Chapter 7: Making Sense of Everything

When Treavor and Pamelynne came back to her house, Treavor wanted to pick up right where they had left off in the pool before they were interrupted.

But for Pamelynne, the mood had been broken. Not so much because she still thought that someone might have been spying on them from the second-floor window next door. Pamelynne accepted Allen's denial, along with Taylor's explanation about the moving curtains. She also accepted Lenore's insistence that Ms. Browning's home office had been locked, and that her little cousin didn't have a key, and so couldn't possibly have been spying on her and Treavor as they 'swam.'

But finding out that some fifty years ago, a serial killer of at least 20 local children had lived in the house behind her next-door neighbor's, just one street over, was almost too frightening for her to imagine. Sensing her discomfort, Treavor tried to put his arms comfortingly around her waist from behind.

But Pamelynne shrieked and startled when he touched her; quickly slipping away from her boyfriend's embrace, and then rounded to face him. "I told you, I'm not in the mood! Not after that stuff Norie just showed us about that - that pervert who lived behind us, one street over!"

"C'mon, Babes," said Treavor reassuringly. "You don't really believe that stuff about some serial child killer from the 1960's living one street over . . . .

"Besides, if something like that really did happen; I think we'd have heard about it from someone, before!

"I mean, don't the homes of Serial Killers always become, like, famous tourist attractions, or something?"

"How could it have?" snapped Pamelynne, folding her arms protectively across her nearly-bare chest. "The whole town was in on the cover-up! Not just the child killings, but how they killed the maniac who killed their kids! At least that's what Norie said!"

"And you actually believe her?"

"Well, what about those newspapers she had?" Pamelynne persisted. "The ones from the library and the paper's own website don't match up. And neither of them matches up with all of those old newspapers that Norie showed us that she and her little cousin found searching old people's garages and attics!"

Treavor sighed and shook his head. "I still think that we would have heard something about this Fred Krueger guy, or someone called a "Springwood Slasher," if all this stuff really happened, Pamelynne."

"Not if the town really did cover it up, like Norie thinks they did," insisted Pamelynne.

"But why would they do that?" said Treavor reasonably.

Pamelynne made an exaggerated eyeroll. "Oh, I dunno . . . .

"Maybe they didn't want to go to prison themselves for taking the law into their own hands when they torched this psycho because they had to let him go on a technicality?"

"Yeah, about that," said Treavor. "I don't think that would have happened. Not really . . . .

"Sure, people supposedly get off on 'legal technicalities' all the time. But do you really think that some judge is going to let someone off who kidnapped, tortured, molested AND killed twenty kids because the search warrant had a sentence that ended with a preposition, or something?"

Pamelynne shook her head. "But that's just it, Treavor. Norie doesn't think that they let this child murderer off because of some 'high-minded' concern for Krueger's civil rights.

"She thinks they let Krueger go free so the townspeople could just kill him and avoid a trial and the bad publicity that came with it!"

"That still doesn't explain why they would cover everything else up, Pamelynne," insisted Treavor. "Not just about Krueger, himself; but also about all those kids he killed . . . .

"Why rewrite history to say that some kid who was murdered by Krueger in 1968 'really' died in an auto accident?"

"The search warrant was bad," insisted Pamelynne. "Maybe they thought it was the only way to get Krueger."

Treavor shook his head. "There was nothing wrong with the search warrant, Pamelynne.

"Remember what Taylor said when Norie and her little cousin showed us those old newspapers?

"Taylor said that all the judge had to do was say that the 'mistake' in the original search warrant was a "harmless error," and at most, maybe have the cops apply for a 'corrected one.'

"And anyway, Taylor also said that this all happened in 1968, and that was a big Election Year and here in Ohio, all our judges are elected."

"So?"

"So, a judge would have to be some new kind of stupid to let some pervert who killed 20 kids go for a lame reason like a search warrant being signed in the 'wrong place;' unless they wanted to commit career – if not actual - suicide!"

"But then why cover everything up?" persisted Pamelynne.

"I don't know," admitted Treavor. "I don't think that the people who torched that pervert were afraid of being sent to prison, themselves . . . .

"I mean, what jury would possibly convict a person who killed the monster who snatched, molested and murdered their kids; especially if Krueger really did get off on such a bogus 'technicality.'"

"Unless it really was a plot to just kill Krueger without a trial," said Pamelynne.

Treavor shook his head and sighed. "But why . . . ?"

"Norie thinks that the town had enough of Krueger, and just wanted to be over and done with it," said Pamelynne. "They knew that any kind of trial involving a serial child killer would have become a Media Circus that would have brought all kinds of bad publicity to our town. I could imagine that the Springwood Chamber of Commerce wouldn't be too thrilled about that!

"Or even regular people worried about their property values. I mean, who'd want to buy a house near where some serial child killer lived?"

Pamelynne shook herself with frustration, put a comforting hand on her boyfriend's bare chest, and added, "I'm not mad at you, Treavor! I just don't feel . . . very . . . romantic, right now . . . .

"Maybe we could just, I don't know . . . lie down a little and . . . actually sleep . . . ?

"I'm tired, Treavor. I don't want to do anything right now but sleep. But I don't want to sleep alone, either.

"Besides, mom and dad won't be back for another couple of days. We can make it up to each other after we're a bit more . . . rested."

Treavor nodded. It wasn't the evening that he had in mind. But it was way better than nothing.

Smiling, Pamelynne took Treavor's hand, and led him upstairs to her parents' bedroom. . . .

If Treavor McClardle was disappointed with 'only' getting to sleep in the same bed with Pamelynne Conroy, instead of "doing it" with her in her backyard swimming pool; he would probably consider what Taylor Albert Swift was currently doing with Lenore Browning to be, "starvation rations."

But at the moment, Taylor couldn't be happier.

