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꒷꒦Viscera꒷꒦

(Freddy Krueger x Serial Killer!Reader)

Summary: Running away from your work catching up to you in a city, you find yourself in sleepy little Springwood. In a house haunted by the ghost of Springwood’s past you settle in and prepare to remind these people what fear feels like.

Word Count: 18,012

Rating: Mature/Erotic

⚠Tags⚠ (Please read CAREFULLY): Violence, Murder, Disembowelment, Eye trauma, Jaw Trauma, Knife play, Dismemberment, Dark Romance, Reader is a Serial Killer, Vaginal sex, Vaginal Fingering, Making out, Dry Humping, Penis in vagina sex, Chest Fisting (Yes, you read that right.), Dead Dove: DO NOT EAT. This dove is not only dead it is ROTTING PLEASE-

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Reader has a vagina, but no gendered terms are used.

Notes from the Author: I posted this a few months ago on AO3 and it's been getting OK traction there but y'all asked for it to be posted here as well so here it is! I hate breaking things into chapters so it's a bit of a brick but there are some page breaks in there.

I hope you all enjoy this as I am very, very proud of this one (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

Life had a way of changing things. You had learned quickly that in the blink of an eye, everything could come crashing down around you. Despite your best efforts something blinked and you were now at the tail end of a major, cross-country move. Thankfully the process had gone smoothly enough. Most likely the move was made easier by the fact you travelled light and had everything ready before you even left your old place. By the time you were packing up a car and leaving city limits, your new life was waiting for you. It almost hurt to leave but you knew it was for the best. Driving past the massive, fading road sign welcoming you to Springwood, you hoped this would be the fresh start you needed.

Springwood was a quaint little town. The houses were faded pastels of their former glory, all of them echoes of 1950s innovation and white picket fences. Yet there was a mall, grocery store and a few restaurants that were all clearly more modern. At some point this town attempted to grow with the times, upgrading its amenities to something more enticing. The few apartment buildings in the town were full to the brim, much to your chagrin, meaning you had to find something else. Shockingly, you managed to find a full house well within your budget, even if it almost met said budget with all the repairs that needed to be done. Regardless, the last you had heard, the house was yours, fully furnished, and up to code.

Before even setting foot in the place the house was haunting you. You couldn’t get it out of your head. The fact the real estate agent was shocked you even knew the house existed, only to then nearly deny selling it entirely no matter what price you named. It took promising to fix it up to get him to sell it to you. From there the renovation was plagued with constant walk outs, workers from the town down right refusing to step foot in the place. Assuming it was mold or asbestos, you had the place fully screened. Even without either hazard, people still avoided it. The myth of some haunting eventually got to you through the grape vine. Apparently, the house belonged to a local legend and anyone who lived in the house since his death had died themselves. Killed in their sleep. You, of course, believed none of it. Eventually you hired crews from outside the town to get the job done. After all of that you hoped it would be worth it. It would be nice to have a whole house as opposed to just an apartment for once, and the antique furniture would be a plus.

Pulling around the corner leading down your street felt like approaching a caged beast. While you had no weight in the haunted house theory, this house still had an air to it. Something seeped into the air and pulled you inexorably toward it. A house built to be lived in left alone and empty for so long, its front door a gaping maw begging for someone, anyone, to walk in. Maybe that was all a haunting was. No spirit of the dead stuck in limbo or vengeful demon, rather the roiling hatred of a home left to rot by those that created it lashing out in whatever way it can. Smashing plates, creaking floors, slamming doors and threats scratched into its walls. All of it a tantrum that ends up driving away that which it craves the most; company.

Parking next to the sidewalk out front of the house, its presence was overwhelming. Despite, or maybe in spite of it, you step out of your car and fish a few of your bags from the trunk. While you rummaged around planning what to bring in first, you never noticed someone stepping up behind you until you turned with a jolt. Immediately your belongings went tumbling from your hands, some hitting the asphalt with worrying force. A flash of rage shot through you but you held it in, opting to peek up at the person there. It was a young man, brown hair and a conventionally attractive face. He couldn’t have been older than 30.

“Oh god I’m so sorry!” The man apologized furiously, already stooping to pick up the dropped items. You let him, watching him scramble to collect the handful and hand it back to you. A smile peeled across your face with some effort, hiding your annoyance. You took back your possessions, inspecting them as he handed them to you.

