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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter Six: The Dream Pool
1
Eric - still in the dream - landed in a puddle. Crashed was probably a better word for it. He rolled over, got to his feet. Looking around, he found that he was in the back alley again, the one with Joe's Bar at the end of it.
It was no good. He couldn't get out of the dream. He collapsed to his knees in frustration, buried his face in his hands. After a moment, there was a hand on his shoulder.
"Eric," a voice said. "Eric, get up."
Eric looked up and saw Taryn, in her full biker punk goddess outfit, black mohawk high above her head. She helped him to his feet.
"You have to keep going," she said. "If you keep moving, you might be able to get ahead of him."
"Who are you?" Eric asked. "I mean, here in the dream. You're not like you are in real life."
"That's a bit complicated. In dreams, things don't always happen in the right order. I'm, shall we say, back-tracking here. Helping out where I can."
"What happened?"
"I can't say too much. But let's just say that I only exist here now."
"Bummer."
"Right?"
Eric gave her his most charming smile. He shrugged.
"Think we have time to...you know?" he said.
"You're not my type," she said.
"Taryn, come on!" a female voice called out.
Eric couldn't see the other woman but she had to be close by. Maybe in a connecting alley.
"All right, Tracy," Taryn said, "be right there!"
"Got a date?" Eric said.
"You could say that. Now go. And don't stop."
She started to run off but stopped across the alley from Eric. She turned towards him.
"Ah, fuck it," she said.
Her voice sounded far away now, even though they were only seperated by a few feet. Eric strained to hear her.
"I'll probably catch Hell for this," Taryn said, "but I have to try."
"I can't hear you," Eric said. "Speak up!"
"Jill is reading about the Dream Pool right now! Listen to her! It can help! It's how I found..."
But he couldn't hear her anymore. Smoke filled the alley and she was gone, presumably with whoever this Tracy was, off in some other dream world.
"Dream Pool?" Eric said. "What the Hell?"
Eric ran into the smoke and entered another dream state.
2
Gale was drenched in sweat and blood. Not her own blood but Mr. Violet's blood. It was considerably congealed by this point, which made her job harder. She collected blood from the kitchen and spread it around Mr. Violet's body in what looked like a realistic pattern. It wouldn't stand up to much scrutiny but Tiffany was right: the police in this town were incompetent, fumbling boobs who would barely investigate this case. Violet's dad had not been well-liked around town. No, the bigger question was what would happen with Violet herself. She was still a minor and would have to go into foster care or be taken in by someone.
It was a problem but one she couldn't think about right now. She had to clean the kitchen, make it spotless. No, that wasn't quite right. She couldn't make it look completely spotless. She had to dirty it up a bit, maybe make some food and spill some of it around the place. She had a few drinks from a beer in the fridge and dropped the half-empty can down the stairs to help with the story they had developed.
She made to turn back towards the kitchen but stopped. At the bottom of the stairs, a pool of water was forming; filling up like the dream she had the other night.
She had fallen asleep. It had been so many days now that she was falling asleep while standing up, walking around, even.
The corpse of Mr. Violet, on the stairs, began to stir. She could hear the scraping sound of metal on metal. Without stopping to think about it, she ran down the stairs, past the stirring dead man and stepped into the pool of warm water at the bottom of the stairs.
She drifted into the water, sank underneath it, explored. She found an exit, a patch of light above her. She poked her head out of the water at this second point, looked around. She saw a seedy back alley, filled with smoke. Eric was running through it.
"Eric!" she called.
But he didn't hear her and kept running, into the smoke. Gale emerged from the pool and tried to follow him but she was engulfed in the smoke.
She emerged in what appeared to be a long hospital hallway. Everything was lit with an eerie, sickly green light. She looked down the hallway one way, then the other. Everything looked the same.
So, seperated from Eric. Great.
"Dr. Karlson," a voice over an intercom said, "you are needed in the E.R. Dr. Karlson."
