To the tune of Tina hollering and whistling for her best friend, Principal White fixed the crown onto Nancy. It was as cheap as cheap could be, plastic and covered in fake rhinestones – and after seeing Wart's crown, Nancy knew especially well the difference between the real thing and a pale imitation. Glen received a crown too, although none of the fanfare seemed to revolve around that.
Nancy liked to think that she was not the kind of person enamoured by shiny things, and shiny titles such as prom queen or captain of the cheer team. If power was all she wanted then she never would have volunteered for that job at Westin Hills. All the same, she understood the appeal now. It felt good, even though she knew so few of these people, and thus how shallow the attention was, to have a room all smiling at you and wishing they wanted to be in your shoes.
It felt even better when Tina and Rod joined in the victory. They pushed past rows of their peers to get to her, before joining Nancy. Their lips were moving but she couldn't understand what they were saying, too heady with excitement, too enamoured with this newfound limelight.
Turning her head to cover the crowd, but not looking at anyone in particular, Nancy beamed with a smile that took up the lower half of her face. Best to soak in the attention while it lasted. Before the nightmare started in earnest, and the door to good thoughts was
Slammed. A wind, or some unseen hand, slammed the doors to Springwood High shut.
Luigi found himself much less accepting of the finite parts of life, unaware Nancy had taken the opposite approach. He had his reasons for intruding. He justified them by their not being intrusions. So maybe he faced his ordeal alone and come out the other side not too much the worse for wear. But that didn't mean he was putting her at the same risk.
It seemed Nancy, unlike him, made a habit of working alone. If not alone then as the one in charge, managing the Hydra. Luigi imagined that the third head was Wart's and sagged.
He tried not to dwell on the irreversible past, lest he be swallowed up by that darkness. Instead he put his mind to the task immediately at hand; finding a way into Springwood High.
At first Luigi reckoned the windows at the front face of the building would be a surefire way to get in. A jump from either of the sloping handrails circumvented the lack of footholds. Only problem was, it would have to be a very square landing, and then he'd have to break in and get shards of glass poking out from the webs between his fingers like gruesome weapons.
Tempting as that sounded (not), there were less dangerous options, had to be. He considered running the length of Springwood High, picking up that the music boomed and bapped from somewhere deep, somewhere nearer to the back. But then, as the best solutions to impossible tasks were, the real solution lay right in front of him.
The doors. And Luigi smacked himself upside the had for not thinking of that in the first place.
Warily, he grabbed the handle of one of the double doors. Opened it, simply enough, yielding to his grip without trouble, into the hallways of Springwood High. What he could see did not look so different from his old high school, with its lockers and wide hallway, the vague smell of sweat in the air.
There was one key difference, though. The halls of Springwood High had a hall monitor, or bodyguard of some sort, his hands professionally folded in front of him.
The man in the black suit made a point of lowering his sunglasses.
"Can I help you?"
Luigi found himself suddenly nervous and intimidated, but said:
"I have to get in. It's important."
"Uh huh." The man adjusted his sunglasses again – and Luigi swore one of his eyes glowed a shade of deep red, but the moment passed too quickly for him to dwell on it. "And why exactly is this? Are you a parent of a student? College senior in a relationship?"
"No."
"Then why exactly are you here?"
Luigi was growing more frustrated with this strange, overly dressed man, but opened his mouth anyway, as if to explain things. That was for about five seconds before he realised what he would've had to explain made no sense to anyone but himself. So chose to say nothing instead.
"Please. I need to get in."
But it was not happening, not if the guard had the final say.
So just like that, Luigi gave up. Huffing as he walked away and the doors to Springwood High were closed to him. The guard, who would have sounded familiar to Luigi if he was within earshot, broke into cruel laughter.
Not closed off and unavailable, on the other hand, were the grounds to the place. Luigi turned on himself and ran, crunching the grass, before he reached a fence. The sound of the party boomed a little closer to his shuddering eardrums. A tall wireframe fence stood between him and what was clearly a field for sporting events, evidenced by graying white stands and a scoreboard attached to a pole. Luigi pulled himself over without much hesitation. Both because he had to, and because after everything that happened he believed there were worse things to be scared of.
