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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter Eight: Blast From the Past
1
Jill, Gale, Eric and Tiffany sat up in Jill's room. Gale and Tiffany sat on Jill's bed, while Jill sat in her chair by the desk and Eric paced around the room. Jill had talked her father into temporarily taking Tiffany in: they had been right, he was fishing for a story, a scoop. The paperwork had been signed less than an hour ago. Stanley had been forced to stay home with his parents. What with all the deaths, they were worried about him and a little more than paranoid. No one had been able to get a hold of Ann.
"So we have Hypnocil," Jill said.
"Where?" Gale said.
"My therapist ordered it. She's willing to write me a prescription for some. I think we should just take it, though. I've been in her building enough. It shouldn't be too difficult to sneak everybody in. In the evening, security's pretty lax."
"Even if we get the stuff," Eric said, "I still don't know if your plan's going to work."
"Then what do you suggest?" Tiffany said.
"I don't know."
"Nice counter," Gale said.
"Look, it might work," he continued, "if we all skipped town or something. Remove ourselves from Freddy's sphere of influence."
"That's what you've always wanted, isn't it?" Jill said. "Just take off. Leave everybody else behind. You've always hated this town and now you've come up with a reason to leave it and you've latched onto it."
"And is that so bad?" Eric said. "This shitty one-horse town is gonna be the death of us all. And because it's literal now instead of just figurative, that only makes me want to leave that much sooner."
"If we left," Gale said. Jill looked at her in shock. "If..." Gale continued. "We'd have to create new identities for ourselves. Tiffany isn't eighteen, like the rest of us, so she would definitely need one. The rest of us, too, really, because people would be looking for us. Police, parents."
"I can't believe I'm actually discussing this," Jill sighed. "Maria. My dealer. She can get us new IDs, passports, whatever we need. She has connections."
"There you go," Eric said.
"But I don't think we should jump into this," Jill said. "This is last-resort sort of stuff."
"Is this not last resort, Jill?" Eric said. "We're dropping off like flies here. Any time one of us goes to sleep, it could be our last."
"You think I don't know that? Bobby was my boyfriend."
"Yeah, and he was my best friend!"
Mr. Snyder knocked on Jill's door, opened it, peeked his head in. He looked at everyone in the room.
"No fighting, okay guys?" he said. "I know you've all been through a lot here. I get that, I understand. But play nice, okay? Look, I want you two, Gale and Eric, out of here in a few minutes, okay? You should all be getting an early night tonight. That okay?"
Eric rubbed his eyes and face. He looked at Jill's father.
"Yeah," he said. "I get it."
"Sure," Gale said.
"Okay," Mr. Snyder said.
He left, closing the door behind him. Eric turned back towards Jill and the others.
"I think we need to pursue this," he said. "Call Maria. I'll call Stanley, tell him what's going on."
"All right," Jill said. "All right. We'll at least see if this is possible."
"Right. Gale, Tiffany?"
Gale nodded.
"Yeah," Tiffany said.
Eric said his goodbyes while Gale and Tiffany kissed. Soon, Gale and Eric were gone, leaving only Jill and Tiffany. Jill had prepared the spare room for the girl but she expected that she would be spending most of the night in here, trying to avoid sleep.
"You want out of here, too, don't you?" Jill said.
"Yeah," Tiffany said. "My dad's dead. I don't have any other family here so, basically, I'll go wherever Gale goes. She's all I have left."
Jill nodded. A tear trickled down her cheek.
"I understand," she said.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Tiffany said. "You're thinking about Bobby. I'm sorry."
Jill shook her head. She wiped away her tears, regained her composure.
"No," she said. "Look at me. All I've lost is a boyfriend. You've lost a father."
"He wasn't much of a father," Tiffany said. "Asshole, really."
Jill laughed then stopped herself. She covered her mouth.
"Sorry," she said. "That was uncalled for."
But Tiffany was laughing, too. Soon, both of them were laughing. It was hard to stop.
2
Several hours later - full dark out - all of them except Stanley - and, of course, Ann - had successfully snuck out. Stanley's house was like a fortress and his mother kept the key under guard most of the time.