So there was life in this place, then. She wasn't the only one here. The lights flickered above her as she picked a random direction to walk. Didn't seem to matter, really.
"You won't get away with it," the intercom voice said, as flat and calmly as it had sounded before. "I won't let you. They've been crawling through my brain for years."
Gale shook her head.
"Creepy," she said.
"Dr. Eddie," the intercom said, "you are needed in surgery. Dr. Eddie."
Then a doctor in full surgical gear came tearing down the hallway behind her, flanked by two nurses. Even though he was wearing a surgical mask, Gale instantly recognized Eddie, Iron Maiden's mascot. His skull-face was easily identifiable. The nurses who acompanied him were dark-haired twins and looked like something out of a fetish porn magazine. Their nurses outfits were latex and so tight you could see their ribs. Their cleavage alone could kill but it went further than that. They had stylized make-up: stitches, Bride of Frankenstein style. Hair to match: big, swept back with streaks of white. Eyeshadow like corpses. Skin like procelain.
Soon the entourage overtook her and turned into a room off the hallway. Gale followed them into the room.
It was a vast surgical theater, like something out of the nineteenth century. The operating theater audience stretched out around her, stadium seating style. Sitting in the audience was everyone Gale knew. In her entire life.
It was no surprise then that the patient on the operating table was herself. The Gale on the table screamed in pain. She was naked and held down on the table by wicked-looking straps.
Dr. Eddie approached the table, said nothing of course. The nurses prepared the instruments: scalpels, syringes filled with sickly green liquid, a bonesaw, an old, rusty hammer, a machete, a dull chainsaw.
The nurses looked down at the Gale on the table with relish, one on either side of her. They laughed at her, then shared a wet, lewd kiss.
Dr. Eddie put his hands on either side of the Gale on the table's head. He patted her temples.
"I need it out, doctor," the Gale on the table said. "You have to help me."
Dr. Eddie made soothing gestures with his hands but remained silent. He held out a hand to the nurses, who were still otherwise engaged: they were all over each other now, full-on making out, grabbing each other's asses and breasts.
Frustrated, Dr. Eddie slammed a fist down on the table right next to Gale's head. The nurses got the point and broke apart. Dr. Eddie, satisfied, held out a hand again.
One of the nurses handed him the syringe. With obvious relish, he crudely plunged the instrument into the Gale on the table's neck, administered whatever drug the needle contained into her system.
The Gale on the table was in obvious pain but she looked relieved as well. Once Dr. Eddie removed the needle from her neck, she looked up at him.
"Thank you, doctor," she said. "Now please get it out."
"You see how the patient calls out for help," a voice said.
Gale - the one watching, not on the table - turned to regard the newcomer. It was Freddy. He was dressed much like a teaching surgeon from the last century, speaking to the audience. His burned face stood in stark contrast to his fine attire.
"And we will answer!" he said.
He didn't seem to notice Gale. This was when Gale realized that perhaps she was watching a dream that was meant for her but that she was somehow not being affected by. Had she found a way around Freddy, at least temporarily? Perhaps this dream wasn't ready yet and she had stumbled onto it only half-formed. Something to do with the way she had entered this dream - through someone else's dream first? She didn't know but this was proving instructive. She continued watching.
Dr. Eddie used a scalpel to open up the Gale on the table's abdomen, from just below her breasts to just above her pubic hair. He looked up at the nurses for assitance.
One of the nurses sat partway on the operating table while the other pushed fingers into her mouth, her other hand between the woman's legs, pleasuring her. Dr. Eddie snapped his fingers, annoyed. The nurses stopped what they were doing and got back to work.
They pulled open the wound in the Gale on the table's stomach. Freddy chuckled as he watched.
"Those hands can't be sanitary anymore," he said, to much audience laughter.
"Get it out," the Gale on the table said. "Please! I need it out!"