To avoid the worst kind of injury, Luigi ended up landing flat on his stomach as opposed to his feet or his hands (plural, but only one of them in commission. This was better, but better in the same way one mosquito bite might be less painful than three. The grass did not sponge up as much impact as Luigi wanted. He groaned as he got to his knees, then stood proper.
He looked around. There were no threats on the horizon or immediately nearby. In fact, there was nothing at all for some distance, except for an outhouse, two modestly sized benches for spectators on either side, and two giant goal posts.
Luigi went stiff suddenly, not in spite of the lack of danger, Because was more accurate. Usually Luigi had no trouble with bouts of silence and being alone. When he got some much-needed peace and quiet in the Mario House, on the rare occasion Mario had an adventure he did not take part in, it had never been anything less than pure bliss.
That was a much different ball game, looking past surface level. With the Mario House existed fond memories, the comfort of a home (the Mushroom Kingdom) away from home (Brooklyn). Here was an entire bonafide sporting arena he had never visited. He was standing on ground that did not truly exist, as you or I exist, set against the backdrop of deathly quiet, artificial night. But then, what makes something real? What made him real? What gave him the right to dictate?
Luigi huffed, and in the breath forced such thoughts out. There were enough crises going on already of the non-existential kind.
He spent some time idling about, just continuing to look around, and often idling can make apparent one of two things. Either you grow more comfortable in the strange, alien place you are in, or find that newness stifling and inspiring a want for escape. Luigi aligned more with the former view.
He turned, noting a pair of red double doors that led to somewhere – though he did not know that it was the school's gymnasium, he would have had to be pretty stupid to not put two and two together and figure out that was where the dance was being held.
Someone threw an object at his head. It hit hard, and fast, whizzing through the air to clock him by surprise. Where before no bruise existed was now a throbbing pain from just above his eyebrow. He nursed it with a clutching hand before deciding that someone needed, at the very least, a stern talking to.
This someone was a Koopa Troopa football player – although Mario liked to call them Chargin' Chucks, and he had never seen one of them play genuine football. Until now.
Luigi had thought it was just the one Chuck, until he caught the crowd stood behind him, all of the same muscular build and all wearing the same gear. His fear deepened because he had an inkling of an idea of what would be playing out oh so very soon.
The Chargin' Chucks, as their captive audience of one wached on, got into a triangle-like formation across the football field. Luigi gulped. Regardless he stepped on, a one-man team. Luigi couldn't have been more nervous and scared for his life if he tried.
The world seemed to buzz and be only slightly coherent, but when the ball dropped in front of him, he returned to something closer to reality.
His fingers trembled as he picked up the football, a football with his face on it along with a dates marked 1958-1988. It read like an obituary, but time and time again on this journey, the time for contemplation and computing the monstrosity of things proved fleeting if not non existent. A Chargin' Chuck in a striped white-and-black shirt blew a whistle, sending the others into a frenzy that somewhat resembled a stampede. Luigi kept his head down and tried to imagine himself as the linebacker he, once upon a time, wanted to be.
He barrelled across the pitch as fast as his legs could humanly carry him. Running from things, he had always been very good at, and the need for agility far exceeded his actual capacity of energy. The wall of Chargin' Chucks continued to advance but Luigi retained a glimmering sense of hope that he would make it through to the other side.
He got close enough to where one could, and did jump on him. Luigi pushed off that particular Chuck fine, causing a small ripple of an avalanche.
The others did not let him get off so easy. The others closed, with their barrels for muscles and Koopa snouts stuffed into football headgear, closed in on all sides.
Things went dark, for a second, and then light disappeared entirely. Luigi felt bunches of hands pushing against him, crawling over his body, cheering raucously as they grasped for the ball. At some point he was vaguely aware that he was going down, dropping to the ground, which only amplified his useless anger. He screamed, and he might have raised a hand from the pile, bursting like a zombie from a grave.
No one else, especially not Nancy, was close enough to help him.
Nancy thought she had heard something against the door – or the afterimage of something, like the echo of a dropped twig in a forest – but with the thousand tiny voices inside, and the importance of this moment, the here and now, she questioned herself.
It was probably nothing. Nothing she could deal with at the moment, anyway. She had Glen at her side, Tina and Rod only so far away, and who knew, maybe Kristen and the gang were out there in this alternate Springwood.
