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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter Nine: Parents Day
1
The next morning, Friday, Jill was already sitting at the kitchen table when her father came down for breakfast. Tiffany had agreed to stay up in her room for the time being, let Jill and her father have a real talk. Bill Snyder came downstairs and into the kitchen whistling.
"Morning, honey," Mr. Snyder said. "What are you doing up so early? You've got the day off, remember?"
"Yeah," Jill said, "I remember, Dad. One of my friends died."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I... I didn't know that you were friends with Riley. How well did you know him?"
"This isn't a story, Dad. You're not interviewing me."
"I know. What's wrong?"
"I haven't slept."
"That's the worst thing you could do. Bad for your health."
"I don't think you could sleep, either, if you'd gone through what I've gone through."
"You have been through a lot and I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately."
He turned away from her and opened the fridge, grabbed a few eggs and bacon. Breakfast was what was primarily on his mind, it seemed.
"Dad," Jill said, "what do you know about Fred Krueger?"
"Fred Krueger?" Mr. Snyder said, still not turning away from the preparations of his breakfast. "Haven't heard that name for a long time."
"But you do know it?"
"Well, of course I know it. He was a serial killer. Years ago."
"What happened to him?"
"He was let go. Technicality."
"Then what?"
Mr. Snyder shrugged, broke an egg in a hot frying pan, let it sizzle. The bacon was already sizzling in a pan next to it.
"Skipped town, I guess," he said. "Too many angry parents."
"Got that right," Jill said.
"What does that mean?"
"Means, Dad, that I don't think you're telling me the whole truth here."
"I've got nothing to hide."
"Dad, I'm not invisible! Look at me!"
Mr. Snyder finally turned away from breakfast to look at Jill. Their gazes met and Mr. Snyder sat down at the table opposite his daughter.
"What is it, dear?" he said.
"Dad," Jill said, "did you kill him?"
He was visibly shaken. He sat back in his chair, almost like he wanted to get away from her. He shook his head, rapped his knuckles on the table, a nervous tick.
"That's ridiculous," he said.
"That's bullshit, Dad!" Jill said.
"Jill, dear, language!"
"I'm eighteen years old, Dad, fuck language! Did you kill Fred Krueger?"
"This is not you. It isn't. You're not like this."
"Well, I am now, Dad. My friends are dying, one by one. And you know who's doing it, don't you? So tell me the truth, one adult to another."
Mr. Snyder stood up again, paced the kitchen. Behind him, the bacon burned, the eggs turned green with the heat.
"Yes," he said. "I killed him. Me and a whole lot of other parents on this street. We sent him to Hell."
"Oh, fuck," Jill said, her head in her hands. "It's true. All true."
"We did it for you. For you, the children who were still alive. And we did it for all the dead ones, Marty included."
"Marty?"
"You wouldn't remember him. You weren't even two years old. He...he was your older brother. Krueger killed him when he was six years old."
"I had a brother?! I... What? I don't..."
"So you see I had to do it. We all had to do it. Had to kill him!"
Jill stood up from the table, walked out of the kitchen. Her father followed her. Jill called up the stairs.
"Tiffany," she said, "we're leaving!"
"Don't go, honey," her father said. "Stay with me. We have to talk about this."
"We already have, Dad. All you and your fucking idiot friends did was make it worse! Don't you see? We're dying. We're all dying. All the kids of the parents who killed him!"
Tiffany came down the stairs. She and Jill left, Mr. Snyder still in the house, tears in his eyes.
2
Stanley was a prisoner. There was no other word for it. His parents, their paranoia reaching a crescendo, had not let him out of the house since he left school the previous day. It was late afternoon on Friday now and Stanley was having an increasingly difficult time trying to stay awake. He had almost zero stimulation, only the house, his room, his bed. Today, in fact, his parents didn't even want him leaving his room. They brought meals up to him, accompanied him to the bathroom. It was insane. He lived for the phone calls he received from his friends. He was on the line with Eric at the moment, talking to him while pacing his room, getting tangled up in the long cord.
"What could you have done about it?" Stanley said.
"I don't know," Eric said on the other end of the line.
"Well, there you go."
"It's just, you know, I liked Steph."
"But it's not like you knew her. You just thought she was some hot chick. And she was, I won't deny that, but she was just some girl. Not a friend."
"Right," Eric said. "But...I felt like we had some kind of connection. If we had just gotten to know each other better..."
