Chapter 3

"Aww…do I have to go to bed?" Patrick whined. Their father was working late tonight and that left Morgan to play the reluctant babysitter. She didn't understand why her father, a police officer, had to work more hours. It wasn't like there was a lot of crime in Springwood. In fact there wasn't any crime in Springwood - that was the creepy part. How could a small suburbia be that perfect? It reminded Morgan of the kind of neighborhoods that were pictured in old black and white 50's TV shows, like Leave It to Beaver.

"Yeah you do," Morgan replied impatiently. She pulled the covers over Patrick's chest and went to turn off the light.

"No don't!" Patrick protested. Fear in his eyes.

"What now?" Morgan glared.

"I'm afraid of the dark." Patrick said sheepishly.

"Give me a break..." Morgan muttered under her breath and turned the lamp back on. She closed Patrick's door and walked down the hall to her own room. She sat down on her bed and gazed at the digital clock on her bed stand. It was still only 10:00. Put she had to start getting used to going to bed early. She was not a morning person to say the least. Morgan sighed heavily and flung herself into bed, burying her body deep beneath the warmth of fresh sheets and blankets.

"Morgan…" someone whispered softly in her ear, "Morgan…"

Morgan stumbled out of bed, the voice sending shivers up her spine. She unlocked her bedroom door and stood at the top of the staircase peering down into a black abyss.

"Come downstairs." the voice called to her. A chilling wind surrounded her, blowing her hair backwards, away from her face. Morgan's brain was screaming at her not to walk down the stairs, but her curiosity got the best of her, going against all her better judgment. Morgan tightly clutched the railing and cautiously took step after step down the staircase. Her heart was beating fiercely against her chest when the voice spoke to her again, "Open the front door, and go outside." Morgan's hands shook violently as she turned the doorknob and pushed the door outward. The freezing air once again smothered her as she stepped out onto the front stairs. A cloaked figure stood perfectly still in the center of the lawn, its' face completely hidden from underneath the hood. Slowly, the figure's pale white arms lifted back the hood, revealing the beautiful face of Morgan's mother, Isabelle. Her long, wavy brown hair fell in loose ringlets past her shoulders and her gray eyes were filled with love and adoration.

"No….this can't be happening." Morgan felt her lungs constrict. It was suddenly very difficult for her breathe.

"Come, give your mother a hug," her mother whispered gently. Morgan couldn't move. It was impossible. Her mother had been dead since she was seven. Her mother…the blood… the blood all over the place…seeing all of that at such a young age. As Morgan stared at her mother she noticed a thick, crimson liquid flow down the woman's arms. Huge knife gashes appeared on her boney arms and liquid gushed forth, collecting in a pool around her feet. Morgan's eyes widened as she unleashed a blood curdling scream.

"What's wrong honey, you didn't forget about my little accident did you?" Her mother's voice had drastically changed from comforting and gentle to cruel and demonic.

"This isn't real! It's just a dream!" Morgan shrieked. Suddenly, the image of her mother disappeared and Morgan felt utterly alone. Her breathing slowed as she cautiously took a few steps out to the front yard. Morgan closed her eyes and let out a small sigh of relief. She ran her fingers roughly through her hair, trying harder than ever to erase the image of her bleeding mother from her memory.

"Awww…what's wrong Morgan? Miss your mommy?" A deep, sinister voice laughed. Morgan whirled around to face expecting to see another disturbing image, yet to her surprise no one was there. She didn't want to wait around and meet this person. She started towards her house when someone grabbed her roughly from behind. A blur of red and green darted past her eyes and her head smacked against the person's chest. She saw the striped red and green from the corner of her eye and realized it was the man's shirt. Morgan felt a hard pressure on her neck. The man's left arm was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, keeping her from escaping. The man walked leisurely in front of her, keeping a tight grip on the back of her neck. What Morgan saw made her want to scream more than anything else in the world. The man had horrible third degree burns on every inch of his body. He wore an old brown fedora and a tattered red and green striped sweater. On his right hand was an old, brown working glove with four sharp razors attached at the fingers. He smiled at her and it made a tremor run through her body.

"I know you…you're the man I keep seeing in my head…"

"Well, aren't you just the smart schoolgirl. Good; killing the junkie dumb blondes just gets boring after awhile," He grinned at her flashing sharp but disgusting looking teeth.

"Who are you and what the hell do you want?" She glared up at him.

"Oh and feisty too, I like that," He traced her cheek with the blade attached to his pointer finger. He trailed the cold metal down her neck and grazed the skin below her collarbone. Blood slowly oozed down her white night gown. He seemed to take great pleasure in the fact she had screamed in fright when he cut her. Pure and utter panic raced through Morgan mind. She couldn't stop and think. Her basic instinct was to run. She tore away from his grip and ran as fast as she could to the front door step. She jiggled the door handle but it was locked. "NO!" She screamed, "DAD! PATRICK! OPEN THE DOOR, PLEASE!" She could hear his voice laughing hysterically from behind.

"Oh yes, I love it when they scream," he laughed.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" She screamed in hysterics as she heard his footsteps come closer and closer to her.

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" she shrieked. Suddenly out of nowhere he was beside her. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her roughly to his chest. He pulled her hair back so that she was forced to look up at him.

"Now you listen to me you little bitch," he growled in her ear, "I've searched too long to find you. It's because of you that I could enter your dreams. Your powers are bringing me back. "

"What powers? I don't have any powers," Morgan muttered.

"Oh but that's where your wrong. It's because of you that I've returned. You remembered me and you brought me back. I guess I should be thanking you shouldn't I?" he chuckled. He let go of her hair and turned Morgan around to face him. He stared at her and grinned in a strange perverted yet sadistic way. From his eyes, Morgan could tell he wasn't focusing on her face, but on her well developed chest. Morgan felt his hot breath on her, his face merely centimeters away from her face. Morgan's eyes widened and she turned her head away. Suddenly, she felt something warm and wet on the side of her face. She screamed in horror and disgust as she saw his long tongue licking her left cheek. She couldn't hit him or pull away – he had her in a tight death like grip.

"I always had a thing for virgins." He laughed. "Now Morgan, you be a good little girl and tell your friends that Freddy Krueger said hello and he'll be seeing them real soon."

Morgan screamed even louder and struggled violently in his grip. She closed her eyes tightly and could hear his laughter echoing in her ears.

Morgan woke up abruptly in bed. She was drenched in sweat and was gasping for air. Her digital clock read 5:00 a.m. Morgan sighed in relief. It was only a dream, there was no crazy killer named Freddy Krueger. Just as she was about to go back to sleep, she felt something warm and moist on the side of her face. A long, gooey trail of saliva came off on her fingertips. She looked at it for a few minutes in disbelief before the realization entered her mind. And when it did, she couldn't stop screaming.