“I just wanted to welcome you to the neighbourhood,” he shuffled from foot to foot for a moment. “We don’t get many new faces around here.” He seemed genuine, his cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. Your smile persisted, introducing yourself with a kind tone. He reached out to shake your hand but quickly pulled back as he realized your hands were full.

“Great to meet you, I’m Dylan,” He gestures towards the end of the road before shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. You assume it was to keep him from fidgeting quite so much. “I live at the end of the street, in 1418.” Glancing up at the home, he shoots you a questioning look.

“You uhh…really bought this place huh?” he pried. You held back the rolling of your eyes; another concerned citizen obsessed with a ghost story.

“Sure did! Just moving in now.” Stepping away you hoped this would be a good excuse to continue with your day. However with every step towards the cherry red front door, Dylan kept up with you. Taking a steadying breath, you prepared for a longer conversation than you ever wanted.

“You’ve heard about the-”

“The ghost stories? Yes, I have.” You held your sigh back. “Many times.”

“The murders.” He retorts, a bit more curt than you expected. Pausing you turned to face him more directly again.

“The people dying in their sleep, you mean?” You try correcting. Now standing in the entryway, you were itching to get inside and end this conversation. Dylan didn’t get that memo.

“Even before that. The man that lived here was…” Dylan searched for the right words, attempting to let you down softly. “Unwell.”

This time you physically had to turn away to hide your eyes rolling. Bending down you fished under the welcome mat for your key. It wasn’t the most creative place to hide a key, but you supposed with the threat of “Ghosts” the townsfolk weren’t too keen to steal this place’s key. After a short struggle you plucked the key into your hand. You slip it into place and feel a wash of relief as it turns easily. Bringing your attention back to Dylan, you do your best to be patient.

“Dylan, I appreciate the warning but I’m not afraid of a house haunted by a sick old man.” You countered, hoping it sounded more like a playful jab than the real irritation that was building. Dylan shook his head, searching again for what to say.

“Not unwell physically like…Mentally.” He mumbled the word under his breath. “He was a serial killer.”

The words ‘Serial Killer’ only caught your attention for a moment. Many houses had dark histories; that wasn’t going to stop you from living here. Especially after all the shit you had gone through to get this place livable. You had made this bed and you were bound fucking determined to sleep in it.

Stepping past the threshold was your saving grace as Dylan glanced around the home beyond you. You didn’t stop the smirk from tugging at the corner of your mouth as you drank in the fear in his eyes.

“I think I’ll be just fine, but thanks again.” You assured softly, trying to close the door to physically cut him off. Dylan jammed his boot into the doorway and your face betrayed you a moment, your brows knitting together and your eyes zeroing in on him. There was a pause as he seemed to grasp for what he wanted to say. Dylan was a tall, lean man. His limbs seemed too cumbersome even for him as he always seemed to be adjusting. Maybe it was just you, maybe it was just this house and the superstition that surrounded it. Whatever it was, Dylan was like a sapling in the wind, swaying nervously in your doorway.

“Just…don’t hesitate to swing by if you need anything. You know where I live.” He urged quietly, seeming to accept this was the last you would hear out of him for now. Flashing another smile you assured him you would. The moment his boot was out of the door you shut it with a satisfying click. Immediately your expression dropped, sighing heavily as you pressed your back against the door.

People like Dylan have always irritated you. Always sticking their nose in other people’s business without thinking that maybe you had business you didn’t want others involved in. You valued your privacy above all else and Dylan was the type of guy who felt entitled to it. It was the one thing you feared about moving to a small town. Big cities were easy to disappear in whilst small towns were easier to disappear to. Sure, you could turn a corner and lose someone in an instant in a city, but moving here meant the city folk wouldn’t bother looking for you. It was exactly what you needed.

Settling in was the fun part of the move. Letting yourself get used to each new room, the furniture there and the little quirks the property had was fun in a way. Putting away the few belongings and boxes you came with took no time at all meaning you had the whole day to wander around and inspect the place. Most of the furniture was solid wood and despite its age was still in good condition. You appreciated the classic feeling of the home thanks to how much of it was left intact. Sure, the wallpaper had to be taken down and some of the electrical work had to be redone, removing older appliances and fire hazards. But overall it felt lived in and homey. A warmth you didn’t get with most rental spaces.