Dr. Eddie rummaged through the Gale on the table's innards, his arms getting bloody all the way up to the elbows. He pulled several times but obviously didn't succeed in doing what he wanted to do.
"The tumor appears to be stuck in this bitch harder than we imagined," Freddy said. "This calls for more desperate measures."
Freddy joined the surgical team now, grabbed the rusty hammer and swung a few hits into the open wound. He frowned, dropped the hammer absently to the ground and used his razored glove inside the Gale on the table's body. That didn't seem to work, either.
He and Dr. Eddie shared a look. Dr. Eddie grabbed the chainsaw, held it up, seeking Freddy's approval.
"By all means," he said, "be my guest."
Dr. Eddie vigorously nodded his head and started up the chainsaw. The nurses - now standing off to one side of Dr. Eddie - looked on with unbridled sadism. They couldn't keep their hands off each other as the doctor cut into the open wound. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering Dr. Eddie, Freddy and the nurses, who opened their mouths to catch as much of Gale's blood as they could, then shared a bloody kiss.
There was a loud crunch and Dr. Eddie looked satisfied. He turned off the chainsaw and threw it aside.
"Excellent work, doctor," Freddy said. He then addressed the audience: "I will now remove the tumor that's been harming young Gale so..."
He reached into the open wound and grabbed hold of something. The nurses were so turned on by now that they torn each other's latex uniforms open, exposing their breasts to each other and rubbing bloddy hands all over them.
With considerable effort, Freddy pulled whatever was inside the Gale on the table's body out: it was an entire other person - a girl - bloody and not moving. The Gale who was watching approached the table to get a better look. As she did so, the bloody girl's eyes popped open. She looked straight at the approaching Gale.
It was Tiffany.
"Run, Gale!" Tiffany said.
Freddy whirled around to face the second Gale. For a moment, he seemed confused before regaining his composure.
"Found a backdoor, did you?" he said. "No matter."
He dropped Tiffany back into the body of the Gale on the table - she disappeared just as she reached the open wound - and ran towards the watching Gale, glove raised. Gale turned and ran out of the operating theater and into the hallway.
Freddy was right on her tail and she booked it. She concentrated and thought of the water, thought of the pool. A moment later, ahead of her, the hallway suddenly filled with water. It was as if she was looking down at a pool rapidly filling up.
She ran even faster, could feel Freddy behind her, just out of reach. When she reached the water, she jumped into it.
And escaped.
She awoke at the bottom of the stairs in Tiffany's house, below the dead body of Mr. Violet. She checked her watch: 4:35am. There were two pressing issues at the forefront of her mind. She had to go get Tiffany and bring her back here, so she could call 911 at the time she normally got up in the morning. And she had to get to Eric. He was most likely still asleep and she had to wake him.
The second issue seemed more pressing and she left the house, heading towards Eric. She just hoped that she would get there in time.
3
The collage library stayed open all night for student use. Jill, of course, wasn't a collage student but she bluffed her way in. It helped that the boy on night duty seemed to have a bit of a crush on her.
She looked up everything she could about dreams, sleep studies and Hypnocil. There was almost nothing on the last subject but she found a few footnotes which were somewhat enlightening.
It was when she got to Jung, while researching dreams, that she found the Dream Pool.
4
Steph sat at the red light, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, looking straight at the light, practically begging it to turn green. When Drake died earlier tonight, she had thought long and hard about what to do. The house was under his grandmother's name, the cops were almost certainly looking for him, and he hadn't been much of a boyfriend, anyway. So she had decided, after much deliberation, to dump his body into a lake just outside of town.
So his body was in the back seat of the car, looking at her with dead open eyes in the rear-view mirror. It was unsettling to say the least and Steph avoided using the mirror as much as she could.
The light finally turned green and Steph floored it. The windows were down, Steph's luscious red hair blowing in the wind, the radio was on loud - Night Ranger's "Sister Christian" rocking out - and the streets seemed eeriely empty. The only other vehicles that Steph passed were big, anonymous freight trucks and the occasional train that she had to wait to pass.