They met at Maria's house - 1419 Elm - all of them showing up within a space of a few minutes. They all, in turn, looked at the House across the street: 1428 Elm. There it was, always there, a ruin, a testament to Evil, in its many forms. A haunted house, still reaching out to the young minds of the neighborhood, especially in those Hellish hours of the night where sleep should come but sometimes didn't and every shadow was a monster.
"I'm gonna stay out here," Eric said.
"What?" Gale said.
"What are you talking about?" Jill said.
"You don't need me in there," Eric said.
"We can always use you," Jill said.
"Look, you know that I don't like that you use this shit. So, stands to reason, I don't like your dealer. Yeah, she's sexy. Yeah, she makes great cookies, but so what? I don't like her. So, I'm staying out here. Okay?"
"Okay," Jill said reluctantly.
"Be careful," Gale said.
"Thanks, mom."
Jill led the way to the front door, knocked. A few moments went by. Jill knocked again. Finally, they heard the sound of locks being undone from inside the house.
The door opened just a crack, a chain slashing across Maria's troubled eyes as she looked out. There was fear in her voice when she spoke.
"What do you want?" she said.
"Maria?" Jill said. "It's me, Jill. I called ahead."
"Oh, yes. I suppose you can come in."
The door closed again and they heard the chain being unlatched. Then the door opened again, revealing Maria. Jill suppressed a gasp. It looked as if Maria had aged about ten years since the last time she had seen her, which had only been a few days ago. Of course, Jill reflected, we all must look about the same.
Maria's eyes had a deep, sunken look. Her skin was pallid, unhealthy-looking. Her gaze darted all around, paranoid and skitish. When she spoke, she sounded unsure of herself.
"Please," she said, "come in."
She turned and headed into the house. The others followed her. The house was a complete mess. Newspaper clippings were stapled to every wall, all of them hanging at odd angles. Half-eaten food sat everywhere. Roaches scattered when threatened by an ivading foot. Jill saw empty bags lying around, white powder residue in all of them: coke, Maria's way of staying awake.
As they entered the dining room, Tiffany saw it first: high above them, tied to the second-floor landing, a noose hung, neatly knotted thirteen times. She pointed it out to the others. Jill's eyes widened. What the Hell had they walked into?
"Maria," she asked, "you okay?"
"No," Maria said.
She sat down at the dining room table, head in her hands. Jill sat down next to her. Gale stopped at one of the newspaper clippings, put out a hand to stop Tiffany. When she had the girl's attention, she pointed to the headline:
MAN SUSPECTED OF CHILD MURDERS DISAPPEARS
The article went on to describe how Fred Krueger, the man almost certainly responsible for the murders of at least twenty childen in the neighborhood, had been arrested but, during trial, was set free due to a technicality. Shortly after, he had disappeared. The article stressed that Krueger had probably simply skipped town but there was an underlying subtext that seemed to indicate that the writer of the article knew what had actually happened to the man.
"Jesus," Tiffany said and pointed at the byline:
BILL SNYDER
Jill's father. The two of them shared a look before joining Jill and Maria at the dining room table. Jill was already speaking to Maria.
"Well, like I said over the phone," Jill said. "We're looking for fake IDs, good ones. Maybe passports, too."
"Why would anyone want fake IDs?" Maria said.
"Um... Well, it's really our business. But can you do it?"
"I... I guess I could."
She lapsed into silence. Jill tried to prompt her.
"Money?" she said.
"What?" Maria said. "Oh, money. Whatever you think is the right amount."
"I don't think that's the way all this works."
"Jill," Tiffany said, "she's lost it. She's out of it. Probably doesn't even know what you're saying."
"I just need sleep," Maria said. "If I sleep, everything will be okay. But I can't sleep."
She collapsed on the table, completely breaking down into tears. Jill tried to comfort her but the moment she touched her, Maria stood up from the table, violently, backed away from them.
"Don't touch me," she said.
"Okay," Jill said. "It's okay. I won't touch you."
"You're his daughter."
"Whose daughter?"
"Him. Snyder. He was one of them, you know?"
"No," Gale said, "we don't know. Who was he?"