"She was bad news," Stanley said. "I'm sorry but she was. Her and Drake. Both bad news kids. Mixed up in drugs, worse. Who knows what?"
"Shit, I know. And...I just got word that Ann's dead, too."
"What?!"
"Yeah, she didn't make it through the night. Her father found her dead this morning. Supposed to be some kind of...horrible mess."
"Jesus," Stanley said.
"Yep," Eric said. "And her pops...he didn't waste anytime. Called the police...then put a snub-nosed pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger."
"Shit."
"Brains all over the kitchen walls. I hate this fucking town. But why focus on the negative? So what's goin' on with you? Parents still got you on lockdown?"
"You know it, dude. Like a fuckin' prison here."
"I don't know where the Hell my mom went. I stopped by her work, just wanted to talk to her, you know? Trying to fill time, trying to stay awake? Anyway, they tell me she left early. Some personal matter. But she's not home, either."
"Maybe she's got a boyfriend," Stanley suggested.
"Ah, don't say things like that," Eric said. "Make me gag here. Gross."
"Just a theory. Not too far-fetched, is it?"
"I guess not."
"How's everyone else?"
"I don't know. Everyone seems broken. Fractured. We're breaking apart, man. Jill only thinks about beating Freddy, Gale has Tiffany now and they're all over each other just about all the time."
"Wow," Stanley said. "Sign me up. Damn, why I can't ever be around when they're doing each other?"
"Calm down," Eric said. "It's not like I've walked in on them...fisting each other or anything like that."
"If only..."
"You crack me up, man. Really."
"What about you?"
"What?"
"Gale has Tiffany on her arm, Jill has Freddy on the brain. What about you?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line. If Stanley didn't know any better, he might have thought Eric had hung up. As it was, he could still hear his friend breathing lightly on the other end.
"You didn't fall asleep, did you?" he asked.
"No," Eric said.
"Well?"
"I just want to get the Hell out of here."
"Out of the house? I know how you feel."
"Out this fucking town. This place is gonna kill me."
There was a knock on Stanley's bedroom door, saving him from answering. Which was good because he had no idea what how he was supposed to respond to Eric.
"Hold on a minute," he said.
He put the phone down, went to answer the door. He opened it to his mother, standing in the doorway like a prison guard.
"Yeah?" he said.
"Honey," she said, "we're having a few people over, so I want you to stay up here. And don't make a peep."
"Shouldn't be too difficult."
"Thanks, hon."
She walked down the hall and Stanley closed the door behind her. He retrieved the phone.
"Hey, you there?" he said.
But the line was dead.
3
"What is going on?" Stanley said to himself.
He stood at his bedroom window, looking down in the front of the house. This was the second car that had pulled up. The first had been driven by a woman he didn't know. She looked upper class, blonde and immaculately dressed. Now, in the second car, was Bill Snyder, Jill's dad. What was he doing here?
He tried to call Jill, got no answer. As he was putting the phone down, he heard a third car pull up. He ran to the window just in time to see Gale's parents getting out of the car. Shortly after them came Eric's mom.
This was too much. He grabbed the phone, started to dial Eric.
And it was all suddenly too much.
It hit him all at once: all of the deaths, his friends dying one by one. Now this. It was too much. He sat down on his bed, shaking his head.
"No, no," he said. "I won't go to sleep. I won't! I..."
He fell back, onto his bed. He was asleep instantly. The phone hung from its cord, dangling off the bed, the line unreachable now.
4
"Well, I don't give a damn who finds out," Bill Snyder said. "These are our kids here. It's our responsibility to protect them. Jesus Christ, doesn't that make sense to any of you?"
They were all in the dining room. Everyone was sitting at the table with the exception of Elaine Parker and Bill himself. Bill couldn't help but stare at Elaine, hating every inch of her. Her blonde hair was immaculate and she was almost in formal wear, a black dress. She was probably planning on going out for a night on the town after this little meeting. She smoked like a chimney while they talked.
"I'm just saying that this doesn't make any sense," Mrs. O'Connor, Gale's mother, said. "How could they know?"
"I don't know," Bill said. "Maybe our kids are starting to remember something. Repressed memories. I've read about that."
"Your kids," Elaine Parker said.
"What?" Mr. Peters, Stanley's father, said.
"This is all happening to your kids," Elaine explained. "Not my little angel. She's been sleeping fine."