It was a few minutes later, while waiting on one of these trains, that the homeless man appeared. He seemed to materialize out of thin air, one minute not there, the next standing right beside Steph at the driver's side window.
"Spare any change?" he asked.
Steph jumped, surprised. She dropped the cigarette she was smoking and looked at the man. He was repulsive: hairy, smelly, dirty. He reeked of cheap booze and furtive, back alley sex.
"Get the fuck away from me," Steph said.
"Well, you..." the tramp said, "you fucking...bitch. Eat my dick, hear me?"
He rummaged in his filthy clothes and pulled out an old, rusty screwdriver. He raised it to strike. Steph gasped. The train had finally passed and she stepped on the gas. The tramp's screwdriver knicked the car as it passed.
"Come back, you bitch!" the tramp called after her.
But she was gone, past the train crossing and down the street, heading out of town. Neighborhoods began to give way to ghettos, ghettos to warehouses. Steph frowned. She didn't recognize any of this.
The warehouses started to become more surreal. Steph saw buildings stacked on top of other buildings, warehouses only half built, buildings halfway across the road. Once, she swore that a warehouse was creeping towards her, leaning over the car trying to get her.
Finally, it seemed she had passed all the buildings. Now, everything seemed to be shady back-alleys. And the creepy tramp seemed to be standing at the end of all of them, screwdriver raised in anger.
She was insane.
That was what it was. She hadn't been sleeping hardly at all recently and she had simply lost her mind. That was it, had to be.
Distracted by the tramp and her thoughts for a moment, she returned her gaze to the road ahead of her and slammed on the brakes. Drake's body, in the back seat, fell forward, his hands seeming to grab at her from behind. She yelped.
The lake was right in front of her. She had nearly driven right into it, her wheels practically hanging over the steep edge of it.
She got out of the car, managed to pull Drake out. It took some effort but she was able to drag him to the edge of the lake. With a final push, she got him over the side. It was dark and she couldn't see very well but she felt it took quite a long time for the sound of his body crashing into the lake to come. When it did, she nodded and turned back to the car. Just behind the car, a group of three little girls dressed in white played jump rope, singing an old song that Steph remembered from her youth, something about a boogeyman named Freddy.
"What are you girls doing here this time of night?" she asked. Then: "You didn't see anything, did you?"
The girls didn't answer, broke up their little play session and scattered, disappearing into the darkness. Steph tried to catch them but they proved elusive. Frustrated, she returned to the car, thinking of the old jump rope song, thinking of Freddy, and thinking of that glove she and Drake had stolen, then sold. Was there a connection? And, if not, why did it seem like there was?
She got in the car, slammed the door shut behind her. That was when she noticed the ice cream truck.
It was parked a short distance away, an eerie light coming from within. The engine revved as it sat in place.
"What the Hell?" Steph said.
"It's an ice cream truck, bitch, what do you think it is?" Drake said from the back seat.
He leaned forward, soaking wet from his dive into the lake. The fish had already been at him: bits of him had been eaten away.
Steph screamed.
"Calm down, bitch," Drake said. "It's not me you have to worry about."
The back doors of the ice cream truck opened and a figure emerged from it. He wore a dirty brown fedora and a red and green striped sweater. One hand was a claw with razored fingers. Somehow, Steph knew that this figure was Freddy.
The Boogeyman.
"I'd drive if I were you," Drake said.
She started the car up, backed up, turned around and started driving. She drove like a maniac, but with less control than Gale. She careened down streets, nearly hitting road signs in her panic.
The ice cream truck was right behind her the whole way. The radio came on, even though she had turned it off when she parked at the lake. "Sister Christian" again. But there was something else wrong here. The ice cream truck had no driver. It was driving itself.
So where was Freddy?
