Tina Gray - An Elm Street Nightmare.

BY : Nickamano
Category: M through R > Nightmare on Elm Street
Dragon prints: 1280
Disclaimer: A Nightmare on Elm Street and any related materials are not owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Tina Gray – an Elm Street Nightmare.
By: Nickamano.

Disclaimer:  I do not own A Nightmare on Elm Street or its characters, and I make no financial gain from the writing of the spoof / fan-fiction story. Wes Craven was the original creator and all copyrights remain with Warner Brothers.  

Tags: Fear, horror, viol, minor2,  fingering, oral, mf, implied rape.


The lush and leafy peaceful suburban environ of Elm street, in the town of Springwood Ohio, was undeniably a beautiful and peaceful street to grow up on and fifteen-year-old Tina Gray had always shared that opinion herself, ever since she was four or five and was finally allowed to play outside by her constantly arguing parents (they would be divorced and her father completely out of the picture before her sixth birthday). However, even with the wonderful tree-lined sidewalks, the immaculately presented lawns and the constant upkeep of the 1920's Colonial style house facias, there was something shadowy, something brooding that Tina had never been able to put her finger on. Maybe it was the fact that she and the other few Elm street kids her age had only been allowed to play outside from the age of four or five that had placed a kind of latent fear of the 'world-outside' in them. Alternatively, it could all be in Tina's own head, of course. There was enough crap in there already - family crap, personal crap - who's to say it wasn't having an effect on her feelings about 'home' as well. 

Whatever the reason, the town and the street especially felt sullied, as if the place was just a pristine skin covering a rotten inside. Her parent's divorce had left her mother a husk of a woman; drowning her sorrows in booze and loser men, unable to look after herself never mind her teenage daughter. 

Tina struggled. She struggled at school, she struggled with her family, she struggled with herself. She was beautiful and she knew it, but at the same time she felt it was literally all she had going for her, all she could rely on. She had Nancy, of course, who she had grown up with. But Nancy was blessed with an inner strength and fortitude and a practicality that Tina envied and was sometimes jealous of.

Maybe the move had been part of it, after the divorce Tina and her mom had been forced to move to a smaller, cheaper place down on the southside of Elm street and it was a more rundown area on the rougher side of town. Growing up, she had been Nancy’s next-door neighbour, though now it was a good twenty-minute walk just to see her oldest friend, unless she could get Rod to drive her down there. But, of course, he always wanted backseat sex in return, at the very least a blowjob, which was a hassle when you just wanted to spend a little time with your best friend.

These days it was all Tina could do to distract herself from the crap. She found it was good to drown herself in fun and she liked it best when she lost herself partying - music and dancing, booze and friends, maybe a little doobie every now and then.

Tonight, had been no exception. Her mother hadn't left on her Vegas trip yet, she was meant to be staying home because mom was going away and leaving Tina alone for a few nights, and they had meant to spend the evening together but, as usual, she could hardly stand to be in the house with her daughter so she was out for the night, probably looking for another middle aged married loser to make her feel good for a few hours.

And so, Tina had come home to an empty house. She had made herself dinner; watched that night's episode of Fame; practiced on the piano in the living room; read a little for her book report while she took a bath and then took herself off to bed.

And then came the dream.

The dream began the same way as it had for the last two nights and Tina wondered why she hadn't remembered it more clearly yesterday or the day before. But then the dream reality took over and she was there again at the nondescript and handle-less rusted metal door which invariably led into the boiler room. And at that moment, it was all that existed for her. The slow squeal of the door; as she inexorably pushed it open; was akin to fingernails on a blackboard.

There were the huge rusted water tanks, each the size of a school bus, scores of them, side by side and stacked floor to shadow-hidden ceiling. There were the countless miles of twisted coppery coloured metal piping, Esher-like in their travails around the cavernous chamber. And then endless maintenance dials, always in the red, always threatening to release the pressure, explosively. The scraps of metal and rust and earth and detritus that littered every nook and cranny, the floor, the gantries and every black-ink shadow, cobweb-cluttered corner.

Tina found herself remembering her Sunday-School teachings - the descriptions of Hell and she felt like this could be the very place. This could be what the teachers were describing. And darkest of all, darker than the shadows and all the sordid obscured sections of the huge chamber that weren't revealed to her, was the presence. Not a person necessarily, more like a feeling, oppressive, heavy and dark. Wicked, malevolent. Evil. It suffused the place, it was in the pipes, infused into the scalding steam and the choking smoke from the myriad hell-fires that lit the boilers and burned bright and cruel in the open grates at every corner and every junction. It was all around her. Everywhere. Watching.

