushes, acne and rode the school bus. Even serial killers hit puberty. Even serial killers are 16 for 365 days. Even Freddy Krueger dealt with the horrors of high school...
Rated: T for mature theme, mild language and reference to violence.
September 1954
Chapter One
Sixteen year old Freddy Charles Krueger pummeled his locker with a clenched fist, hearing the click as it shut tight. He joined the colossal traffic jam of rushing, bustling high school students like himself, in a hurry to learn. His eyes swept to every nook, cranny and corner where couples canoodled, never taking a breath during their saliva exchanging lip lock. He had never been half of a couple before and doubted he would ever be. Oh no, he wasn't an unattractive adolescent…light hair, a fair complexion, wide blue eyes and tall for his age. It was his personality that frightened the compatible ladies away.
Only one thought struck his mind when he thought of pretty girls and ideal couples.
"I have to be partners with that creep?" Catty Harrison had squawked and then groaned when the teacher paired her up with Freddy for an assignment. Was he a creep, the bawdy kind that looks under girl's sundresses? No, but no one knew of his hobby that took place in the privacy of his basement. The way he trapped the petrified rodents and watched as their life was slowly squeezed from their beady eyes, their solar plexus snapped in half. No one dare know about that.
"Hey Freddy!" His older foster brother (fortunately, no blood relation) Jake, king of the upper senior class, struck the scrawnier boy across the shoulder. "Check this out," he slapped a Playboy magazine down in front of Freddy, "look at this girl's rack!" He pointed to the nude girl with the glistening skin draped across the glossy front cover. The brunette he thought, was beautiful. But he would never tell Jake that, who could only appreciate a tiny waist and bodacious curves.
Freddy swallowed his dry throat. Jake was a sleaze ball, which must have been in his genetics, as he got this degrading attitude from his single father who on and off brought repulsive whores home, every other night.
"Look at it!" Jake insisted. "You're telling me you've never seen a naked chick before?" He asked with such disbelief. "Let me guess Krueger, you've never even kissed a girl…have you?" He laughed cockily. He had earned the womanizer reputation he'd so desperately yearned for. Most lost girls still fell for the football quarterback.
"Sure I have." Freddy lied. Jake laughed again, and cracked his knuckles menacingly before slugging Freddy on the shoulder.
"You have a morbid thing with women don't you little guy? I mean you stabbed your ma in the leg, am I correct?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Freddy tensed at the mention of his mother. He decided not to say anything to this at all, because the boy was correct. He had wounded when he was only weeks shy of his 12th birthday, five years ago.
"Come on Krueger, I'm your big bro, tell me. You like any girls?" He interrogated, looking for extra excuses to pick on the boy. "If you don't answer, be prepared for a knuckle sandwich."
You're not my real brother. I have no siblings, I never will.
Fist met shoulder once again, the cartilage making a sickening crunch. Freddy reached up and rubbed his sore shoulder in instinct.
"Come on little bro," Punch, "tell me the truth." This time he ruffled Freddy's short and tidy haircut.
"Stop." Freddy mumbled quietly, his voice low compared to the cocky football player.
"What? Ya don't like that?" His voice slurred heavily. This time, he grabbed a handful of the young teenager's hair and yanked with all his strength.
"Stop." Freddy hissed, more ominous, more dangerous.
"You smitten with anyone?" He nagged, his mouth twisted in a crooked smirk. Jake pummeling him over and over on the tender skin of his sore shoulder, where it felt raw and ached intolerably.
Jake's fair, masculine features were a blur in Freddy's head. A blur of whirlwind voices and faces, he even heard his teachers and foster parent's angry insults.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" He shouted as loudly as he could and the luxurious moans from his foster father's bedroom abruptly subsided . His reflexes kicked in, and he grabbed Jake by his meaty fist and twisted his arm backwards. Jake howled in agony.
"You little bugger!" He hissed, wincing with pain. "I asked you a simple question and-"
"No, I don't." This was another lie- he did like somebody. But she was more than just a somebody, a face in the crowd…her name was Gabriella and she was an eleventh grader like himself. She wasn't like the other arrogant girls, nor was she as beautiful but she was pretty in her own natural air. Pale skin and light brown hair, a light coating of ginger freckles tumbling across her snub nose.
Jake still rubbing his arm, slunk out of the kitchen, passing another's entrance whowas on her way in. It was a blonde woman who had been Harold's (his foster father) partner that night.
Her curls were mussed and her hot pink lipstick faded and smeared across her upper lip. She wore one of Harold's ratty terry cloth bathrobes around her curvaceous figure. It dipped at the front, cleavage peek-a-booing from the crevice.
"Hiya sweetie," she drawled in a thick Southern accent, "and who might you be?" Well, definitely not related to that Harold character you just slept with...that guy with the beer belly and two weeks worth of stubble, Freddy decided not to say this thought aloud. Instead, he wondered what it would be like to sleep with such a large breasted woman, or rather anyone at all.
"Freddy." He spoke softly. A sliver of her plunging cleavage could be seen from the peak of the robe. What would it be like burying a knife deep in that chest?
"Freddy? I'm Karla Coleman." He shook her slender hand in his. Red polish glistened on the acrylic nails, which seemed tacky. "Where's your bathroom?" She asked him, piling her locks on top of her head.
It was a small, small house that reeked of cabbage and death. It wasn't hard to find the bathroom, aside from the two bedrooms.
"Over there." He pointed to the location, his voice was low and almost intimidating. She nodded and smiled her thanks. For a second, she lingered…reached a hand forward as if to touch his chest, but thought better of it.
When she made the journey from bathroom to Harold's bedroom with it's strong odor of stale beer, he heard her voice before she shut the door behind her.
"What's with that kid, Harold?"
What was with him?
It took him minutes to get comfortable in his bed where the springs dug into his back and his long legs ran right off the end of the mattress. He often took turns with Jake, they alternated rooms. One night Jake would occupy the living room pull out sofa which was lumpy and in even worse condition than the mattress, and the next night Freddy would.
He dreamt terrible images that night. He dreamt he was stroking Karla Coleman's naked body and ended with her guiding him to a room covered in photos and newspaper clippings. She then abandoned him, and the next thing he knew objects were being tossed through the small window on fire, and set the rest of the room ablaze. He could smell blood and burning flesh. He could practically taste the sharp tang of fear and feel the lick of the flames.
He woke up, sweating and panting.