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The Dream Trap	By : Flynnparadox Category: M through R > Nightmare on Elm Street Views: 2545 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own A Nightmare on Elm Street, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter Four: The Stay Awake
1
"He's dead," Jill said.
She had been crying, but not much. Somehow, none of it seemed real. Maybe it was her lack of sleep. Or maybe it was the fact that she had started thinking of all them - herself, Bobby, Gale, Eric, Stanley and Tiffany - as soldiers. And soldiers died. Often.
Jill didn't realize until she finished talking that she had been saying all this out loud. Good thing she was in Dr. Saunders' office, where all her conversations were nice and confidential.
"Soldiers?" Dr. Saunders said.
"Yeah," Jill said. "We're all fighting something. Someone."
"Who?"
"Fred Krueger."
Dr. Saunders raised her eyebrows in surprise. She leaned back in her chair.
"The child killer," she said.
"Yes," Jill said. "You know about him?"
"Of course."
"That's who we're fighting."
"But he's dead."
"You think I don't fucking know that?! I'm not stupid, you know? We've done all we can, we've researched, we've read, anything to stay awake."
"Why do you need to stay awake?"
"Because that's how he gets us," Jill said. "When we're asleep. When we dream."
"What does he do to you?" Dr. Saunders asked.
"He kills us, doc. Don't you get it? We're dropping like flies here. Jesse, Charlie, Bobby. Who's gonna be next?"
"Do you want to talk about Bobby?"
"No."
"You don't want to talk about him?"
"No, I don't."
"The report says he swallowed his own tongue. But you don't believe that, do you?"
"No."
"Why?"
Jill said nothing. Dr. Saunders leaned forward in her chair.
"You loved him, didn't you?" she said.
Jill choked back the tears. She wiped her eyes.
"Yes," she said. "I did love him."
"But did he love you?" Dr. Saunders asked.
"What?"
"Did he really love you? Or were you just another conquest to him? Like a trophy."
"Fuck you."
"It's just a suggestion."
"Well, it's a dumb fucking suggestion, all right?"
"Okay."
"You sit there. You just sit there with your perfect little life and you don't even realize it. I mean, you can sleep! Do you realize how blessed you are? How wonderful that sounds to me? Just a night's sleep? If only I could just sleep!"
"Jill," Dr. Saunders said, "none of this is real. I know it seems real, but it's just coincidence. This is not really happening. And listen to me - listen to me - you need to sleep. If you don't sleep, you'll die. Now when was the last time you slept?"
"I fell asleep briefly on Sunday," Jill said. "Before that, it was Friday night. Or early Saturday morning, I guess."
Dr. Saunders shook her head. Jill grabbed her purse, rummaged through it, came out with a cigarette.
"Mind if I smoke?" she asked.
She didn't wait for an answer and lit up, puffed deep. She looked at Dr. Saunders defiantly.
"So," she said, "I guess I can't persuade you to write me a prescription for something to keep me awake? Or for something to supress my dreams, right?"
"I don't think something like that exists," Dr. Saunders said.
"There must be something."
Dr. Saunders sighed again before speaking.
"There is an experimental drug," she said. "Hypnocil. I don't trust it."
"I'll take anything at this point, doc," Jill said. "I'm grasping at straws here."
"I'n not going to write you a prescription, Jill. It's out of the question. Now, let's move on."
"You know what? I've come to a realization."
"Yes?"
"You can't help me."
Jill got up and left, flicking her cigarette in the general direction of Dr. Saunders. The doctor looked at the burning, red ash, cocked her head to one side, as if contemplating it.
2
Bobby was buried on Wednesday. Jill found the funeral uncomfortable, awkward. Bobby's parents were completely broken up, naturally. And the whole football team showed up. Somehow the image of the entire Springwood High football team dressed in black standing around an open grave gave one pause. Jill's dad even made it, though Jill suspected he was chasing a story more than providing moral support for his daughter.
The pastor read a lovely eulogy and everyone was respectfully maudlin but there was something in the air, an aura of paranoia, of people looking over their shoulders for something.
After the ceremony was over, people broke into groups, to talk or leave, if they so wished. Jill, Gale, Eric, Tiffany and Stanley managed to get away from their parents and join up. Ann Franklin, strangely, was also with them. She had been hanging around the group since Tuesday morning.
"First one down," Eric said.
"Jesus, man," Stanley said. "Show some respect."
"Hey, Bobby was my best friend, okay? Don't tell me how to deal with this. I haven't had any sleep for days. Neither have any of you, I imagine."
"We can't go on like this," Jill said. "We have to get sleep somehow. Maybe if we pair off and take sleeping shifts."
"What?" Eric said.
