Chapter 4

This chapter contains coarse language and violence. Again, stay out of this section of if you can not handle the topic. Please read and review.

-Michelle

Freddy Krueger had done it. He had done what he longed to do for several days now. He had beat Her. It had taken several attempts, but now there he stood in a sophisticated posture, a single blade poised underneath his chin in deep thought of how he was going to utterly torture his newest victim. The young 10-12 year old girl was pressed up against the wall, trembling and quivering rapidly. Her eyes were full of wonder and fright.

"Please, sir," she pleaded.

"Me sir?" Freddy cackled manically, sharpening his blades on some sort of peculiar object. "In your dreams!"

"Yeah, that's right," the girl squeaked. "In my dreams. I'm only dreaming, aren't I?"

Freddy nodded and replied bluntly, "Sure thing."

"So that means I'm going to wake up to the smell of my mommy's Sunday morning breakfast," the girl replied cheerfully, her voice still edged with uneasiness.

"Right. Well, little girl, you better make sure that your mommy isn't decapitated and her Sunday morning breakfast isn't all maggots!" Freddy roared with hysterical laughter.

The girl erupted into piercing shrieks of fear. "Mommy! I want to wake up now, sir, please."

"Oh sure. Just let me take care of a little business and you'll be all set to go." Freddy edged towards the startled little girl, clicking his blades threateningly. As he walked towards the girl, her hollering and pleading for forgiveness for whatever she had done to deserve this, did not cause Freddy to feel even a tiny wince of pain for her, nor guilt, nor any bit of sorrow. He just kept on waltzing towards her, her eerie shrills just going through one ear and out the other.

Just as freddy reached the young hopeless girl, four deep scratch marks formed across her face, as if four invisible blades had slashed her out of nowhere. The girl let out a yelp, her wounds causing her a great deal of stinging pain.

Freddy cursed aloud, stomping his left foot on the cement floor. He knew who had wounded the dying girl. He breathed inwardly and held his breath as Frieda Krueger's slender figure formed from the dark shadows.

"Oh look, it's Bitchy the Bitch. Hi, how are the hell are you? Being a bitch again? What a surprise!" Freddy said in a fake polite tone, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, I'm fine, but you," Frieda chuckled richly. "You're a sweet bastard as usual. Oh you sick mother, you." She, abruptly, froze then jerked forward slightly, as a fresh soul thrusted into her.

"Damn you!" Freddy spat with no hysteric weakness or feverish excitement. "Leave my souls!" He lunged at her, his teeth bared as if he was going to switch into "cannibal mode." He pinned Frieda down, staring venomously into her icy blue eyes, which were quite similar to his own. Her eyes reflected his own, which were dazed with pure hatred.

"Oh, this is cute," Frieda easily shoved Freddy's heavy body off her own, and declared, "I think you'd better deal, Krueger. Because Frieda Krueger ain't going anywhere."

"Legend in her own mind," murmured Freddy in a sarcastic manner.

Frieda's lips curled into a penatrating snarl and she opened her mouth, as if she was going to start snapping and cursing, but instead her voice came out ashen. "So Fred, dear. I heard about your little encounter with that Jason Vorhees. That masked slasher, right? Right, well, that sounds like really something. Quite humorous, might I add."

Freddy froze, his microscopic heart leaped, skipping an enitre beat. "What?" he exclaimed with fury. "Who in the Hell told you that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Frieda smirked, placing a single blade on her chin in deep thought. "Only the Dream Demons. Oh, and they also told me about your final fight-you know, the one where you lost."

Freddy's blood boiled with rage. His temples throbbed and fury surged throughout his entire boody. "I did not LOSE!" he spat with such venom. "That Vorhees is a big lumix with no style and no skills, and he certainly did not win!"

Frieda simply didn't believe a word from Freddy, she just chortled richly and exclaimed joyously, "And Vorhees can't even talk! I can't believe this, this is priceless, it's rich! Freddy damned Krueger, supposed Springwood Slasher, lost to a brain-dead slicer such as Jason Vorhees. Well this is new."

Freddy snarled and spat, "Believe those menacing demons if you want. And yes, to inform you, I most certainly am the fucking Springwood Slasher and that statement hasn't changed a bit. That hockey puck, and everyone else, thinks that he won, but it's definately not the real truth. You think I would lose to that fat, lusty lard?"

"I don't have my doubts." Frieda still wore a mocking smirk on her face. "Clearly I'm quite pleased about it."

"About what, me kicking his sorry ass?"

"No," she drawled. "About you losing. About Jason beating your sorry behind. It's ever so sad, and rather pathetic, I must say."

Freddy Krueger certainly did not want Frieda Krueger, his female foe, his nemesis, finding out about the encounter between the Slicer and Dicer, Jason Vorhees and Freddy Krueger. Especially considering everyone assumed that Jason won the battle, although of course he did not, and Frieda would obviously believe that Freddy lost and not his battler, as she loathed every inch of his raw skin. Freddy was surely going to give the Dream Demons Hell for spilling every detail to that brain-less, gulible female.

"Oh NOW what did we do that displeased you ungreatful dream killer?" A husky voice exclaimed with alarm abruptly.