Despite not being all that bothered by the supposed serial killer that used to live here, you still kept your eye out for anything that may have been left behind. You didn’t expect the cleaners and contractors to leave blood stains or anything, but you never know. From hidden boxes of trinkets from victims, to entire rooms built for torture and confinement, you knew there could be something left behind. If anything, you were intrigued. Driven to find out just how horrible this person could have been. You stopped your search around dinner, making yourself something quick and settling in at your new, lengthy dining table. Sitting at the head of it, you ate in peace. While some may have felt lonely in such a big space on their own, you felt a deep sense of ease sinking into your bones. This place somehow felt like a home you never had.

It did feel a bit odd sleeping in the same bed as the previous tenant, but not for any supernatural or killer reasons. It just felt too intimate. Even with new sheets and a new mattress, the bed frame came with the house and its place in the bedroom wasn’t changed. Slipping beneath the covers you could look around the room and see it from the same perspective as those that lived here before you. According to the stories, many of those tenants had met their end in this house, most likely in this very bed. Yet, you still drifted off to sleep easily. Every story you had heard about this place was just another reason you felt safe here. So long as you didn’t start believing in ghosts anytime soon, you’d be safe in this fortress of myth.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷

Steam, heat and steel. Flashes of it plagued your dreams as a chorus of screams echoed around you. You thrashed and choked out your own cries before you jolted awake with a deep gasp. Sweat trickled down your back, seeping into the plush sheet below. Your eyes stayed wide, staring at nothing as your mind tried to focus. The nightmare confused you more than anything but you pulled yourself together with a few steadying breaths. ‘It was just the stress of the move’ you reasoned, sliding out of bed and into your bathroom.

The morning passed by easily enough; you found you were already on the town’s paper route as a soft thud to your front door alerted you. Charming. You pulled the paper inside and flicked around, seeing what this small town could cobble together. Surprisingly enough it was chock full of ads and local stories from Springwood and the surrounding areas. Most of which were more interesting than simply ‘Cat found in Tree’. Skimming through the list of personal ads, nearly only a single ad if it weren’t for one other entry, you spotted something.

“Hello Dylan…” you mumbled to yourself as the young man’s sepia toned photo grinned up at you. You were right about his age, the ad confirming he was 27. He enjoys hiking and botany, caring for his “plant babies” as he puts it. Apparently he moved here to care for an ailing mother and just never left. How touching. Since his mother passed away last year, he’s been looking for some company. The corners of your mouth cranked upwards bit by bit as you read, not in a smile but nearly a grimace. Dylan was the type of man that had so much life in him. Dylan was perfect.

Your day was spent baking. Well, grocery shopping first, then baking. Incredulous glances and hushed tones followed you down every aisle and out the door. You took it as it was better than being accosted by anyone else. You knew what they were talking about. All your focus was on getting home tonight and moving forward with what you had in mind. Another look around the outside of the house gave you exactly what you hoped for. The house had a storm cellar.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷

Its large doors were faded but thankfully unlocked and pulled open with an ear piercing squeal. Stepping into the darkness you found it difficult to see anything in the concrete room that lay at the foot of the staircase, despite the mid-day sun above you. Plucking out your phone you turned on your flashlight and scanned the room. At first, your eyes adjusted and saw only shelving, a workbench and a large furnace, all of them dark with what you assumed was rust and dirt. Making your way in you cautiously ran your fingers through the cobwebs and debris that littered a shelf, pulling your hand away to inspect the heavy substance. It was black and soft like chalk. Smudging it between your fingers you blinked a few times as you realized what it was. Glancing around the room again, you realized the room was covered in a fine layer of soot and ash.

Each step was heavier now as you searched the room for any clues as to what had happened here. Bringing your light to the furnace you found it was equally dusted but not the source of it. The contractors didn’t mention a storm cellar at all so you figured they somehow just missed it entirely. All the better for you but it did mean you had to clean this place up yourself. The rest of your day was taken up with the painstaking task of tidying up. You gave up wiping down every surface clean and just swept up the bulk of it. The rest would have to wait until later. Checking your phone again, you found it was nearly six o’ clock. He’d be over any minute now.