"You know, one of us sleeps, the other watches the sleeper and when he sees that the sleeper is dreaming, bam, you hit the sleeper on the head, wake him up."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Eric said.
"You don't have to do if you don't want to. Do what you want, stay up, be alone. Go ahead. But I'm gonna go insane."
"Are you gonna be okay?" Gale asked, put a hand on her friend's shoulder.
Jill nodded.
"I just need some sleep," she said. "I can't mourn Bobby right now."
"Look," Tiffany said, "I gotta go. My dad's gonna beat the shit out of me if I don't get home soon."
"Okay," Gale said. "I'll call you."
"You better."
She left, breaking away from them and heading through the parking lot to the church, where she had stashed her skateboard. Gale watched her go before returning her attention to the group.
"I'm sorry, Jill," Eric said.
"Forget about it," Jill said. "Gale, I want you to take a shift with me. I just have to sleep."
"Okay," Gale said.
Their talk was interrupted by Riley, who pushed himself into their circle. It wasn't hard considering his huge frame.
"Whatever you're all planning," he said, "I have to be a part of it. Eric, you have my number. Call me when you have a plan that makes some kind of sense."
Everyone was too shocked to respond verbally. They just nodded, more than one of them with their mouths hanging open. Riley nodded back and left, rejoining his football friends.
"Did that really just happen," Stanely said, "or am I already asleep?"
"I've been talking him around," Ann said. "But I didn't think he would actually reach out like that."
"Sure glad he's on our side," Eric said.
3
At Jill's house, up in her room, she and Gale talked, Jill on her bed - gathering up enough courage to go to sleep - and Gale in a chair leaned against the wall right next to the bed. Jill had finally broached the subject.
"So, you're gay?" she asked.
"I..." Gale said. "Yeah, I guess so. I don't really know what I am. I like girls. I find them beautiful and want to be with them. So, whatever that means, I guess that's what I am."
"Do you find me beautiful?"
"You're not really my type."
Jill smiled. She shook her head.
"This is all just so crazy," she said. "I guess I was just blind. I never suspected. Are you and Tiffany...?"
"I don't know," Gale said. "I like her. A lot. But, I'm not sure if she's ready. Not sure if I'm ready."
Jill nodded.
"Take it slowly if you can," she said. "She seems...nice. She's got something...inside. I can't believe that this - all this - is what's bringing us together. I never thought I'd be fighting alongside Tiffany. Or Ann and Riley! Jesus."
"Do you wanna talk about Bobby?" Gale said.
"No. It hurts too much. I wanna talk about you. I want you to be happy."
"I don't know if I can."
"What?"
"Take things slowly, like you said. We may not have much time together. We might all be dead soon."
A moment of silence passed between them. Jill leaned over and kissed Gale on the forehead.
"You're the bravest person I know," she said. "Much braver than me."
"Don't say that," Gale said.
"Okay. I'm ready. I'm going to sleep. If I seem like I'm dreaming, wake me up."
"What should I be looking for?"
"I read up on sleep a bit in the library. Look for Rapid Eye Movement. Apparently, that means I'm dreaming."
"And what does that look like?"
"My eyes will be moving under my eyelids."
"Great. Glad it's such an obvious tell..."
"Thanks, Gale."
"Don't mention it."
Jill layed back on her bed and closed her eyes. She was asleep almost instantly.
4
Tiffany danced. Her room was her place and no one else's. Every inch of wall space was covered in posters and flyers. It was similar to Gale's room but more erratic, chaotic.
Music blasted in her ears, the volume cranked to 11. She danced like a robot, her movements mechanical, stylized. This was how she stayed awake, how she avoided Freddy: loud music, constant movement. The caffeine and pills helped, of course, but this was the main thing.
She didn't hear the knock on the door, didn't hear the key in the lock a moment later, didn't hear the door open. She didn't know anyone was in the room with her until her headphones were ripped off her head.
"Dad!" she said. "You can't come in my room! This is the only place I have!"
Her father stood a full foot taller than her and was twice as wide. He wore jeans and a tight, white T-shirt. His hair was oily and thinning.
"What's this I hear about you sneaking off to meet up with some girl?" he said.
"Dad," she said, "what I do with my time is my business. I don't--"
He slapped her across the face, pointed an accusing finger at her, right in her face. Tiffany held the painful spot on her cheek where he had hit her.
"Now you listen to me," he said. "Are you some fucking faggot? Because if you are, I'll kill you. Do you hear me? I will not have that kind of thing in my family, even if you are a girl."
Anger bubbled up inside her and maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the circumstances they were all going through, but it all came tumbling out of her.
"Oh yeah?" she said. "I can't be gay but you watch your damn porno movies where all the girls make it with each other. That's okay?"
