A/N: Yeah, these chapters aren't going to be that long. My thought trains don't last too long without veering off in another direction. Hope you enjoy! Remember kids, reviewers get cookies and shout-outs! Flames are used to burn Freddy Krueger.
Edit: Also, I'm going through and cringing at how bad my grammar was when I wrote this, so I'm updating it a bit.
I was born in Illinois in 1992. Birth name: Quentin Smith.
My dad, Alan Smith, was a really great father. He was just a little overprotective.
When I was in Kindergarten, there was this gardener, Fred Krueger. All the kids teased him because he worked at the school and lived in the basement.
I remember the girls had some kind of chant about him that they skipped rope to.
One, two, Freddy's coming for you…
Freddy seemed nice enough at first, but then he started abusing us, both physically and mentally.
Three, four, lock your door…
All the parents in town started to get really concerned when we came home with cuts across our backs, with stories of Freddy taking us into a cave, and so on.
Five, six, grab your crucifix…
At one point, all of the adults who had a kid in my class chased Freddy into this… warehouse or something. They didn't want us five-year-olds to have to testify in court. When they got to the warehouse, Freddy locked himself inside, away from everyone else. My father was the one who threw the jug of gasoline into the warehouse. The entire place burned down, giving Freddy a fourth degree burn and killing him.
Seven, eight, gonna stay up late…
They told the town that Freddy had high-tailed it out of there. As far as everyone was concerned, Fred Krueger never even existed. Us kids pushed the memories of what he did to the backs of our subconscious minds and soon after 'forgot' about it.
Nine, ten, never sleep again.
What doesn't exist can't hurt you, right?
Wrong.