"One of the ones who killed him," Maria said.
"Killed who?" Tiffany said.
"My dad hasn't killed anything in his life," Jill said. "He wouldn't hurt a fly."
Maria shook her head, confused. She walked out of the dining room and into the kitchen. An army of cockroaches beat a path for her as she moved. Jill and the others followed her.
In the kitchen, Maria poured herself a cup of coffee, took a long drink. Jill looked past her, into the little supply room. It was open. As was the safe inside it.
"None of you will survive anyway," Maria said. "He'll get all of you. He always does."
"Who?" Jill asked, already knowing the answer.
"Freddy," Maria whispered. "He can hear us. Awake, asleep, it doesn't matter. He's like fucking Santa Claus!" She laughed: there was no humor in it. "We know that he sees us when we're sleeping, so he must see us when we're awake. It all makes sense to me now. There's nothing we can do."
"Is that why you made the noose?" Tiffany asked.
Maria looked at her, disgusted.
"I wasn't the one who made the noose," she said.
She walked past them, into the dining room once again. She didn't stop there, though, but started up the stairs to the second floor landing. She spoke as she went. The others stayed downstairs, watching her as she went.
"It was your parents!" she said. "Yours and mine. Our parents killed him. They tracked him to the old boiler room where he took the kids. And they burned it down, burned him down. That's why he looks the way he does! They thought he was through, finished! But he came back. Through their children's dreams. Through my dreams!"
"Maria," Jill said, "come down from there. There's no need to do anything rash. We can beat him, I know it!"
"You don't know anything. Did you know that Drake and Steph were killed last night? Yeah, I can see by your expressions that you didn't. Yeah, Freddy got both of them. Hit 'em with a train, the deadbeats. What are your deaths going to look like? Will they look like suicides or will they look just like what they really are: murders?"
"We can beat him!" Jill insisted. "I have a plan. Now come down."
Maria shook her head, defeated. She laughed, another humorless cackle.
"How can you beat him?" she said. "You don't even know that I'm already asleep. I've been sleepwalking since I started coming up these stairs!"
"What?" Gale said.
"He led me up here. And now he's standing right behind me," Maria said.
None of them saw the noose move. One moment it was still hanging there, above them, the next it was around Maria's neck, pulled tight.
Then she was pushed.
None of them saw who pushed her - it was some kind of invisible force - but there was no doubt that she was pushed: she didn't jump. She didn't scream on the way down, resigned to her fate. She tumbled for a moment before gravity caught up with her and the noose snapped her back. There was a hideous crack as her neck broke. Tiffany screamed and buried her face in Gale's breast. Jill only looked on, shocked.
Maria's body swung - dead - above them, her feet just above their heads. She twitched - horribly - one leg spasming over and over again. Jill, Gale and Tiffany didn't have the first clue about what to do next.
3
Shortly after the others went inside Maria's house, Eric found himself staring at the House across the street. House with a capital "H". It had earned that capital letter. Eric thought about the stories he had heard. About how Jesse Walsh had skinned his younger sister alive and hung her, upside down, from the second-floor landing. About how he had cooked and eaten his father. About how he had removed all of his mother's internal organs and replaced them with dead ravens.
He had no idea how many of these stories were true, and how many of them were so much of the kind of bullshit that kids make up to scare each other. But it was incredible how fast these stories spread. It was only a few months ago that the bodies had been discovered, the details held by the authorities so as not to cause panic among the lesser people.
"What the Hell?" Eric said.
The door to the House was standing open. It hadn't been open. Just a moment before, it had been shut, he was sure of it. Now it was open like the horrible maw of some kind of vast beast.
And there was a little girl standing in the doorway. She was looking at him.
Eric walked towards the House, not exactly sure why. It all seemed to make sense: go find out if the little girl was okay. As he approached, the little girl disappeared deeper into the House.
"Hey, wait," Eric called after her.
He ran towards her, rapidly closing the gap between himself and the House. In mere seconds, he had mounted the steps and entered the threshold. Once he stepped into the House, the door closed behind him, seeling him inside.
"Fuck," he said.
