"A Nightmare on Elm Street" is a low-budget horror movie from 1984. In my opinion, it's *the* classic teen-slasher movie. I've kept the same main characters but taken some liberties with the plot.
The teenagers in this story may seem quite naive but bear in mind its set in much more innocent times, back in the 80s before the internet and mobile phones, sexting and tinder. Be warned that it wouldn't be a horror story if the central characters weren't in peril, so there are strong elements of bondage and forced, rough sex.
*****
Springfield, 1984
Late into the night, he works in the gloomy basement, hammering and soldering; shaping the scraps of metal with twisted, scarred fingers. Hunching over a rough wooden workbench full of assorted hammers, files, blowtorches and metal shavings and chuckling softly as he coaxes the hard, silvery metal into the shapes demanded by his perverse visions.
He's been waiting so long. All those years spent in this dingy basement, creating his toys and fantasizing about the day he'll finally get his revenge. A cold, calculated revenge to contrast with what those bastards did to him all those years ago. Years he'd spent alone, his bitterness and anger growing like a tumour. Waiting and waiting until the perfect time. It was so near now, the fruit so nearly ripe, just waiting to be plucked.
He's already constructed a pair of ornate handcuffs this evening, the intricately engraved bracelets connected by a slender but strong chain, each link hand-worked and tested for strength.
His small, deep-set eyes glisten he completes his latest 'toy': a worn, fingerless leather glove with a series of long, thin razor-sharp blades extending from it like freakishly long fingernails. He grunts as he vigorously files the last blade, working it until it's as wickedly sharp as its neighbours. He slips the glove on over his blistered skin and holds it up in front of his oil-black eyes, flexing the metallic joints, testing the lubrication. He smiles a crooked, gap-toothed smile, his dry, blistered lips stretched over discoloured teeth as he twists it, watching as the edges catch the dim light.
"Oh yes," he whispers in his hoarse, rasping voice. "We're going to have a lot of fun together."
--
Nancy lay back in the bath, enjoying the lovely warm sensations of the fragrant water lapping at her skin, feeling herself relaxing, the stresses of a long day at college slowly slipping away. She'd had another of her nightmares last night and had been unable to get back to sleep and now as her body relaxed, she felt herself beginning to drift off.
She closed her eyes as she floated in that lovely state halfway between consciousness and sleep as she felt the warm water swirling around her naked skin, stroking her like a lover's hands. She closed her eyes as the sensations grew more intense, the touch firmer.
Suddenly, she felt hands, rough masculine hands tugging at her ankles, pulling her down, her bottom sliding along the smooth surface, a sharp yelp of panic escaping her lips as she slipped beneath the surface, her soapy fingers struggling to get purchase on the smooth sides of the bath. She heard mocking laughter as she felt herself being drawn deeper, the rough hands pulling at her ankles and crudely squeezing her buttocks. She was pulled down and down into the darkness, the light of the bathroom getting smaller and smaller as her lungs burnt and she began to panic, thrashing wildly.
A fierce but distant knocking at the door startled her and suddenly she was awake, the water splashing over the rim of the bath as she pushed herself back up, brushing the strands of damp, curly hair from her face as she gasped for breath.
"Are you okay in there?" she heard her mother shouting.
She looked around the empty bathroom, her large, chocolate brown eyes open wide, her heart thumping against her chest.
"Honey, are you okay?" her mother repeated as she banged on the door.
"Yes, I'm fine, mom. Sorry about the noise, I must have fallen asleep and accidentally slipped down the bath," she shouted back as her heart rate slowly returned to normal.
--
Later, she reclined on the sofa in her dressing gown, sipping from a steaming mug of cocoa. She put her bare feet up on the coffee table and used the remote control to aimlessly flick through the television channels, desperate to find something to grab her attention and keep her awake.
"Hey, feet!" her mother said, returning from the kitchen clutching a large glass of white wine.
"Is that your third or fourth glass?" Nancy asked petulantly, as she slid her feet from the table.
"It's my third. I've told you before, when you grow up and have a full-time job, maybe you'll understand the need to relax in the evening."
"I'm just saying," Nancy said defensively as she stifled a yawn, feeling too tired to start another argument over her mother's drinking. It was clear to her that the problem had been getting steadily worse since her father, Don, had died in his sleep from a heart-attack two years earlier and she'd been forced to return to work, but she absolutely refused to acknowledge she had a problem, let alone get some help.
"Anyway, you're up late aren't you? You've got college tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
"You look so tired, dear. Are you still having those nightmares?" her mother said, sipping her wine.
It was true; the makeup she'd carefully applied this morning couldn't hide the dark circles under her eyes.
"You know, sometimes," Nancy said. In truth her nightmares, like her mother's drinking, had been getting a lot worse recently. Every night, they seemed to get more vivid and real. It had gotten to the stage where she was almost too scared to go to bed.
"What kind of nightmares are they?" her mother said, reaching out and squeezing her hand.
"Oh, you know, just the usual kind, being chased and stuff," Nancy said, reluctant to tell her mother exactly how disturbing and explicit her dreams had become recently. "Anyway, you're right, I really should be getting some sleep. Goodnight, Mom."
"Goodnight, dear, sweet dreams," her mother said, as Nancy dragged her tired body from the couch and kissed her forehead.
--
It was a typical teenage girl's bedroom, an untidy riot of schoolbooks, magazines, cassette tapes and discarded clothes, the walls crowded with colourful posters of her favourite bands: Madonna, A-Ha, Duran Duran. Her bedside table was cluttered with books and family photo's. A number of bright scarves and feather boas brightened up the brass bed frame.
Nancy lay on her bed in her favourite pink flannel nightie, reading a novel. She'd thought it might be easier to stay awake if she didn't actually get into bed, but as the alarm clock on the bedside table ticked past midnight, she could feel her eyelids drooping, the words on the page starting to get jumbled and blurry as the comforting warm numbness of sleep slowly crept up over her body.
--
A little while later, an odd noise downstairs made her jump, and the jolt of adrenaline made her feel wide awake again. She thought she'd heard her mother come up to bed an hour ago so it should be quiet down there. There it was again! Subtle noises like there was someone moving around downstairs.
She got to her feet, almost glad of the excuse to shake off her drowsiness. Out in the hall, she paused and listened, but hearing nothing tried knocking on her mother's bedroom door.
"Mom?" she said, but there was no reply and when she tried the handle it was locked, which seemed odd.