"But for how long, Elaine?" Bill said. "How long? The Reynolds kid is dead, the Doyle boy, the James boy, Bobby Garfield, Stephanie Baker. How are they connected? I think you damn well know."
"I don't have to take this," Elaine said. "I don't even live on this nasty street anymore."
"Yeah," Mrs. Peters said, "an insurance policy later and you're suddenly no longer a friend of mine."
"Let's be honest, we were never friends."
"How did your husband die again, Elaine?" Mrs. Tate, Eric's mother, asked.
"Didn't anyone call Donald?" Elaine said, trying to change the subject.
"Of course," Mrs. Peters said. "Lt. Thompson, former lieutenant, excuse me... He couldn't make it."
"Of course he couldn't," Elaine said. "He's a drunk."
"Look who's talking," Mr. Peters said.
"I refuse to listen to any more of this garbage," Elaine said.
She left the dining room and headed into the entryway. The front door was locked and she scrambled to find a lock to open it. It appeared to need a key.
"Somebody let me out of this damn prison," she said.
Mrs. Peters walked into the entryway. She looked sheepish.
"Please reconsider," she said. "We could use your input."
"Sounds like none of you want my input," Elaine said. "Now let me out."
Mrs. Peters reached for her keys, in her pocket. She was flustered, disturbed by all their talk.
"Come on!" Elaine prompted. "I don't want to stay in this place any longer than necessary. What's taking you so long?!"
Finally, Mrs. Peters had the keys and unlocked the door for Elaine, who blew a mouthful of smoke at her while leaving. Mrs. Peters sighed, locked the door behind her and, without thinking about it, dropped the keys on the sidebar by the door. She returned to the dining room.
"Who needs the bitch, anyway?" Bill said.
"All right, all right," Mr. O'Conner said. "But what are you really trying to say here, Bill? That Freddy somehow isn't dead? That he's after our kids? That sounds crazy."
"There's no way he's still alive," Bill said. "Donald and Blocker made sure of that. Fucker was nothing but charred bones. They hid his body somewhere. I don't where, so don't ask me."
"Blocker died soon after, didn't he?" Mrs. Tate said.
"Yes," Bill said. "Not long before your husband, in fact."
"We're getting off track here," Mr. O'Connor said. "Bill, if you think Freddy's dead, then what are you really saying? That he's come back from the dead?"
Bill sighed. He had been leaning against the wall and now got off it, approached the table.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe Freddy had an accomplice. Someone we didn't know about."
"That's ridiculous," Mrs. O'Connor said. "We would have found out at some point."
"Why?" Bill said. "Is that so far-fetched? So what do you think the answer is? They're all dreaming about Freddy. Does that mean that he's killing them through their dreams? Does that make any more sense?"
"No," Mrs. O'Connor said.
"But why our children," Mr. Peters said, "why not us?"
"Because it hurts more," Mrs. Tate said.
"Right," Bill said. "Plus, not all of us have escaped Freddy's grasp. Blocker, Marge Thompson, Elaine's husband, Kirk. Your husband, Mrs. Tate. And now Buford Violet and Gene Franklin."
"Buford was an accident," Mr. Peters said. "He fell down the stairs while drunk, stabbed himself with a knife he was carrying. Gruesome, yes. Unexpected? Not at all. And Gene, well..."
"Well, they practically all have been accidents," Bill said. "Death by misadventure. But what if they were staged? One of the cops who investigated Buford's death told me that the crime scene looked like it'd been staged."
"Then why aren't they investigating it further?" Mrs. O'Connor said.
"Don't have the manpower," Bill said. "Plus, they don't care. Nobody liked Buford. Hell, I didn't like Buford. He was a drunk. A mean one. I'm glad Tiffany's under my roof, for the time being, at least. I think he's been abusing her for years."
"You're a saint for taking her in, Bill," Mrs. O'Connor said.
"Yeah," Mr. Peters said, "a saint or just some guy looking for a scoop, am I right?"
"That's unfounded!" Bill said. "That girl is sweet and innocent. Well, mostly innocent - as innocent as any seventeen year old can be. I'm just trying to protect her from whatever's going on around here."
"That's the question, isn't it?" Mr. Peters said. "What is going on here?"
"Someone's preparing a feast," Bill said. "And we're all on the menu."
5
Stanley popped a tape into the VCR and sat down in front of the television, excited as a kid on Christmas morning. It was a bright, cheery day. He could tell, even though his windows were shut. Birds chirped outside and the sun shown through the shutters in flat, powerful shafts projected onto the striped carpet of his bedroom floor.