Principal White listed off Nancy's achievements and contributions to the school. Some of these were definitely true. She had indeed helped with collaboration on the at that time new English display, which Tina had always thought was funny because Nancy hated English class. Jane Eyre? Been there, slept through it. In a different format, like a film, or a song? Bodacious.
Other things were heavily embellished, if not outright lies, though the crowd ate it up regardless. She had never surrendered the entirety of her afternoon to volunteer at the local old folk's home, nor had she championed more funding for the theatre troupe's production of Lady Macbeth. All of these achievements, from the real to the fabricated and fake, evoked cheers from the crowd. And, in turn, made Nancy feel good. Feel, in some vapid but pleasurable way, useful.
The clapping came to a stop. Principal White had finished reading, apparently off the top of his head judging by his lack of cue cards.
"Anything you'd like to say, Nancy?"
"Try and hurry it up," Glen whispered in her right ear, "I wanna get out of here."
Nancy snickered under her breath and used a hand to shade her mouth.
She was very much appreciative of the attention. But Nancy was also still a small-town girl. A woman of the people, a fitting title, if a self-aggrandizing one. Trying to find the right words to express her thankfulness, she made a point of looking into the crowd, meeting the eyes of whoever was not blocked by someone else.
Her former classmates were dead. Not in the literal sense apart from Tina, Rod, and Glen, but in that they did not move so much as an inch. When designated, the crowd clapped and hollered and practically idolised her. Now, their gazes were cold and unblinking. They were glorified statues. Nancy had never seen Rod Lane look so somber that his eyes became shadowy recesses, apart from in the jail cell after he had
No. No, no, no. This was all wrong. This was not her life. And that was not Tina, that was not Rod giving a thumbs up, and the boy stood next to her with a PROM KING sash royally hanging from his neck to his torso was not really Glen Lantz.
"Nancy?"
This pause must have taken a while, because Glen looked vaguely agitated. Nancy made a point of looking right back at him, forcing her eyes to meet the same conclusion her brain had.
"I'm sorry, Glen." Nancy slipped her hand out of his. "Maybe in some other life."
Utter confusion was etched across his features.
"I love you." she kissed him delicately on the cheek.
Then Glen pulled her into a much deeper, immediately surrendering kiss. Nancy knew better, but her heart swooned, and so she leaned into the embrace with just as much passion. That is, until "Glen's" tongue slithered into her mouth, spreading a most foul aftertaste.
Nancy yanked her head back in horror, so revolted that she passed over the chance to take a bite out of Krueger's tongue. "Glen" had begun to emit a foul odour, like sewer water and rancid old food mixed together.
"Nice to see you again. It's been too long."
"Why can't you just die?" Nancy retched. Her nostrils burned.
"Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't this what you dreamed about? Rod, Tina, Glen, the gang's all here! What's not to love?"
What she truly wanted, Nancy had come to realise, was never hers in the first place. This she did not explain to Freddy, or Glen as Freddy, and she ran towards the doors, ignoring a lack of feeling in her legs.
"You don't seriously think it'll be that easy, do ya?"
Nancy, unfettered, continued running, the doors closer, soon she could grab them, find Luigi, make their getaway. Or come together and take a stand.
"Prom night ain't over yet, doll. And if you don't wanna be queen, or girlfriend of that schmuck Glen Lantz-"
Nancy gasped involuntarily at Freddy's mocking of Glen as they shared a body.
"-then what you are gonna be is dead."
Through Glen, Freddy held up his left hand, which had transformed from Glen's to his trademark bladed glove.
"Count on it."
A laugh rumbled out of 'Glen' that was uniquely Freddy's – as were the blackened gums and crooked, yellowing teeth not seen eariler – and Glen threw his head back in rapturous laughter.
Nancy sensed a gruesome transformation coming along, but more than that, another confrontation. Nothing could beat the upset in Wart's dungeon, and there were no guards to help this time, or a Wart for that matter.
She would have said she was hopeful for Luigi coming through, but those were still terrible odds – and she doubted Freddy would give him that sort of opportunity.
Have to get to Nancy, Luigi thought, as his air supply waned and what felt like hundreds of bodies pushed against him from all sides. Have to get to Nancy…