Enjoy. The new Nightmare on Elm Street is out…anyone seen it?

Chapter 17: Stigmata

"Love one another, for those are the words of the one who came down and gave his own life to save us all. It is not right for us to hold petty grudges when the son of God gave the ultimate sacrifice for us sinful people."

Staring slack-eyed at the priest as I fiddled with my flowery black mourning dress, I struggled to keep my eyelids open. This lack of restful and a plentiful amount of sleep were really wearing down on me. Not to mention the loss of. I gulped, feeling a deep pain within my chest. Them.

But here I was, sitting in on Saturday early morning mass having read today's reading and listening to the priest's homily. The same hypocritical message as always. Love each other. Treat each other with respect. Forgive.

Too bad the congregation doesn't know that you're a sexist and racist bastard. Oh wait, I forgot that they are too…

Feeling the muscles in my jaw clench, I tried to settle myself. No use getting riled up over matters that don't concern me. Leisurely letting my eyes travel the length of the small church, I took in my surroundings for the millionth time.

I was sitting on a basic wooden chair covered with a pink cottony material on the back and seat part, a kneeler neatly hidden underneath. A few more of these chairs were facing the handful of people sitting in the wooden pews. Then the marble pulpit, from which the elderly priest cloaked in regal purple regalia was softly spouting things into the microphone that he himself didn't believe or practice truly.

A few rays of light were coming through the stained glass windows, breathing life into the different pictures of biblical scenarios, the swaying trees next to the church casting shadows into the gradually brightening building. The few elderly people in the pews didn't quite take notice, as they were listening (one could presume) attentively to the priest. Then there was my Dad, who I knew was clearly not listening. He was staring off into space.

Tell me about it, Dad.

The altar itself was cloaked with a purple cloth, since it is the season of Lent. Alongside a candle, there stood a tall cross, perhaps six feet or higher in length. Hanging on it, was a crown of thorns, and an amethyst cloth.

Sighing once more, I looked down at my hands, feeling unbearably tired. Would you finish, Father? Please? I don't know how much more I can stand. My eyes are already sliding closed. Please…

Feeling my head bob downwards, I tried to discreetly shake it to clear it, but found myself in different surroundings.

I was in our small confessional, a black veil covering my face and my black suit felt slightly uncomfortable as I was kneeling in front of the black screen that was there to keep the sinner's identity a secret.

Frowning, I cleared my throat before beginning my confession, knowing full well that it was Freddy behind that screen.

"Father, forgive me for I have sinned. It has been a month since my last confession. These are my sins." Steeling myself and peering through the screen, I saw Freddy's silhouette, his hands playing with one another and his claw clearly discernable.

"I caused the death of my friends. I lied to them and to my parents. For these and the sins that I have failed to mention, I am truly sorry." Lowering my head, I admitted that I felt a little easier now that I had actually said it aloud.

Hearing Freddy's growl, my head snapped up. "For your penance, you shall need to be crucified. That is the only way to be truly free of the mortal sins that you have committed!" He lunged at the screen, his metal claw tearing through the screen and narrowly missing my face as I stumbled backwards.

The door to the confession flew open as the screen was thrown to the side. Freddy clutched me by the throat and dragged me kicking against him and struggling for air down the center of the church, his eyes resolutely staring at the golden Tabernacle and the big painted frame of The Crucifixion. When his gaze met mine, a chill travelled down my spine. He wasn't kidding.

When he stopped in front of the huge wooden cross, I felt a paralyzing fear. I had wondered on some occasions, staring at the cross, how it would feel to have been in Jesus' shoes. I didn't want to truly find out!

As soon as Freddy let go of my throat, I let out an ear-piercing shriek. "No, you bastard!" Freddy merely smirked at me cruelly, and with a flick of his wrist, I was sprawled on the cross, my arms stretched out. The material that was on the cross wound around my arms, keeping them in place as I tried to wriggle myself out of my predicament.

Freddy took in my figure appraisingly, but frowned when he realized something wasn't quite right. Seeing the crown of thorns balancing precariously on the tip of the cross, he materialized a small set of stairs so that he could reach it and placed it on top of my head after taking off the black veil and chucking it to the side, making sure to dig it into the flesh of my scalp. I literally felt each and every thorn as each tried to permeate through my skin and screamed when a few did, feeling a few drops of blood escape.

Oh God, forgive me, but I swear that if it's the last thing I do on earth, I will send Freddy back to hell. Where he belongs.

With a taunt in his tone, Freddy mockingly asked me, "Where's your God, now?"

I hung my head as a tear slipped down my face, struggling to break free of the bonds, both visible and invisible, that held me.

"Let's see if he'll stop this." My stomach and heart plummeted as Freddy replicated his signature glove so that he had blades on each and every one of his fingers. No, no, no…

Pain as I have never felt before suddenly consumed me as Freddy started burying the blades located on his index fingers into the palm of my hands, blood gushing out to the tempo of my racing heart.

Why the fuck was no one helping me? I screwed my eyes shut as tears started streaming out of them, not wanting to see Freddy's leering grin as he enjoyed my suffering. That bastard will PAY.

Trying to not give attention to Freddy's blades as they started cutting through muscle and nerve endings, I concentrated on trying to wake myself up. Doesn't this amount of pain want to wake you up, Christine? He's plunging his blades into your hands.

Sobbing as the pain consumed me, I suddenly heard Freddy's voice. "Bye bye for now! I'll pick up where I left off later!" I swear I continued to hear his maniacal laughter even after I was awoken by my father.

"Christine! Are you alright?" My father's concerned face was blurry to my teary eyes. When I wiped my eyes, I found myself supported by him next to the cross, my wobbly knees dangerously close to giving. When I looked over to the pews, the occupants of the church were all fervently praying, and the priest too was on his knees.

"What a miracle! One of our own receiving stigmata!" the priest said almost delightedly, his voice coupled with disbelief and joy.

That was it.

"What kind of fucking miracle is receiving THIS by a demon? Hmm? And you didn't even attempt to help me! What the hell is your problem?" I was beyond angry, and having found a target, I let loose on the priest. I knew that disbelief was also held due to the fact that he couldn't believe it would happen to a girl, too.

The entire church was gaping at me – here I was, the epitome of the perfect Catholic, having slung a curse at a priest. Ohh, didn't I step out of line!

They were saved from any more of my anger when I suddenly fainted in my father's arms, the delicious blackness saving me from the throbbing pain of my hands and head. My last thought before I slipped into oblivion was that I was still wearing the crown of thorns on my head.