Inside, the House seemed even more like a living thing than on the outside. Everything was rotted, leaking. An unnatural wind swirled leaves everywhere. There was an eerie, echoing sound that Eric couldn't identify. It seemed to come from every direction.
Eric, knowing that he was in a dream, looked everywhere he could for the Dream Pool. It was dangerous, he knew. Freddy could be anywhere.
He opened a door, gasped, put a hand over his mouth. It was a room full of snakes. They were everywhere, slithering, writhing, all over each other. They covered the entire floor of the room. Several of them slithered towards him and he slammed the door shut as hard as he could.
Desperately, he whirled around, and yelped at what he saw. The hallway he had been walking through was now filled with nooses. He could see at least fifteen of them hanging from the ceiling. They were all at varying lengths, one tied way up near the ceiling, one hanging so far down that it was practically touching the ground, the rest somewhere in between.
Eric navigated a mad, zigzag pathway through the nooses and down the hall. Somewhere, metal scraped against metal; Eric could hear it and it hurt his ears. There were cobwebs all around. They were impossibly large, almost artificial. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that someone had been decorating for Halloween.
Dead leaves blew in every direction, like a dust devil loose in the House. If the House was a living thing and its walls and pillars were its bones, then where was he? In its guts, he imagined; or perhaps in one of its veins. Guts seemed more appropriate: it would digest him soon enough.
The House was impossibly large inside, bigger than it was on the outside. Corridors and hallways stretched out for what seemed like miles. The staircase leading to the second floor enlongated up into the heavens: Eric could see clouds swirling up there, near the door to Jesse's - and Nancy's, he imagined - old room.
Something - or someone - cried out. The sound was right near Eric, practically on top of him. The cry was joined by another, then another. Soon, a chorus of voices cried out in pain but Eric couldn't see where the sounds were coming from. Then he saw them.
The walls of the hallway were covered, on both sides, with screaming faces. Children and teenagers, their faces emerging from the wallpaper like mounted candles, screaming and writhing in pain.
Eric dropped to the floor, both hands covering his ears in pain. It was too much. There was too much pain in the air. It was like he could feel all of them, feel all their pain and suffering. And he knew who they were, of course.
These were all the dead kids. All the ones Krueger had murdered.
He was using them against Eric.
Eric felt wet carpet on his knees and he opened his eyes. The carpet was soaked with water. Desperately, he searched for the source of the water, found it: it was coming from under one of the doors. He couldn't do more than crawl towards the door but he managed it. With a mighty effort, he reached up - through the screams, which seemed like a real, physical barrier in the atmosphere - and opened the door.
And the Dream Pool fell on him, crashed down on him like a wave.
All at once, everything changed. He was in a basement, sitting on the stairs. The basement was filled with the kind of junk that usually collects in basements: old toys, boxes, discarded electronics that haven't worked in years, a huge, old, white refrigerator that nearly reached the ceiling, looking down on the two people in the basement.
One was a grown man, a drunk, Eric could tell. He wore ratty clothes and an old baseball cap. His hair was black, longish and unkempt under the black cap. His eyes were sunken and mean. With a long leather strap, probably an old belt, he beat the second person in the basement: a young boy with reddish hair.
To Eric, the boy looked like a younger version of himself but he knew that wasn't the case. The grown man wasn't his late father and the boy didn't look too much like himself: this was confirmed when he got a better look at the boy's face when he moved. So who was this?
"You like taking your medicine, boy?" the man asked.
The boy burbled in pain.
"Speak up, Freddy," the man said.
Eric couldn't believe it. This was Fred Krueger, as a boy. It was a glimpse of Freddy's past. Somehow, the Dream Pool had brought him here; had wanted him to see this. But why?
Eric shook his head in disbelief and shifted his position on the stairs. His foot hit an old can sitting on a step and it fell over, rolled down the stairs. The two figures in the basement stopped, looked around at the sound.
Looked around at him.
All at once, they began to change: the man into a hunchbacked beast, the boy growing older, his skin molting and taking on a burned look. He was becoming the Freddy of Eric's nightmares.