Convincing Dylan to come over was no small task. Under the guise of asking for advice on what to do with the now empty garden in the back, you managed to talk him into swinging by. That was all you really needed. The cookies you had made were brought out in their perfect pyramid, a steaming pot of coffee sat next to it, the cellar was empty, and you were ready. The stage was set, now all you needed was Dylan. He played his part well enough and you played yours. Apologizing for the curt responses yesterday as you were just so tired, and him accepting without a second thought. Especially after seeing the delicious baked peace offerings and refreshments, Dylan was none the wiser. He didn’t bat an eye when you told him the coffee was too hot to drink just yet. The plant lover in him is all too happy to help, especially with a garden this big. You let slip that you had a penchant for gardening as well; a joke only you would understand. He kneels, running his fingers through the soil to see what work would need to be done.

White hot pain erupts across his scalp and face. He’s silent for a few seconds as his mind catches up to what had happened. Steam rose from his now quickly reddening skin, small patches starting to already blister and separate. What sounds he makes are stunted and quiet. Gasping in lungfuls of air he attempts to scream. Before he can let out any sound the loud clang of metal rings out across your backyard. The shovel connected beautifully, smashing into his head and knocking him out. As you approached his still twitching form you could still smell the coffee wafting off of him. Staring through cold eyes, you waited for any signs he may get up. Satisfied with the shallowness of his breathing, you tossed your weapon down. Shuffling off to the strom cellar, you prepared for the final steps.

As it so happens, you were right about his weight too. Hoisting him up onto the work bench, you locked the cellar and set to it. Lined up at the foot of the body were several saws, knives and other tools. The rubber apron, latex gloves, goggles and medical mask were more for your sake than anything. Anything to make cleaning up a little easier. As it so happens, you found that this room had a drain in the floor. It became especially helpful while you bled him from the wound you made in his neck. That along with the fact it seemed at the least sound muffling you really couldn’t have asked for better. It would take some time to fully dispose of all this, but you had a method. You always did. By the end of the night, Dylan was split into nearly 40 separate bags, all of which you would slowly bury and decompose.

Spraying down the blood, viscera and gore from the concrete walls was relieving. Like a tension you didn’t know you were holding had been let go. It was then you realized just how tired you were. It had been a while so you had forgotten just how much this took out of you. You finished cleaning up the cellar and stashing away the parts before making your way upstairs. After a quick shower, you brewed yourself a mug of something hot and tucked yourself onto the couch. Nearly midnight now, you skimmed through the late night television programs, feeling just as at ease as you did your first night. Tonight was the christening of your new home and the lives you would come to end within its walls. Feeling your body relax, you let yourself drift off on the couch as a sense of pride bloomed in your chest.

The sound of metal scraping against metal jolted you awake. When did you stand up? What was that sound? Glancing around your face dropped. Where the hell were you? Steam hissed somewhere nearby, the gaping maw of a furnace blocking the path to your right. Peering down you found you were standing on metal grates; a catwalk with a seemingly endless drop beneath it. Your knees threatened to give out but you steadied yourself against the railing. This made no sense and trying to put it together was making you dizzy. Squeezing your eyes shut you focused. You laid on the couch, watched TV and fell asleep. That was it, right?

Footsteps creeped next to you but whirling around you found no one. Shadows danced and slid against the walls unnaturally, the world now bathed in a red glow. Those footsteps again and you glanced in their direction. Finding nothing again, you found the nearest wall. Backing up to it, you kept your eyes trained for anything. What you ended up bumping into was not flat nor concrete but rather soft and fleshy.

“Great work out there, sweethear-” You didn’t even process the bassy voice, only hearing something too close. In an instant you were turning, your hand already swinging towards a head reflexively. You were grasping something, but what? The solid impact of the screwdriver in your fist with a person’s skull stopped them in their tracks. Letting go you took a step away, taking in who you just stabbed.

It was a man. Burnt and mottled skin distorted his features or at least what you could see beneath the wide brimmed fedora. His face was slack, an almost surprised expression taking over. You weren’t willing to stick around longer than you needed so you turned to leave but the sound of croaking groans stopped you. Your gaze was brought back to the man only to find him reaching up and grasping the handle of the screwdriver. Yanking on it he pulled it free with a squelch. Blood poured freely from the wound, draining down through the grates below. The screwdriver was dropped and your eyes never left his face. He seemed…fine. Leaning back, he let out a loud cackle that echoed through the endless pipes and concrete.