The tape booted up, white noise replaced with black, then the usual FBI warning. Then trailers. Oh, how Stanley loved trailers. Particularly porn trailers, they always showed the best parts, so he could decide to pursue a certain tape if it looked like it had a few good-looking scenes in it.
But these were strange trailers. The usual sex scenes were supplemented with odd, scary scenes. They were the usual porn "serious" scenes, where the performers, both men and women, were trying to act, but there was always something lurking in the background of the scenes: scurrying creatures, piles of severed limbs, grinning, clutching madmen. None of the actors in any of these scenes ever remarked on the strange things, nor ever seemed to even see them. It was unsettling, to say the least.
Finally, the movie began. Lois Ayers was wearing headphones and dancing like Tiffany, in a bedroom full of posters. Then a big man wearing a hockey mask came into her bedroom. She didn't see him, nor hear him, what with her headphones. The man carried a machete. He approached the starlet, raised the machete.
"Watch out!" Stanley called out, as if she could hear him.
Amazingly, she did.
She whirled around, kicked the man in the balls. He doubled over and Lois ran around his enormous bulk and kicked him in the ass. Astonishingly, the stalker was catapulted through the bedroom window, where he fell to his death.
Stanley cheered and Lois gave him a little bow, looking right out of the television screen. The music on the soundtrack got funkier, sexier, and Stanley got down to business as, onscreen, Lois welcomed Jeanna Fine into her room. They made out, undressed each other. Both girls had a similar look: blonde and punked-out. Almost as if they could be sisters. It added a dirty, naughty feel to the scene.
In Stanley's room, the light streaming through the window changed color, from sun white to striped red and green. Stanley didn't notice, all of his attention focused on the screen. Strange sounds surrounded him: an odd clicking noise, the fluttering of insect wings, what sounded like an old, rusty iron door closing slowly.
The girls onscreen stopped what they were doing and looked at Stanley, pointed at him. They laughed, eerily. Stanley looked around and saw them: Erica Boyer, Barbara Dare, Christy Canyon, Traci Lords. They surrounded him, actually in the room with him.
Stanley gasped, delighted and scared at the same time. They looked like animated corpses: pale skin, dark eyeliner - their movements jerky, uneven. They were in all four corners of the room, staring at him. They tilted their heads side to side and approached him slowly.
"Oh, Jesus," he said.
The girls reached him, touched him, kissed him. On the television screen, Lois Ayers and Jeanna Fine made out with each other and watched him through the picture tube.
The girls took turns sitting in his lap and kissing him, one after the other. Traci Lords was last and she took her time, rubbed her ass into his lap, pressed her body against him. She kissed him long and slow, but something about her bothered him. She lacked passion. When the kiss broke, she looked at him, stared at him, saying nothing. It was a little creepy and Stanley adjusted his position, trying to get her off him.
The others grabbed hold of him, tightly. Stanley tried to make light of it, laughed a little.
"Hey," he said, "I'm into the kinky stuff but this..."
He trailed off. Traci opened her mouth. Wide. Impossibly wide. Her jaw extended like a python dislocating its jaw to swallow a rather large prey. A loud, inhuman wail escaped her maw. Stanley screamed.
"I don't want this anymore," he babbled. "Please stop!"
On the television screen, Lois and Jeanna laughed mercilessly, their hands exploring each other's nether regions. Stanley started to cry, massive tears streaming down his face.
Traci's mouth was now monstrously stretched, at least two feet tall. There was a hideous chittering, scraping sound at the back of her throat - just under the wail - and something came crawling out of her mouth, scittering down her chin and neck, onto her chest.
It was one of the VHS/roaches. Stanley didn't think he could scream any louder but he proved himself wrong. He could feel his vocal cords stretching, breaking. The VHS/roach crawled onto his own chest, traveled down his body.
He looked around as more wails sounded around him. The other girls' mouths were also open impossibly wide and VHS/roaches crawled out of their throats, one after another, scuttling all over Stanley.
The boy's eyes were fixed on Traci's wide open mouth. No other VHS/roaches had emerged from her mouth after the first. As he watched, a hand clad in a razored glove emerged from her mouth, clasping onto her lower jaw. A second hand - burned but no glove - appeared, grabbed hold of the girl's upper jaw.