Freddy, his grown self once again, produced his hat from out of nowhere and put it on his head. He casually slit the throat of the hulking, hunchbacked beast. The beast writhed in pain, blood spraying from its neck. Soon, it collapsed to the ground, dead. Krueger smiled, looked at Eric.
"So," he said, "how did you get in here?"
He approached Eric, razored fingers leading the way.
4
"We better go and get Eric," Jill said.
"Yeah," Gale said, distracted, still looking up at Maria's body. "Yeah, we better."
"Come on," Tiffany said.
The three of them made their way towards the front door, Tiffany walking hand in hand with Gale, their fingers entwined. They reached the door and stepped out into the chilly night air. A cold wind swept up a tangle of dead leaves, which swirled around the three of them.
"Eric!" Jill said.
She bolted towards Gale's car, where Eric was sitting back, clearly asleep. He was shaking, spasming, but his eyelids were closed, eyes moving rapidly back and forth under them. Jill grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. It was no good.
Eric started to gurgle. Blood drippled from his lips, hacked out from the back of his throat.
"Oh, Jesus," Jill said.
Gale jumped into the car, right next to Eric. Jill gave her some room to see if she could do anything about it. Gale slapped him across the cheek. Nothing. She sighed.
"Forgive me, man," she said.
And she reached between his legs and grabbed hold of his balls. Tight. Harsh. Eric's eyes snapped open and he gasped and immediately doubled over in pain, cradling his balls.
"Oh, fuck," he said. "Jesus ass-fucking Christ."
"Sorry," Gale said.
Eric shook his head, still in a righteous amount of pain but with what appeared to be - under the circumstances, anyway - a satisfied look on his face. He leaned against Gale.
"It's okay," he said. "Fuck. I was about to die in there. Son of bitch had his hand down my throat. The non-razored one, thankfully. Thought I was a goner."
They gave him a few moments to recover before telling him about what had happened in the house. He shook his head.
"Shame," he said.
"Yeah," Jill said.
Then he articulated what they were all thinking but wouldn't bring up:
"So what about the money?" he said.
5
"I don't know if this is right," Tiffany said.
They were back in the kitchen. Or, to be more precise, they were in the little room behind the kitchen. Jill and Eric were loading money out of Maria's open safe stashed in the back of the little room and into two big duffle bags they had found. Gale half-helped, half-disapproved. Tiffany stood outside the room entirely, arms folded across her ample bosom.
"Of course it's not right," Eric said. "Nothing about any of this is right. But we might need this money."
"Right," Jill said. "The cops are all corrupt in this town anyway. We know that now. They'd just take it for themselves. So why not us?"
"It just seems callous," Tiffany said. "Thoughtless."
"It's the opposite of thoughtless," Eric said. "This is our ticket out! With this kind of money, we can skip town, lay low for a while, let everything blow over and afford some good, convincing fake IDs."
"You shits," Tiffany said.
She turned away, walked out of the kitchen. Gale put a hand on Jill's shoulder.
"I'll be back," she said.
She left to follow Tiffany, finding her leaning against a wall in a hallway off the kitchen. A newspaper clipping stapled to the wall by her head spoke of Freddy's arrest. A picture of Donald Thompson illustrated the article.
"Hey," Gale said.
"Hey," Tiffany said.
Gale leaned against the wall next to Tiffany. They were silent for a few moments, both of them just reflecting on the Hellish nights their lives had become.
"They're right, you know," Gale finally said.
"I know they are," Tiffany said.
"But it pisses you off anyway."
"Yeah."
"I get it."
"The fuck you do."
"No, I do. It's not right. But we're not normal people anymore. Not that we ever were, I guess. Laws, rules, we're outside of all that now. It's the only way we're gonna survive. And it ain't pretty. Unlike you."
Tiffany smiled.
"Shut up," she said.
"No, really," Gale said. "You're one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen."
"What about that Chris Gordon you were talking about the other night?"
Gale shrugged.
"Okay, she's a goddess," she said. "But who cares? I wouldn't have anything in common with her. Wouldn't have one thing to share with her. She's on Track. All about physical training, all that muscle shit. But you..." Gale shook her head. "You're everything I've ever dreamed about. I can't explain it."