“Holy shit, you don’t fuck around do you?” He jeered, a certain pride in his tone. Oily blood continued to spew from the wound in his skull, staining his ugly sweater and pouring over his hand. It was then you spotted the glove. Blades jutted out from each finger, long and their surface a gleaming silver. He must have caught you staring because he starts to flicker them quickly, a soft clinking of steel accompanying it. It sent a shiver down your spine but it didn’t settle in your chest like fear. You followed their graceful curve as he brought them up to point towards his face.

“Hey, eyes up here sweetheart.” he teased, catching your gaze again. You found his eyes were not nearly as monstrous as the rest of him. A soft green against the angry red of his burns. His cloying tone brought you back. He had seen the way you stared at his glove. Not with fear but with admiration. Even as your eyes followed the weapon it was out of intrigue, not worry. That, along with the fact you had just slaughtered a man in his backyard, had him interested.

“Who are you?” The question felt dumb coming from your mouth, but it was all you could think to start with. You were so confused you had to start somewhere. You still kept a wary eye on those blades as he let his arm dangle down beside him, the weight of the weapon weighing it down. He moved almost gracefully along the catwalk, clearly used to this hell he called home.

“Aww I’m hurt, really.” He hummed, his voice reverberating in your head uncomfortably. Despite what was smart you allowed him to get closer, even close the gap. You stood firm, unafraid but cautious. All the while your gut fluttered with something you ignored for now.

At this distance you could smell him; ash and burnt flesh wafting off his seedy sweater. Blood was now trickling slowly down his cheek, but the hole in his head was closing more by the second. He encroaches on your personal space and again, you let him. The prick of a blade beneath your chin tilts your head up to meet his gaze more directly. From here, his face was much clearer despite the burns. A long, hooked nose, a thin mouth and those soft green eyes again. As he smiles, more grins, he bares rotten teeth. He’s next to your ear now, his breath grazing your jaw.

“Did no one tell you whose house you’re sleeping in?” he mumbles the question and another shiver runs through you. The blade at your chin starts to dig in deeper and in a flash you’re whincing in pain. All at once you awaken with a yowl, sitting up violently on your couch.

The second you have your bearings again you swipe a hand under your chin. Your fingertips pull away covered in blood. It begins dripping slowly onto your pajamas as well and you get up in a hurry to check the damage. Thankfully the wound isn’t deep but it bled fiercely. Once you managed to staunch the bleeding you changed out of your now blood soaked pajamas. While you knew how to get those stains out it was a real pain. Plopping the garments in some cold water you deemed in a ‘Later you’ problem. Right now, you could only think of one thing. The man in your dream.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷

4 AM is an odd time to be awake. Sure, you could have fallen back to sleep but your mind was racing. You couldn’t settle long enough to fall back into it. The heat in your cheeks only seemed to get worse the more you thought about that man. That bassy voice that shook you to your core, the handsome face and graceful way he held himself all replayed in your head. You forced yourself to shake it off in exchange for what he had said. Those words haunted you as you mindlessly ate something to stand in for a breakfast. While you had brushed the whole ghost story thing aside, now you were interested. It seemed like it should be easy enough to find information on your own home, especially if it was a local legend. Besides, you had the internet. How hard could it be?

Sunlight was creeping its way through your blinds before you paused this sisyphean task. You realized pretty quickly it was really damn hard to find information about your own house. Despite the fact everyone in the town seemed to know what happened here, any publications regarding it seem to have been removed or heavily redacted. It floored you to see so many articles with entire blocks of black obscuring most of the story. The occasional headline put together a patchwork story about the man that lived here, the murders he committed and got away with before being hunted down by an angry mob. After that, there’s nearly nothing. Stories of death and madness following everyone that lived here but no names or exact details. One specific name was consistently removed and it was the one you needed. The killer that called your new house a home.

When the internet failed you you pivoted to a more direct source. Driving down to the middle of town, you found a quaint little library. Again, you felt watched. While the librarian herself was nice enough, you could see the fear in her eyes when she read your address as you signed up for a library card. She held it back, handing over the card without another word. Searching through the maze of bookshelves, you found a room in the back labeled ‘Archives’. This town’s entire history, at least recorded history, could fit into a single room. Closing the door you started flicking through the rows of records, filed neatly away in a mix of file boxes, manila folders and filing cabinets.