"That's not the same thing and you know it. They only ever do it to satisfy guys. That hardly even qualifies as bisexual. In fact, why am I defending myself here?! I can watch what I want. The real question is what have you been doing watching my tapes?! I oughta beat you within an inch of your life."
"Shut up! I found your other tapes! Your secret tapes. You know the ones I mean, the ones with the men. Yeah. Big, strong, muscly men fucking each other! You hypocrite, you fucking hypocrite!"
He punched her.
Not a slap, not a push, but a punch - hard - across the face. She went down, blood pouring out of her nose. He stood over her, legs apart, almost straddling her.
"If you say another word," he said, "just one, I will put an end to you. You hear me? I will dig your grave. And spit on it."
Tiffany looked up at him for a moment, wiped the blood out of her face. She shook her head.
"No," she said.
"What?" he said.
"I said no!"
She kicked him in the balls. He crossed his legs, grasped his crotch in pain. Tiffany rolled out from under him and ran out of her room, downstairs, heading for the front door.
He caught her by the hair before she could reach the door. She didn't scream but she yelped in pain. He turned her towards him.
And that was when she screamed.
He was still her father - still Buford Harold Violet - but he was also Freddy Krueger. It was like the two of them overlapped and, in a way, they did. Both of them lived under a secret.
When had she gone to sleep? The only thing she could figure was when he had punched her. She had to fight back. Had to do something. The walls were bleeding; green blood, thick and heavy, cascading down the walls of the house. Tiffany started to panic. Her father looked down on her like a demon, smoke billowing from his nostrils.
She pulled away from him, some of her hair coming out in his hand. She got away from him but he kicked her in the ass and she went flailing into the kitchen, which was just off the main hall by the entrance.
The harsh, flat light of the kitchen burned her eyes. In the corner of the room, on the kitchen counter, a clown doll danced insanely, laughing as it twirled and twirled. Tiffany screamed and got up from the floor, reached out for something to defend herself with, something, anything.
Her hand closed around the butcher knife just as he jumped on her. She whirled around, bringing the knife up.
It found its mark: up, under his chin, traveling up through his head. The very tip of the knife popped out of his right eye, neatly bisecting it. His mouth was open, a shocked look on his face. Blood flowed from the wounds and out of his open mouth, drenching her.
He stood for a moment longer, gurgling up blood, then fell over backwards. Tiffany still held onto the knife and it gruesomely ripped out of him as he fell.
She dropped the knife and dropped herself to the ground next to him. She was definitely awake now. It had been like sleepwalking, dreaming while she was awake.
"Daddy," she said.
She wrapped her arms around him, more of his blood soaking into her clothes. He had been a terrible person to her most of her life - had beaten her, had touched her inappropriately on occassion, had verbally abused her no end - but he had been her father, the only family she had. And now he was dead.
Tiffany screamed, half crying, half wailing like a banshee. What could she do now?
5
Jill yawned, got out of bed, and headed downstairs. It was a bright, sunny morning. Almost too sunny: light was streaming in through the windows like the rays of an atomic blast. She felt rested, for the first time in what felt like ages. Sleep had done her good. In the kitchen, her father was making breakfast. She smiled and approached.
"Hey, Dad," she said. "Morning."
Her dad, as usual, didn't hear her. He continued making breakfast, scrambling eggs and turning bacon. It all smelled so good.
"Wow," she said, "where did you buy the bacon? Smells amazing."
She looked over his shoulder and watched, fascinated, as the bacon sizzled in the fry pan. The fat fried exquisitely, popping and shrinking to just the right size. And the eggs! Fluffly, yellow-white, beautiful. It was, perhaps, the best-looking breakfast she had ever seen.
"Can't wait, Dad," she said.
Her dad finished breakfast and poured it onto a large plate, brought it over to the table. He sat down in front of the plate and started eating.
"Funny, Dad," she said. "Not gonna get me a plate? Okay, I'll get my own."
She went to open a cupboard to grab a plate and her hand passed right through the handle. Like she was a ghost.
"What the fuck?" she said. "Dad?!"
She turned around and tried to grab her father by the shoulders. But, like the cupboard, her hands passed right through him. He couldn't see her, couldn't feel her. He didn't even know she existed.
"What's the matter, Jill?" a voice said.
Slowly, Jill turned towards the voice. She couldn't see anyone speaking but the voice came from the direction of the stove. Cautiously, she approached it.
"Can your daddy not see you?" the voice said. "Poor Jill."
She reached the stove, peered into the fry pan, which was still sitting on the stovetop. Inside, Freddy's face filled the whole pan. It was sizzling like the bacon fat.
"You are so unappreciated around here!" Freddy said.
She backed away, shaking her head. She was asleep! She was still asleep!