True, sharing a late-night pizza with Lenore (and her younger cousin Allen) was far from being an actual "date." But as Taylor started on his second slice and listened intently to what Lenore had to say about The Project that she and her cousin had been working on, he reflected that in the past half-hour, she had just said more to him now than she had said to him over the past several years.

Of course, the loss of Lenore's older brother Chris several years ago had been the biggest reason for that. When Chris had died while being 'treated' at Westin Hills Hospital for an alleged "substance abuse problem," (followed shortly afterwards by the divorce of her parents,) Lenore had turned inward, despite Taylor's best efforts to keep the lines of communication open that they had had with each other since they were in kindergarten.

Since then, Lenore had become quiet and aloof, keeping to herself at school, and spending a lot of time at the library and taking solitary walks through the local cemetery. With her quiet demeanor and nondescript clothing, most kids at school tended to ignore her. Even if any other kids happened to be eating lunch at the same table with her, Lenore Browning was almost invisible to the point of being inert.

At a time when plenty of teens were seeking part-time jobs for spending money, Lenore also preferred to work alone, mostly by cleaning out garages, basements and attics, primarily for elderly, lifelong Springwood residents. According to some of the rumors Taylor had been hearing about Lenore, she would often do her work for a nominal fee, or even for free. And she always worked alone, except for those times whenever her younger cousin Allen came over from out of state to visit.

As for Taylor, the constant teasing and 'clever' asides from his classmates brought on by his parents' unfortunate choice for his name caused him to keep away from any social interaction that he could manage to avoid. And when he got his driver license, he immediately took on delivery duties for the Family Business, giving him even less time to try speaking with his old friend – a friend that Taylor had had a crush on since Second Grade.

As Lenore prepared another, old page of newspaper for scanning onto her computer, Taylor said, "This really is incredible, Norie . . . .

"According to this newspaper, Fred Krueger killed 20 kids before getting killed by the town vigilantes when the court let him go on a 'technicality.' But I've lived here all of my life, and this is the first I'm ever hearing about any of this.

"How could the town keep something like THIS a secret for so long?"

Lenore shrugged. "Remember, this all happened in 1968. It was a completely different time.

"There was no Internet, much less any kind of "Social Media," back then. ARPANET wouldn't even go online until about a year later. Censoring the news was as easy as grabbing a pair of scissors, a razor blade, a pot of glue, and a Magic Marker . . . .

"They even had some kind of "Newspaper Recycling Drive," specifically asking for all papers to be turned in that covered the dates when Krueger was killing those kids, and through the time he was killed.

"We even found a couple of flyers for it," added Allen excitedly. "Check this out!"

Allen took a Manilla Folder off the dining room table and handed it to Taylor. Inside were several mimeographed handbills advertising the recycling drive; purportedly being held because the newsprint used at the time could, ". . . pollute the local water table, if not properly disposed of."

Taylor examined the leaflets, and noticed that they all had dates for several different organized collection drives, and had urged everyone to do a thorough search of their homes for pieces that might have been overlooked in any earlier drives. Various organizations, including the local Boy Scout Troops and Church Youth Groups were involved.

Taylor also noticed that the leaflets printed at later dates included suggestions where people might want to look for newspapers that they might have initially 'overlooked;' including newspapers used to line litter boxes, bird cages, or used to wrap glassware and China that may have been put in storage.

Allen swallowed a bite of pizza, and added, "But they couldn't get it all, Taylor!"

"That's why you've been doing all that free 'cleaning' work for seniors," said Taylor nodding.

Lenore said, "We've also searched local garage and estate sales for stuff that had been in storage for fifty years. A lot of time they're wrapped in old newspaper that escaped the recall.

"Even pages that are not directly about Krueger from that time are informative. They're often very different from the 'official' papers of the time that had been redacted and subsequently 'rearranged' to fill in any resulting "gaps." That gives us an idea where else we should be looking for alterations to the 'official' record."

But Taylor barely heard that last part that Lenore had said. His attention was focused on one of the old newspapers – yellowed with age and having the faint scent of garbage – that was in the "to-be-scanned" pile. "Hang on a sec, Norie . . . .

"This paper says that the killer, Frederick Charles Krueger, lived at 1428 Elm Street! Isn't that the house just behind yours . . . ?"

"It is!" said Allen excitedly. "And we found out that plenty of weird stuff happened at that house in the past, and is still happening, now!"

Lenore explained that according to her research, the house at 1428 Elm Street had changed hands several times in the past - usually after being vacant for extended periods - and had frequently fallen into disrepair during those times.

"The earliest owner we found out about was someone named "Underwood," said Lenore. "Then it belonged to a family named "Thompson." We even think that it might have been the Detective Thompson who is mentioned a few times in the newspapers we found. He led the effort to find the Springwood Slasher . . . .

"After that, it belonged to a family named "Walsh." They sold it not long after moving in, and from there, the trail goes cold, until a family named "Campbell" bought it around the turn of the century.

"We found out that Doctor Campbell worked at Westin Hills Psychiatric Hospital, and that his daughter, Lori, went to Springwood High back when we were all in Grade School. But they went away about six years ago, and the house remained empty until it was bought a few months ago by someone named "Richardson." But we haven't been able to find anything out about him, yet."

Allen said, "We've never even seen him, at least not during the day."

"Then how do you know anyone really lives there?" asked Taylor.

"Oh, someone's living there, alright," said Allen. "I rode by on my bike a few times, and saw the name "Richardson" on the mailbox. He's also getting the paper delivered, and he's got people cutting the grass, and stuff. And he's got some really big, mean-looking dogs that he lets out in the backyard.

"But that's not the weirdest thing I ever saw about the people who moved into the house behind Aunt Karen's and Cousin Norie's. Follow me . . . !"