Even with the light on, this cramped room was dim. Large shelves swallowed the little light that the single, covered bulb gave off. Sitting in the plush chair in the room, you were reminded of how much sleep you lost out on last night. Scrubbing your eyes you sat up, breathing deeply to try and wake yourself up. Finding those same articles was no good so instead you tried hunting down land documents and deeds. It was easy enough to find Elm Street and every other house on it, including the house Dylan had lived at. Yet yours was again, missing. As if 1428 Elm had been completely wiped from the records. How the hell did you manage to buy it if the town didn’t even acknowledge its existence? You knew you spoke to someone who claimed to be a local real estate agent, and even though he was a bit hesitant, he still sold it in the end.

Rubbing your eye again you groaned in frustration, leaning back in the chair. You sat there for a moment, eyes closed as you tried to come up with what to do next. If the man was dead he had to have medical records, right? Sitting back up you felt groggier than before and blamed it on your lack of sleep. It was a slim chance, but you had nothing to lose. Skimming through you found an entire box labelled “Springwood Emergency Medical Center”. Despite what you expected, it felt light. Too light. Shaking it you heard something thump around. Opening it you were even more confused. Inside was a single stack of papers held together with a paperclip. Lifting it out and closer to your face, you found the front page was blank aside from a single name.

“Frederick Charles Krueger.” You mouthed the words, barely over a whisper. The name slid over your tongue and filled the air around you with an odd stillness. Pushing forward you found medical charts, summaries and some photos towards the back. It was daunting to suddenly have every detail in the palm of your hands after searching for so long. From height and weight to eye and hair colour, even a brief summary of his last check up. Still you gravitated towards the ending. The official cause of death, according to the local coroner, was being burnt alive. Not smoke inhalation or infection as a result of said burns either. The image of your storm cellar flashed through your mind and the pieces sunk into place. As if you could practically see the mob gathering in his, now your, backyard.

Beneath the written reports were the polaroids. They were of his corpse, or what was left of it, on the cold steel of the morgue gurney. It looked nearly identical to the man you had seen the night before aside from the lack of that sweater and hat. It wasn’t odd that the corpse was nude, given an autopsy had to be done, but it felt invasive. The pictures started at his face and shoulders, moving down in still snapshots along his body. Every inch burned and distorted, the flesh muddled like melted wax. Some spots were singed black while others were still just a reddened pink. You paused, your heart skipping a beat. The next pictures were of the autopsy itself, a Y shaped incision made from his collarbones to his hips. Another photo and the large flaps of burnt flesh had been folded back, exposing his organs and ribcage. Something felt off about the set up as if it was messier than it should have been. Sifting to the next one, the sternum had been snapped open and back rather than neatly cut out.

Flipping through them quicker you found each one was another organ removed, only leaving the heart remaining. You stared a long while, too long at the open cavity of Fred’s corpse. You were almost bashful as you examined the photos closer, admiring the glossy blood and serene look on his face. Despite the horrific way he died, he seemed peaceful now. Your heart skipped again as you gazed almost longingly at the gory photos before you. Just as you started to consider taking them with you, something moved. Not in the room but in the photo.

All your attention zeroed in on where you had seen it. Lo and behold, the heart twitched. Slow at first but soon it was thumping in earnest, throbbing nearly in time with yours. As it picked up an impossible pace, beating fast enough you were sure it would be considered some sort of heart attack. In a flash, the heart exploded in a rain of red, the sound of it jolting you.

Gasping you sat up fully in the chair. Panting your gaze darted around the room. There were no photos in your hands and no medical records. There wasn’t even a box with that label. Scrubbing your eyes you realized you had fallen asleep, checking your phone and finding it thankfully hadn’t been long. Was any of that right? Was any of it even real? That name circled your thoughts, committing it to memory. You also made a note to commit some of those photos to memory, although that was more for yourself. Cleaning up any remaining boxes you left the library and headed home. It felt strange to call that house home now. Especially given you now knew who the previous owner was, it almost felt like he still lived there.

The search for more information didn’t get easier now that you knew his name though. Again, any mention of a Fred Krueger was censored or fully removed from any official sources. The only places you found information was on the occasional niche forum site and reddit. Still, it gave you the insight that Fred was not just a serial killer, but a monster. A literal boogeyman that kills kids and teens in their dreams. Despite your racing heart, you weren’t afraid. Exhilarated explained it better.