Freddy pushed apart the girl's head, climbed partway out of her. He wasn't wearing his hat but everything else about him was the same: the burned face, the horrible smile.
"Women," he said. "Never can trust 'em, can you? Sorry, Stanley, this little opportunity is something I just can't pass up. Be back before you can scream. Oops, too late."
He retreated back into Traci's body, leaving her upper head hanging down, flapping against the back of her neck. After a moment, another VHS/roach crawled out of the hole that used to be her head, but this one was different. It was striped red and green and a blinking eye was in the center of it, between the reels, where a sticker would normally be.
The other girls grabbed him by his head while the VHS/roaches covered his body, preventing him from moving. Erica Boyer forced his lower jaw open while Barbara Dare pushed her fingers into his eyes and pulled his upper jaw up with the assistance of Christy Canyon. Soon, his mouth was forced open almost as wide as the girls.
Stanley cried and tried to scream while the Freddy/roach crawled up his body, up his neck and into his open mouth. The moment it was inside, the girls let go of him and the VHS/roaches disappeared. There was the mechanical sound of a VCR accepting a VHS tape coming from inside his head. His eyes were momentarily clouded over with white noise, then snapped to black, a noise bar scrolling through them. Then there was a quick FBI warning before being replaced by a red and green striped pattern.
Then Freddy's eyes replaced Stanley's own eyes. The boy smiled just like Freddy, then sneered.
"Welcome to Freddy TV," he said and laughed.
6
"We just keep going around in circles," Bill said. "You people must see that something's going on here."
They were still arguing, still arranged around the dining room table. All of them were wrapped up in the subject now, leaning into the table, closer to each other.
"And?" Mr. Peters said.
"And I don't understand why you don't want to do anything about it. Are you cowards? No, you can't be. Know how I know? Because you were all standing next to me while Thompson and Blocker lit that fucker on fire!"
None of them saw Stanley walk by the doorway briefly. And, of course, they didn't see him pick up the keys on the sidebar by the front door. He passed by them once again, on his way to the basement. Once again, no one saw him. He was sleepwalking, most definitely not in control of his body anymore.
In the basement, he threw the keys into the furnace. After that, he grabbed the can of kerosene in the corner of the room. He grabbed a lighter and started pouring kerosene around the basement, then headed up the stairs, spread it around the entire ground floor, continued up to the second, spread it around up there, too.
After that, he headed downstairs to say hello to the parents.
7
"I say we drag Thompson out of whatever dive he's locked himself in," Bill said, "make him involved. Hell, he should understand. His daughter nearly died a few years ago and his wife did!"
He slammed a hand down on the table. Mrs. Peters started. She looked around.
And saw Stanley.
He was standing in the doorway of the dining room, dumping some kind of liquid over his naked body. He had a horrible smile on his face.
"Honey?" she said.
Everyone looked at him. Mr. Peters stood up.
"Jesus," Bill said.
"Son," Mr. Peters said, "what is that you're...covered in?"
"Kerosene," Stanley said, laughing. But he didn't speak in his own voice but in some other voice, deeper, meaner.
In fact, he sounded just like Fred Krueger.
"Oh, God," Mrs. Tate said.
"I just couldn't resist," Freddy/Stanley said. "So many of you here, together, in one place. Sure, it's more satisfying to kill your kids but...this'll be fun, too."
He laughed again, tossed the can of kerosene aside and raised the lighter. He made to strike it. Several of the parents made a move towards him.
"Stop!" Mr. Peters said.
"Please, God!" Mrs. Peters said.
Bill nearly reached him. But he was too late. Freddy/Stanley struck the lighter.
For one brief moment, just after the lighter was struck, nothing happened. Freddy/Stanley's eyes cleared and he was his old self again.
"Mom?" he said. "Dad?"
Then the flame of the lighter ignited the fumes kicked off by the kerosene and the boy went up like a Roman Candle. He screamed in horrible agony as the fire engulfed him and spread across the floor.
Everything went chaotic.
The fire spread quickly, in every direction: through the first floor, up to the second, down to the basement. Stanley collapsed to the ground, burning alive. The adults ran towards the front door but it was locked.
The house was like a prison and there was no way out.
Mrs. Peters dropped to her knees by her burning son, cradled him, setting herself ablaze. She screamed.
Soon, everyone else was burning, too. The house went up in a raging inferno, the screams of the not-so-innocent heard down the whole street.
And, somewhere, Freddy Krueger was still laughing.
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The Dream Trap