"Try," Tiffany said.
"I dreamed about you."
"Bullshit."
"I did. It was a nightmare."
"Figures."
They both laughed. Gale rolled off the wall and put her arms around Tiffany.
"I dreamed that I was watching this movie," she said. "But I was also in the movie. I was in this band. And you were in it. It's the craziest thing."
"How is that possible?" Tiffany said.
"It's not too weird. I've seen you around school. Just because we never shared a word before a few days ago doesn't mean I've never noticed you. It was just my subconscious' way of telling me what I really want. You."
There were no more words. They kissed, made out, right there in the hallway, amidst the chaos and carnage throughout the house. None of it mattered. All that mattered was each other and the feel of each other's bodies rubbing up against one another.
"Hey lovebirds," Eric said.
He was leaning into the hallway, looking at them, a smile on his face. Gale and Tiffany broke their kiss but didn't disentangle their limbs. They looked at Eric.
"What?" Gale said.
"We're done in here," Eric said. "But we still got work to do. All of us."
Gale sighed, shared another quick kiss with Tiffany, then the two of them left the hallway and got to work. They spent the next hour or so removing any trace of their presence in the house, wiping away fingerprints and the like. When they were done, they left and made an annonymous phone call to the police from a pay phone.
They put the money in the trunk of Gale's car. She drove everyone home. When she was finally alone and heading back to her house, she reflected that it couldn't get much worse than the last two nights.
It turned out that the next day was the worst yet to come.
6
"Honey," Ann's father, Gene, said. "Honey, are you there?"
It took a long time for Ann to answer. She was sitting on the couch in their tiny living room. It was late but she was trying to stay awake. Her father stood over her, a glass of what was no doubt warm milk in his hand.
"I'm here," Ann said.
Her voice was flat, emotionless. She looked up at him, her movements slow and deliberate, like a robot in an old science fiction movie.
"You need to sleep, baby," Gene said.
Ann shook her head. Gene sighed, clearly frustrated.
"Honey," he said, "I know you're upset. I know you had feeling for that ni... for that young man."
Tears rolled down Ann's cheeks.
"But you need sleep," Gene continued. "You just do. Now drink this. It'll help."
"You don't understand, dad," Ann said. "If I sleep, I'm dead."
"Don't talk that damn nonsense! It's bullshit and you know it. No one's coming for you in your dreams. You must see that! Your friend was probably murdered by someone who just didn't like him. Simple as that! Now go to fucking sleep!"
Ann looked up at her father, face full of tears, wanting so much to go to sleep, half-crazy, and suddenly it all seemed so easy. She spoke:
"Okay, dad," she said.
"Good," Gene said.
He handed her the glass of warm milk. Ann took it, stared at it for a moment. She shook her head, resigned, and downed the whole glass. Her father stared down at her, a satisfied smile on his face.
"I love you, dad," Ann said. "Goodbye."
"You mean, 'Goodnight,' honey," Gene said.
"Right. Goodnight."
He nodded sagely as Ann laid out on the couch, turned on her side and buried her head in the couch pillow. Sleep floated down onto her like a warm blanket and for a moment - just a moment - she felt safe, she felt relaxed, enjoying her rest.
Then the nightmare began.
She hit hard ground, like she had been dropped from several feet in the air. She looked around. She was in an alley. It looked like Springwood, but something was wrong. She wandered out of the alley, hands wrapped around her body. It was cold.
The street she emerged onto to was trashed, debris everywhere, many buildings collapsed or half-gone. It had been harder to tell in the alley, since most alleys already look like shit but out here it was apparent. She had a sneaking suspicion of what had happened but didn't want it to be true.
She passed by a shop window, its glass shattered. Inside, a television set crackled to life. A news anchor reported from a newsdesk. The man looked defeated, his eyes bordered with black circles.
"We have confirmation," the news anchor said. "The USSR is behind the nuclear attacks on the US and its allies. The US military have responded in kind, wiping out Moscow, just as New York, DC and many other cities have been destroyed. The USSR's allies are retaliating at the moment and we expect... Jesus, this is the end."