Her question was answered when Drake started screaming in the back seat. Steph turned and saw that blood was spraying from his stomach. He reached out to her as Freddy came tunneling through him. From the trunk? Perhaps.
Drake, just a head, shoulders and arms now - separated from his bottom half - fell over, coming to rest on the floor of the back seat. Freddy lunged for Steph.
She screamed as he reached around the seat and stabbed her in the chest. The car screeched to a hault as Steph started coughing up blood. Freddy laughed, a high-pitched, manic sound.
Steph woke, clutching her chest. It was covered in blood. Frantically, she looked around. She was still in the car, Drake's body in the back seat. She had fallen asleep while driving. Straining, she looked to see where she had come to rest, her chest in excruciating pain.
Managing to lean far enough to see where the car was, she gasped. The car had come to rest on a set of train tracks.
And a train was coming.
She reached out, trying to shift the car into gear. She was too late. The train hit the car at full speed and obliterated it, killing her and pulzering Drake's body.
5
Eric ran. The dream kept changing. Once, he was in a dark wood that reminded him of the boy scout camp he used to go to during the summers; and something was chasing him. Later, it was a grade school cafeteria where the fat, ugly lunch lady served only maggots and cockroaches. Now, he was in a hallway lined with snow and ice. It was freezing cold and he held himself, rubbing his chest to try and warm up.
There was a huddled figure on the ground ahead of him. The figure was nearly wrapped up in a ball. Wearily, Eric approached the figure. Half of him expected it to be Freddy.
"Hey," he said. "Hey, you're not Freddy, are you?"
The figure turned towards Eric and he saw that it was Steph. Immediately, he crouched down and put an arm around her.
"You okay?" he said.
She nodded. Then shook her head.
"I don't know," she said. "I was just in my car. There was a train coming..."
"Hey, that doesn't matter, okay?" he said. "Uh... are you warm enough?"
"No."
"Yeah, me neither. I...I guess I can't really make you any warmer. Um...it's not like I have a jacket to give you or anything."
"It's okay."
He helped her to her feet. That was when he noticed that her whole chest was bloody.
"Jesus," he said, "what the fuck happened to you?"
Steph looked down at her chest, felt it with one hand. Her palm came away bloody. Eric could see the wound now. It was nasty: four puncture marks. They looked deep.
"He got me," Steph said.
"Who did?" Eric asked. "Freddy?"
Steph nodded. Eric shook his head.
"No," he said. "No, I don't believe it. You're just Freddy messing with me. I don't accept it, okay? Steph's not dead! Fuck you, asshole! Don't you take her away from me!"
He turned and ran in the opposite direction, leaving Steph alone. She started to cry and sank to the ground again, getting colder.
Eric ran again. The ground slowly changed from ice and snow covered to an old carpet pattern, red and green stripes. The wallpaper was a repeating series of ice cream cones over and over.
Eric's foot caught on something and he stumbled. He looked down and saw a section of the carpet had wrapped around his ankle, like it had come alive and grabbed him. As he watched, the carpet tightened around his ankle.
Then it started to pull him under.
Freddy's laugh seemed to come from all around him as Eric fell to the ground and tried to hold onto something. He screamed as realized he was losing.
6
Gale screeched to a hault in front of Eric's house at 4:45am. She jumped out of the car, left it running and ran around the house to Eric's bedroom window.
She looked in, saw that he was asleep at his desk. She pounded on the window.
Nothing.
Frustrated, Gale looked at the window. She saw that the window was slightly ajar.
"Yes," she said.
She pushed the window up and climbed inside. Eric was shaking in his sleep as she approached him. She shook him. No go. She sighed, shook her head.
And slapped him.
Eric snapped immediately awake. Disoriented, he looked around, focused on her.
"What the fuck?" he said.
"You were asleep," Gale said.
"How... How did you know?"
"It's a long story."
- 5
- 6
- 7
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The Dream Trap