A chunk of something hot and gristly landed on her face. Heather picked it off her cheek with fingers that shook badly. Her stomach began to heave and her paralysis broke. She scrambled to unlock the door closest to her. The handle wouldn't give, and she realized that the locks were child proofed. She screamed and tried to climb into the front seat, her bare body slipping against the blood-soaked upholstery.
The SUV rocked violently to the passenger side as Jason yanked the body of Corey Cunningham out the broken window. His shoulders caught for a moment in the frame, too wide to pass. Jason gave the body another mighty tug and the collarbone shattered. From the corner of her eye, Heather saw her boyfriend's body roll and ricochet off the frame of the window before disappearing from her sight. A giant bloody hand pistoned in from the broken window and grabbed her leg.
"Oh Jesus help me!" Heather cried out as she quietly sought forgiveness for having gone to Crystal Lake. She knew who it was attacking her. She didn't need to see him to know. As her left leg was crushed in the grip of the killer, she cried out and began kicking with her right.
"Help me!" she screamed.
Her mind toppled off into the abyss as she felt the still warm remains of Corey's broken face and brain slide beneath her naked skin with a thick, meaty wetness. She managed to grip the steering wheel and there was a moment when she thought she might actually escape him. Then, she was jerked back hard. Her hands struggled for purchase as she was dragged through the window. Shards of plexi-glass broke off in her skin and she was pulled through the hole in the same manner as Corey had been. Heather fell to the ground with a heavy thud that knocked the wind out of her lungs.
Standing above her was the gigantic frame of Jason Voorhees. She could smell the rot of his body and the ungodly radiance following years of unchecked body odor. He was foul and rancid as he towered over her. His hockey mask was like a ghostly demon's face in the rain as he coldly regarded her. Heather finally sucked the air back into her body and gasped, screaming, "Please! We're so sorry! Please no!"
Jason gripped the door handle and opened the door wide. He grabbed the Camp Crystal Lake sign and held it in one hand as he held his machete in the other. He looked at the sign and then glared down at her. Heather began crawling backwards but then bumped into Corey. She bit her lip as she felt his still warm body against her back. He was slick and wet, and she knew it wasn't just the rain.
"Please let me go," Heather sobbed as rain pelted her naked body, "Please."
Jason raised the sign up in the air and the drove it down hard. She made to scream again, but was silenced as the wooden sign smashed through the middle of her face, splitting her skull open. The dull edge crushed cartilage and bone alike as it passed through and then lodged in the gravel-peppered soil. The force of the impact literally popped one of her eyeballs out, sending it into the air along with a spray of brain fluid and ropy veins. The remains landed with a quiet splash yards away, her spoiled eyeball rolling a few more feet and then coming to a rest near the roadside blacktop.
Jason's barrel chest heaved in the heat of the moment as he looked down at her and then at the boy. He sheathed his machete and after a moment of reflection, turned and continued on his way. He stayed in the bushes and the trees along the road as rain fell harder and harder. He could feel the dream killer was here somewhere.
Jason hated the dream killer more than anything. His was the only name Jason had ever been able to remember. Even his own mother he could not recall. He knew what she looked like, he could remember what she sounded like but he could not remember her name. But he could remember the name of the dream killer.
Freddy Krueger.
***
Rain fell in thick, relentless sheets as the lone police cruiser turned onto Elm Street. In the distance, sirens and the bass reverberations of the armory at the police station exploding rolled like thunder across the sky. Elm Street seemed to be undisturbed by this, remaining as silent and secretive as it always had been. Perhaps there had been a time when the street played host to the families and picturesque homes of Springwood happily, even enthusiastically giving it a glow only Middle Americans could truly appreciate. Before the evil that was Fred Krueger laid special claim to Elm Street and all those who lived there, it was a great place call home.
Now, it was in its death throes. But to understand that death, so long in the coming, so prolonged and staved off by the good people of Springwood who chose to fight rather than succumb, it's necessary to under the history. If one had been privy to knowing those that determined the ultimate of the town, one might have known that Springwood had been close to death since Freddy Krueger first infected the heart of the community.
It was a dark secret, a hidden disease that rotted and festered inside the morale of the population. Even killing Krueger, immolating him in his own lair with the blessing of a decidedly moral final justice didn't cure the ailment. Those that committed the act lived day to day with the responsibility of their brutal act, as necessary as it was. Some, like Marge Thompson fell into vice to deal with it. Her alcoholism was well known but kept away from the world. Others, men like Clyde Lantz, fell into depression and ended it all.
Everyone else who hadn't lit the fires that killed Krueger simply looked the other way, not wanting the blood of a child killer on his or her hands. In the end though, the good people of Springwood only attacked and killed half the problem, relieving the symptoms of Freddy's evil for a while.
There had been a time once before in the late nineties when Springwood had almost died, the heart of the town blackened and putrefied by Krueger. He spread like a virus unhindered by anti-bodies or medicines strong enough to kill him. For the children of Springwood he was a terminal affliction. But for the parents, he was a maddening illness of the mind.
In the aftermath of his killing spree that claimed every child within the city limits, the population was reduced to raving lunatics and head cases. They were the parents left destroyed in the wake of Freddy Krueger's murderous reign. The streets were left cluttered with trash while noble houses fell into disrepair. The children were all gone, taken in the night by an evil the adults could no more understand than they could see the air around them. A few of them realized the truth, shouting it from the street corners and the empty classrooms like religious zealots convinced the end of the world had finally come. But the parents of Elm Street, the original lynch mob that knew the truth, were all but gone. Everyone else was too afraid to speak.
In the following months the feeling amongst the local government changed from disbelief to outright fear. Those who had heard of Freddy Krueger and initially dismissed it as mass hysteria were now silent having experienced a conversion to belief in the impossible. What worried the men and women who were privy to the truth wasn't that no one would believe them about what happened but rather that people would believe.
The one conclusion everyone had agreed on was that Freddy used fear as his source of power. An unknowing nation could easily spread fear of him like an airborne virus. People would hear his name and read about him, or ask about who he was. Once they realized he was a killer and he was rumored to be able to come after people in their dreams, the fear would intensify. And all Krueger needed was enough fear of him to invade dreams. They feared he would spread beyond the borders of Springwood, Ohio to the rest of the country.
So they engineered an elaborate cover-up. Freddy Krueger had to be forgotten. He had to be erased.
That's what the many judges, politicians and policemen told themselves as they mopped up Springwood and covered up the legacy of Freddy Krueger. The hope that he could simply be faded out by ignoring him was attractive to everyone. Nobody wanted to lose any more children to him. It was the driving thought behind the lie they told themselves, that if they could only find a way to make people forget the truth there would be peace.
And they did find a way to suppress him, though it did not last long. A disease can't be killed by ignoring it.
When governor of Ohio requested a secret council be formed to repair the damage to Springwood, his staff assembled a team of experts from all over the country. Most were people who had experience in the world of paranormal phenomenon, but the core of the brain trust was composed of those who knew Freddy Krueger best. It turned out to be a short list, as mostly everyone who had dealt with the killer ended up dead.
Sheriff Thomas Williams, who had taken the position shortly after Springwood went belly up in '91, was the de facto leader of the group. He had seen the fall of Springwood as a deputy and had tried to keep order as mass hysteria flooded the town as though some dam had been broken. He saw children killed in their sleep, hacked up and brutally murdered. His initial disbelief was quickly dissolved as he realized the raving parents of Springwood were right. Freddy Krueger was real.
