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• Freddy's Little Bitch	By : Demonfox Category: M through R > Nightmare on Elm Street Views: 9712 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
  Disclaimer: A Nightmare on Elm Street and Freddy Kreuger are NOT mine and I make no profit from this story.

• Chapter List
  • 1-Freddy's Little Bitch
  • 2-The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of
  • 3-Tastes Like Suffering
  • 4-The Kiss Of Death
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• Since his battle with Jason, the nightmare monster who had held a place of fear for so long in Springwood had near been forgotten. Hypnocil had become the norm within the small town, no longer questioned or even up for debate among the teenagers and those who remembered his presence. So few there were who did that the fear which powered the monster had no way to spread.
  
  So he sat in his boiler room in the realm of dreams, a monster in a cage of his making, and waited. Freddy had sharpened his blades so many times that he was bored of it, and the appendages gleamed dully in the light thrown from distant fire as he clicked them together. It was a habit formed in life, one the demon had been unable to shake, and so the sound of metal on metal was the only thing that stirred his world beside the roar of the furnaces.
  
  Unbeknownst to him, curiosity was sparking in the small town in Ohio. A young woman, barely legal, in her final year of high school. Her name was Laylee, and she was for lack of a better word, plain. Her hair was long and dark, she was pale, she was neither skinny nor fat. She recieved little interest among the males of her class, had rarely dated and was a virgin of the purest sort. So she filled her time in other ways. On this day she was digging through old newspapers in the library. Though the officials of the town thought they had removed all of the evidence of Freddy's reign of terror, a page remained, sandwiched in the musty box, between a wrinkled sports section from who knows how long ago and a photo of the mayor at the time. Laylee, of course, found it. Her interest was instant- the headline proclaimed loudly of a murder. And toward the bottom, a name, given as a quote from a child then believed insane and committed. Laylee should have stopped, should have folded the page away, burned it, but she did not, and as she whispered the name to herself, intending to remember, she brought something to life.

  She hunted each day for more information on this elusive killer, but was unable to find anything. Late nights she sat on her laptop, fingers tapping, her parents soundly sleeping in the other room, and searched. Late on one of these nights, she fell asleep at her keyboard, her Hypnocil on her bedstand, her mind churning with thoughts of the man she wanted so desperately to learn more about. As it turns out, she'd find out more than she meant to.

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