Knowing you were living in a house that held such malice was almost inspiring. With every death you managed to find second-hand details on you felt another wave of adrenaline shoot through you. Chewing your lip as your mind went wild with ideas for your next kill. If you weren’t so careful, you would have taken notes. For now you switched away from your search to a dating app. There was no way you could ignore this itch any longer. While the pickings were slim, and you hadn’t even begun disposing of Dylan, you knew how to get what you wanted. It took no time at all to find a new victim and even less time to convince him to come over. Thankfully he was hornier than he was scared of your home and stepped into your web all too easily.

Those same rushing thoughts circled your head as you lured him into a bedroom, one that you didn’t use and whose floors were conspicuously protected with a plastic cover you laid out in a rush. The idiot was right when he quipped that it was to protect against ‘bodily fluids’ just not the ones he hoped. Trying to keep yourself steady you let your mind wander as you allowed him to kiss you. Of course you felt nothing, your mind entirely enveloped with what you wanted to do to him. Pulling his shirt over his head he temporarily blinded himself, just long enough for you to slip a knife out of the bedside table and plunge it between his ribs. Instantly his body shuddered, muscles tensing with shock as the burning pain ripped through him. Blood poured from around your blade, a torrent following it as you pulled it out.

The man hit his knees with a hard thud, curling inward as his hands hovered over his wound. Terror and fear froze his expression, wide eyes staring up at you as he tried to piece together what just happened. Regret probably bubbled up in his gut as he wondered what he had done to deserve this. As if you needed any more reason besides being better than him. His choked gasps and sobs only made you smile wider. Cupping his cheek you thumbed away a tear that rolled down it. Hushing him you lined the blade up under his chin, sliding it just under his jaw and opening up his throat. Convulsing and gasping he fought for his life, or more, his body fought for its life. That dazed, far away look told you he was most likely not in there anymore. Whatever spark that made this mediocre man who he was had gone away, leaving his body to try and hold on. Blood pooled around your feet, seeping between your toes and warming them almost pleasantly. This house, as cozy as it was, had the coldest floors you’d ever experienced.

When he finally went limp in your hands you sighed deeply, letting the corpse fall to the floor. Stretching him out you went to work opening him up the same as you had seen in your dream. That ‘Y’ incision made quick work of peeling him open, but holding the torso open was more annoying than you thought. As you removed organs one by one, setting them aside on the plastic covered floor, you didn’t feel the same rush as you had looking through those photos. Finally making it to his heart, you sat back and stared. This man’s blood was brighter, not as thick as Fred’s had looked, and something felt less intimate this time. Of course, the heart didn’t start beating again either. It just wasn’t the same.

Surveying the room, you were thankful that he didn’t make much of a mess. Wrapping him up in the plastic that covered the floor, you left him there for the time being, knowing you had time to clean him up later. His organs were separately wrapped in bags but placed in the same plastic cocoon as their owner. Your clothes joined the others in the tub of cold water, but you actually came back to finish getting the blood out this time.

Your routine remained the same, the only thought in your head aside from feeding yourself and relaxing being the hope you had tied that plastic tight enough. It nibbled at the back of your mind; an irritating little anxiety that reared its head now and again. The last thing you needed was to be scrubbing blood out of hardwood floors. Especially when you just had them refinished. This time you actually made it to your bedroom, changing into your pajamas before passing a mirror and pausing.

Inspecting yourself you suddenly felt a pang of nervousness. Going to sleep almost guaranteed you’d see him again, and part of you felt like you should look good. As if you were going on some sort of date. Snapping yourself out of it you blinked a few times and scolded yourself mentally. You were just going to sleep. Nothing more. Hell, you tried to kill him last time you saw him. It would be crazy to think he would be actually happy to see you. If anything you figured you’d be lucky to survive tonight. Shaking that off you reminded yourself of the corpse one room over. If Fred wanted to kill you, he’d have to work for it. Sliding under the plush covers, you stared up at the ceiling a moment. Thinking back to that first night in this place you now wondered if Fred had slept here. Did he keep his clothes in that closet? His watch on the bedside table? Would he shave in the mornings in the bathroom across the hall, maybe hum a tune as he dragged the flat razor against his wet skin.