Ann put a fist to her mouth, bit down on it. She shook her head.
"No," she said. "No, this is a dream. It isn't real. Oh, God, it isn't real. No, no, no!"
She ran down the street, heading for the road out of town. She had to get out of here, had to see if anything had survived. But, most importantly, she had to leave Springwood. Maybe there was a life for her out there somewhere.
A mile or so later, she came across a group of people. They looked like tramps, dirty and diseased. Only worse. Their faces were covered in boils and unidentifiable, pulsing red bumps. They coughed continually, spitting out mouthfuls of dark blood.
"Out of my way," a tramp said behind Ann and pushed her aside.
The tramp ran towards the group, pushed through them as well. They were all fighting for something on the ground.
"It's mine!" one said.
"Give it to me!" another said.
"It belongs to me!" said a third.
Ann pushed her way through the men, trying to get a better look at what they were fighting over. She suppressed a scream when she saw it.
It was Freddy's glove.
One tramp finally got hold of it, put it on. He immediately slashed the throat of the nearest man. The man went down, hands around his neck, blood spraying everywhere. The other tramps backed away from the victor.
"I am your new God!" the triumphant tramp said. "Bow down and worship me!"
Most of them did. The Tramp God killed those who didn't. He stuck the razored fingers through eyes, sliced off testicles, stabbed them into armpits, whatever horrible fancy came to his diseased mind.
Then the Tramp God's gaze turned to Ann. He pointed with his gloved hand.
"You," he said. "You are not one of my servants."
"I..." Ann said.
"You will be destroyed. Eat him."
The other tramps, still on their knees, turned towards Ann, their faces mad, eyes wide, smiles hideous. They ran towards her on all fours like bugs or rats.
The first one to get to Ann grabbed her by the leg and bit down on it. Ann screamed and kicked the man off. But there were more. Many more. They were on her and Ann found herself punching, kicking and elbowing them aside.
She had to get out of here, had to escape. All of a sudden, she was no longer resigned, she wanted to live. But what could she do?
The answer came to her in an instant. This was a dream. All of it. Why couldn't she do things that she couldn't do in real life? Like, for example, run faster than any human could. Like the Flash or something!
She concentrated and her feet began to move, super fast, lightning fast. In an instant, she was away from the mob attacking her. They fell over in a tangle of limbs from the velocity of her sudden movement.
She ran circles around them, toying with them. She laughed and laughed, having a Hell of a time.
Then frowned.
The Tramp God was now Freddy. And he was laughing: looking at Ann whenever she passed and laughing. Why? What did he know that Ann didn't?
Ann shook her head. It didn't matter. She was out of here. She darted away from the mob of mutated monsters and ran down the street. There was a ramp set out in the middle of the road, as if placed there just for her. She picked up speed and mounted it.
And, suddenly, she was airborne. It was magical. She floated high in the air, above Springwood. She smiled, satisfied. This was bliss. This was Heaven. Perhaps she could live in this dreamstate forever, changing it by her very will.
That was when she saw it. It was flying high above her, coming towards her, rocket-powered.
It was an ICBM missile. A nuclear missile.
With red and green stripes.
"Oh, shit," Ann said.
She tried to avoid the missile but it changed course and hit her straight on. The tip of the missile impaled Ann in the stomach, coming out the other side of her. Ann's hands collapsed around the missile as it took her down to the ground, the G-forces racking her body. She coughed up blood.
Ann clawed at the metal, found a panel. She managed to pry it open. Maybe she could get at the circuits and stop it, disarm it.
She tore off the panel and threw it aside, where it caught air and glided off, tumbling end over end as it fell. Ann's face dropped.
"Oh, God," she said. "Jesus Christ, no!"
The panel had no circuits inside it. Only Freddy's smiling face, reconstructed in wires and circuts.
"Mutually assured destruction," Freddy said. "Good idea, if you ask me!"
He laughed as the missile hit its target: the Springwood High trackfield. The track, the sports building, the neighborhood, the town and Ann herself were all annihilated in the explosion, leaving behind only a brilliant, orange mushroom cloud, as high as the sky.
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The Dream Trap