The fear in the place was palpable, her own fear and inexplicably, the fears of everyone else who ever had been dragged to this place and left their terrorised experiences behind like bloody fingerprints. 

She knew she was alone in the boiler room, she hadn't seen another soul in all the times she had entered the place but even so she definitely had the feeling that she wasn’t alone, there had been other people here. And inexplicably she felt like ‘other people’ in fact meant ‘other kids’. 

However, beyond all that - beyond even that presence of evil - there was the ever-present feeling that Tina was actually being watched, right now in this moment. And not by any obscure malevolent sense of dread, there was someone else present, someone else here. Even acknowledging the hypocrisy of ‘knowing’ she was alone, she felt it was the truth. It was always near-by, always just out of sight. It was certainly a malevolent force and that feeling of being watched continued to grow stronger and more distressing with each passing heartbeat.

And then came the noise. It was distant, far away and echoing through the thickness of the hot, steamy atmosphere but it was definitely real. Fingernails on a blackboard. That horrible inhuman, inanimate screech that set Tina's teeth on edge and made her want to run.

The fear suffusing both the locale and Tina herself felt like a parasite, it clotted the heat and the dampness of the concentrated, steam-thick air. It was like treacle, trickling down her naked spine along with the streams of her sweat. And with that thought Tina became acutely aware that she was essentially naked. Other than a short night-shirt and panties, she was bare foot and bare legged, and the heat and her sweat had already soaked the night-shirt through and painted it to her naked body. She knew that she might as well be naked, the thin cotton now a second skin against her flesh, the plain white fabric made transparent by sweat and steam. Her exposed breasts, pert though small, rose and fell rapidly in time to her quickened breaths and her nipples jutted proud, engorged by her fear. Her whole package, sweet and sexy according to past boyfriends (and her own bedroom mirror), would be stark and obvious to anyone else in this damnable boiler room right now.

Feeling the cotton of the night-shirt uncomfortably gripping the curvaceous upper slopes of ass cheeks she was secretly proud of, Tina hurried forward along a makeshift filth-walkway between a hurricane of boilers and pipes and sharp rusted gantries above and below and beside her, surrounding her like some demented three-dimensional maze.

Shadows moved, sometimes the reflected flickering lights of the sweltering boiler-fires seemed to take on the form of hands and demonic faces, but it was for the shortest of peripheral instants and Tina’s logical side dismissed the effect even though her deeper fear-centres cringed and the flight-or-fight response pushed her onwards more and more desperately.

Suddenly, there was the shadow of a man at the end of the walkway, against what must have been a concrete wall - dirty, grey and dashed with weeping paint of sickly yellows and ochres and dried, blackened red. The human shadow was indistinct, a slender form, towering against the wall, one hand longer than the other with what looked like elongated fingers, the head oddly shaped, somehow bulbous. By the time her conscious mind picked up the realisation that the oddly shaped head was more than likely the brim of a hat, the shadow had disappeared.

Tina moved on, stark fear making her shiver all over, despite the sultry heat of the endless, labyrinthine boiler room. She ran on, down pathways, along gantries, around corners, up flights of clanging metal steps. Shadows chased her, sounds forced her to turn one way or another, the horrible scrape of fingernails on a blackboard, a hissing sound that was more like a human or a serpent than the hiss of escaping steam. The strange otherworldly bleat of a terrified lamb. The roar and the debilitating heat of the furnaces. It all forced her onward blindly and increasingly terror-filled. 

The first thing that brought her to a dead, exhausted stop was a floor-length, filthy, moisture-stiffened sheet that had been erected as some kind of partition or door. Tina stopped in front of the sheet, at first refusing to touch it, peering instead around the edges to look beyond it, but there was simply more of the perpetual boiler room on the other side.

However, after a long and increasingly despairing look, she did spot something that made her heart leap with renewed hope. At the far end of the gantry and a level up, there was a flight of metal steps leading up to another rusty metal door. It was the first door she had seen since the one she had stepped through into this diabolical place. Taking a deep breath, the girl reached out and went to push the sheet aside. 

It didn’t act the way it should have, it seemed to coil around her, like a fog, though solid. Instantly, it had enveloped her, sticking to her sweat-coated skin like a plastic tarp. It clung to her, to her bare flesh, she could feel its touch on her naked skin, as if her night-shirt no longer existed, but it was like hands on her skin pressing onto her, feeling her, gripping her. Her shuddering breasts, her flat, palpitating abdomen, her fear-clenched thighs. For a horrible second it closed around her face and she couldn't breathe, couldn't inhale, her nose and mouth were filled with the coppery rust and steam stench and no air was coming in or out. It suffocated her, seemed to go into her mouth, push into her very throat, as though someone had twisted a good eight inches of the horrible fabric into a wrist-thick lozenge and then stuffed it deep into her oesophagus, gagging and choking her.