"Gale!" she screamed.
Freddy's head emerged from the fry pan, smiling at her. Soon, he pushed his shoulders through the pan.
"Gale, wake me up!" she screamed.
Then his arms were through, his clawed hand grasping the handle of the stovefront to help him along. He would be out any second now.
"Gale, wake me the fuck up!"
Freddy was almost out now, one leg propped on the kitchen counter. He pushed himself up, freeing the other leg. Just as he was fully out, Jill was shaken awake.
She popped up in bed. Gale had both hands on her shoulders.
"What the Hell happened?" Jill said. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"
"I've been trying to wake you up for the last few minutes," Gale said.
"Shit," Jill said. "This isn't gonna work. How long was I asleep?"
"About an hour and a half."
Jill shook her head in frustration. She rested her head in her hands, wiped the sleep out of her eyes, then looked back at Gale.
"We're gonna have to take the fight to him," she said.
"So what do we do?" Gale asked.
"I have a few ideas. But it'll have to wait until tomorrow."
"Do you want me to stay?"
"No. I won't be going to sleep again. Do you want me to watch over you?"
"Better not. I should get home before Mom & Dad start to worry. Gotta keep up appearances, right?"
"Right," Jill said.
"I'll call you in the morning," Gale said.
Gale hugged Jill before leaving. Jill never felt so alone in her life.
6
Later, past midnight, Gale sat in her room on the floor, her television tuned to Elvira's Movie Macabre. The Mistress of the Dark was showing some odd British import.
"God, look at those tits!" Gale said, transfixed by Elvira's cleavage.
A knock at her window made her jump about two feet in the air. When she calmed down, she went to the window. She was dressed only in a much-too-large-for-her Iron Maiden T-shirt. She opened her window and gasped.
Tiffany crouched there, having climbed up the rose trellis. Tears were in her eyes and she was covered in blood.
"Can I come in?" she asked like a vampire.
"Yes," Gale said instantly.
She helped the girl in, got a better look at her. She was a mess: drenched in blood, face full of tears, hair unkempt.
"Jesus Christ," Gale said. "What happened?"
"I killed him," Tiffany said.
"What?"
"He's dead, I killed him."
"Who?"
"My dad. I killed my dad. He was Freddy. Somehow, he was Freddy. And he was hitting me, beating me. Oh, God, I killed my dad!"
Gale took her into her arms and they embraced.
"Come on," Gale said.
She led Tiffany to the bathroom. It was private: she had her own one right inside her room. Gale got the shower going and undressed the girl while it got warm. She tossed the bloody clothes into the sink.
"I stabbed him," Tiffany said, crying. "I stabbed my dad in the face. I killed him."
Gale pulled off her T-shirt and threw it into the sink along with Tiffany's clothes. Now they were both naked. She led Tiffany into the shower and the warm water felt good on their skin. Gale grabbed the soap and began soaping up Tiffany. The blood began to wash away.
"Look," Gale said, her face mere inches away from Tiffany, "you told me that he was an asshole. That he hurt you. Abused you."
"But he was my dad," Tiffany said.
Her crying started to abate, however. She was starting to get herself under control.
"I know he was your dad," Gale said. "It was a terrible thing but there's nothing we can do about it. We can't change the past. Now what did you do with the body?"
"I pushed him down the basement stairs. I don't know, maybe they'll think he was holding the knife and fell down the stairs when he was drunk. He was always drunk."
Gale nodded.
"Okay," she said, "that'll have to do. We'll go over there later tonight - no, I will. I'll go there and clean up...selectively, make it look like that was what happened. It might work."
"Gale, he was Freddy," Tiffany said. "I was dreaming while I was awake. Like I was sleepwalking. How can that be?"
"I don't know."
They were silent for a moment. Tiffany hugged Gale. Most of the soap had washed away along with the blood.
"God, this water feels so good," Tiffany said. "How are we gonna stay awake now?"
Tiffany pulled back from the hug and looked at Gale. They stared deeply into each other. Gale thought long and hard in those few moments. Finally, she spoke.
"Fuck waiting," she said.
The kiss, when it came, was long, passionate. It was like the two of them had been waiting their whole lives for this moment, as if they were becoming who they were always meant to be. Finally, the kiss broke.
"Oh my God," Tiffany said. "We're not dreaming, are we?"
"No," Gale said, shaking her head. "Now give me those hands."
They touched, explored, used every inch of each other's bodies for pleasure. Tiffany's hand cupped Gale's sex, groping, as Gale grasped Tiffany's ass, kneading it, spreading it. Nothing was scared, nothing for forbidden. And - for some short time, at least - they forgot about everything else. Right here, right now, they were the only two people in the world.
And it was beautiful.
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The Dream Trap