Freddy and Frieda, both too busy bickering, hadn't took any notice of their surroundings. They hadn't realised steaming flames erupting and the three Dream Demons protruding from the spasmatic flames. The first Demon's lips were tight and he looked outraged.

"What is it?" he spat. "What now? Oh, Freddy, don't give me that look of of innocence, don't play dumb. I know what you were thinking. What did we do wrong today?"

Freddy stuck up his nose in sheer venom. "Like you don't fucking know. Telling that damned woman about Vorhees' and my battle, and then saying that he won? Which is a total outrage, and not true and you know it!"

The Demon chortled gently to himself, his expression telling Freddy that he clearly did not think this was a serious matter, and nothing to get all boiled up about. "Oh my, my. Freddy, you honestly think that that silly quarrel between you and Vorhees is going to be kept from every damned person who meets you? Krueger, you've wasted my time." He turned to Frieda, his features a marvel of warmth. "Frieda, excuse us and Freddy, here. He's quite the hot head."

Frieda's soft titter was high-pitched and she sounded like a giddy young girl. "Oh, I figured that out the day I first met him. Didn't I, Fred?"

Freddy gnarled, glowering at Frieda, his face reddening. "Oh yes. And I figured out many negative things when I first met you."

The third Demon, the non too bright one, piped up, "Frieda, if Freddy gives you any more trouble, we'll be there. Won't we?" he inquired at the first demon.

The first demon stared at him flatly and replied bluntly, "No. We won't. Now let us go, for our deed here is most certainly finished!" And just with that, all three Dream Demons vanished along with the flames, the lead demon scolding the third demon and explaining about how the two dicers can finalize this quarrel themselves. And thus Freddy and Frieda, once again, were left by themselves... Alone, together.

Freddy turned sharply on Frieda, his eyes challenging, daring her to try to make a move, daring her to battle him right here, right now. But distinctly, Frieda did not share Freddy's feelings of controversey. Freddy wanted altercation, he longed to lunge at his prey and tear her limb from limb. Oh, how tantalizing it sounded to him, even deep in his own hidden thoughts. It would be so accommodating to him to take his four algid blades and tear them through her pretty flesh...

"That was an interesting visit, I must say." Freddy was snapped back to reality, snatched from his pleasurable thoughts. Frieda spoke steadily, as if her and Freddy were just two polite beings chatting attentively, both gracious to one another, discussing their previous event.

"Speak for yourself!" Freddy spat venomously, not wishing to share Frieda's composure and appeased tone.

"Have a spasm about it. I like to think I'm sane enough."

Freddy couldn't hold back any longer, he was like a savage, a starving animal in need of another one's raw flesh. He pounded onto Frieda's body, holding his blades out so that they pointed directly at her, and they both plummeted to the ground's hard surface. But before Frieda had to endure four knives in the flesh, she seized his arm and held it back. It was rigorous, as Freddy was struggling and trying to create a force against Frieda's firm grip on his arm; he could feel his arm throbbing with a piercing pain.

They engaged in a brutal battle of slashing, tearing, and shoving. It was a pattern, Freddy pinned Frieda down, she pinned him down, and it continued on from there. Freddy was slashing unceasingly at Frieda's chest, and she was yelping with pain, pounding his back with her clenched fists, which were turning white. Freddy flinched from the blows, but kept the wrangling female pinned down to the solid ground. She thrashed about, doing anything to free herself, oblivious to the fact that she wasn't going anywhere, due to the fact that Freddy was holding both arms down with both his blades and hand, and he was holding down both of her slender legs with both his steel-toed boots; this didn't prevent her from trying, at least.

"Aw." Freddy leered in on her, the foul stench of his breath bombarding her nostrils. "What's poor Frieda gonna do now? Pinned down and helpless."

Frieda's lips curled into a devillish smirk (although she was trying desperately to suppress a wince of disgust as Freddy's revolting breath seeped in her nostrils). "Yes, what is a woman like me to do in such a rough situation?" Before Freddy was able to pull away quick enough, Frieda spit right in his face. He cringed with sheer disgust, jerking sharply away and flicking saliva off his face with a single blade.

"You sick fuck," he drawled in an almost husky moan, his blood boiling with indignity. Frieda struggled free, stood up erectly in a slender posture of the thrusting out of her hip, and before the grumbling slasher, on his hands and knees, was able to stand up and continue this battle and perhaps try to end it-she set a long, pointed boot atop his back and shoved him to the dense ground. Of course, Freddy wasn't able to get up, as the tip of her boot was digging sharply into his skin, offering a stubborn resistance.

She chortled, bent low and hissed hushly in Freddy's ear, "Now who's the damsel in distress?"

Freddy Krueger had cracked. He was not able to gain control of his mind or his actions. He wasn't able to hold himself back, to gain posture, to tackle this conflict in a calm and collected maneuver. Instead, he had took her down to the ground with him, slashing at her flesh, trying insanely to bring her down, to kill her like he killed all the innocent dreaming children. It was Freddy who had indeed began the small, quick-ending battle...But it had been Frieda who had won in the end of the brutishness, she had been the true one to claim victory. But would this entire situation conclude that way in the final showdown between Evil vs. Evil... Again?