Her terrorised scream seemed to release the gag from her throat and in the moment that followed, her struggles and desperation saw her free of it and in a new level of despair. Tina ran on.


The first touch was like a prickle on her bare skin beneath her night-shirt. A momentary sensation she immediately dismissed, the way a trickle of sweat could feel like a spider crawling on the skin. The second was more deliberate, what was distinctly a palm cupping her left breast but then letting go at once. Tina squealed and panicked, darted away from the invisible touch seeing no one and nothing. The third turned into a dozen or more as she ran and twisted and struggled, trying in vain to escape the unseen molester, all the while continually touched by invisible hands and always, impossibly, beneath her night-shirt. 
Sometimes gentle teasing touches - a swipe at the streams of sweat trickling down her spine, a touch on her throat, a finger against her lips, a pinch to her cheek. Other times they were more overtly sexual caresses, a harsh pinch on a nipple, a stroke of a finger against her vulva. Other times they were more painful, pinches and scratches anywhere and everywhere. And sometimes a cold, hard feeling, like an icy blade against her flesh. However, the instant she felt each one and reacted, the feeling was gone.

Then there was a hand cupping her right buttock and the sheer horror of it stopped her in her tracks, the invisible hand remained. The horrible, so-called teasing suddenly much more serious. Tina could feel the calloused, wrinkled skin of the invisible palm, strong fingers digging into the smooth, hard muscle beneath her soft flesh, beneath even the cotton of her sweat soaked panties. She could even feel the scratch of broken nails digging into the succulent flesh of her perky ass cheek. 

Again, she squealed a curse and burst out of reach, spinning around for the hand’s owner. There was no one there but the hand remained, clenching painfully, cruelly on her tender bottom. She cried in a renewed panic, unable to see or connect to the owner of the hand, unable to remove the molester from her body. 

The hand squeezed harder still, clamping like a vice, her muscle and flesh twisted painfully under the demonic grip. She could feel the broken nail tips of two of the disembodied fingers pressing against the tiny puckered sphincter mouth of her clenched ass hole.

The teenage girl slammed herself back against the nearest solid object - the rusted railing of the gantry, but now she could feel a body between her and the hard metal piping, the hand was still clenched tight and probing filthily. Tina’s teenage pussy clenched in fear, her ass tensing and she cringed and wailed and wept, shivering and writhing uselessly against the unseen assault. But the fingers pressed in firmly, the nails cutting into the cinched muscles of her tender anal mouth, forcing the sphincter ring to stretch and then two cruel fingers pushed their way up inside her body.

Tina screamed uselessly at the unstoppable violation. 

Another disembodied hand suddenly gripped Tina’s throat tight, grasping, choking. This one was leathery and coarse, hot but dry, with points of hard, rough coldness like metal and she froze again, wailing and cringing, tears streaming free as her scream was abruptly choked off. Her whole body was frozen and tense, unable to escape, unable to fight back, as the two sharp-nailed fingers pushed deeper and deeper up her ass, to the first knuckle then the second, deeper and deeper still. 

In that same hellish moment and just as disembodied as the molesting hands were, the girl heard a voice. Actually, felt rather than heard, more a vibration in her head than a sound entering her ears. It was a laugh, an inhumanly deep, throaty, demonic cackle. Amused, sadistic.

The hand at her throat shifted a little, tightened and across the back of her neck and the top of her shoulder, she felt sudden lances of sharp pain followed by a hot, bubbling wetness. And the laugh turned into a moan, a cruel, animalistic, sensual sound, something both monstrous and turned-on.

It was too much for Tina and she screamed her lungs hoarse, despairing, trying to shake herself free of the hands of her invisible possessor. 

The moan turned back into that horrible malevolent laugh, louder than ever. As evil as it was amused. The dry, leathery-metal grip on her throat tightened, choking her. The sharpness at her shoulder searing, slicing in deeper. And the fingers in her ass twisted, the digits spreading to stretch her, the nails nicking her sensitive anal walls.

The laugh slipped casually into a deep, demonic semblance of a playful sing-song voice as the teenage girl heard her own name called with a mixed cruel, malevolent and erotic fervour.

And in the next instant it was gone. The hands, the voice, the presence. As if they had never been there. She stood shivering, freed and finding herself wondering if she had just imagined it all. However, Tina’s ass still hurt and her neck and shoulder felt sore and wet.

She touched her shoulder and her hand came back with beads of sweaty blood on her fingertips. Screaming and panicked blind, she ran. Unseeing, unfeeling, just running. Fight-or-flight in overdrive. 

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