The images floated through your mind and that eerie sense of intimacy seeped in. Like you were spying on a stranger at their most vulnerable. While you had tried your hand at stalking, it just wasn’t for you. You would rather take advantage of the naivety of others, luring them in with kindness before striking. Still, the thought of Fred living casually in this home plagued your thoughts. At a point, you gave up fighting it, all too tired to care now. The last thing you remembered before drifting off to sleep was the thought of where Fred would kill and what he did with his bodies.

Peeling your eyes open you found the room was still dark, however it was just the bedroom. No weird lighting, no steam and endless pipes. Most notably, no Fred. Why did you feel almost disappointed? Checking your phone you found it was only 3am. You still had plenty of time to sleep and you rolled over planning just that. If nothing else, you wanted the rest. As your eyes slid closed you heard something just on the edge of your ears. At first you ignored it, but it only got louder as some animal part of your brain focused on it. When you finally set your conscious mind to it, you recognized it immediately. The gentle slide of blade against blade, like steel windchimes. Sitting up you stared into the dark corner of your room where you had heard it. Nothing. Or at least, it was too dark to tell if it was nothing. Despite trying to strain your eyes harder, you saw nothing in the inky black. You also heard nothing, the room now completely still. Your eyes darted around the room now, heart thundering in your chest.

“Peek-a-boo.”

You startled at the words spoken directly into your ear, clambering away with a scream. In the dark you now saw his vague outline, the red and green of his sweater the only thing somewhat visible. As you backed up towards the other side of your bed, your back hit something. Glancing back you found it was also Fred. Your eyes flicked forward and the silhouette that once was there was gone. Back to him, you found him grinning as he stood over you. Before you could move he had wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pinned your arms to your sides, the knives of his gloved hand coming to rest on your throat. Grasping at his arm you tried to pull him off of you, but found his hold was solid. It crushed your torso against his body, leaving only your legs to kick out beneath you.

“Don’t fight too hard, piggy. I wouldn’t want to tear your throat out, now would I?” Fred dared in that low growl, touching the tips of the blades to your skin. As you squirmed tiny pricks of pain struck along your jaw and neck where his blades dug in. It sunk in that you would not be able to get out of this hold like this and you started to still, not wanting to exhaust yourself. The laugh he let out reverberated around the room and through your spine from how you were pressed against him.

“That’s better.” he praised, pulling his blades away by just a hair. “You really are a nasty piece of work, aren’t ya?” his own teasing pulled a chuckle out of him, this one low and quiet. Leaning in close to your ear he let his rancid breath wash over it just to feel you shiver against him.

“Two men in two days…” he hummed with a certain reverence. “Honestly I’m impressed. Good to see my old cellar still getting some use.” He continued, the grip around you loosening further as he gestured with that hand.

“Hell, at this rate they might just start thinking I’m back.” The blades on your throat slid upward to tap at your cheek, their glinting silver surface flickering in the corner of your eye. “You could be my little minion out there.”

Between his mocking tone and the fact he was calling you his lackey immediately got under your skin. You killed for yourself, not for him. And while you had no intention of being caught, you also would rather be in prison than living under someone else’s name. Regardless of the inspiration you found in his killings, you had been hunting since before you ever knew of him and this shitty little town. While Fred rambled on how you would carry out his bidding, you glanced around looking for anything to use. Finding you were within reach of the lamp on your nightstand, you didn’t hesitate.

Lifting your arms suddenly you broke out of his hold, leaning over in a flash and snatching the lamp. Immediately you swung it towards his head, making contact with a satisfying crash as the glass exploded against his face. Stumbling back with a pained groan, Fred was finally far enough away you could get off the bed and out of the room. Running past you practically leapt down the stairs, the only thought in your head was to find a weapon. Hearing his heavy, boot-clad footsteps behind you left you turning the wrong way into the living room. You had meant to go for the kitchen, but it was too late now. Locking in on the dense metal implements next to the fireplace, you dove forward and grabbed one.

“Ready or no-ot…” His voice rang out in a sing-song as he rounded the corner, entering the living room. “Here comes Fred-dy!” Raising his right arm he meant to swing down and across your chest. Instead you stopped him dead with a straight jab up through his throat. The heavy iron plunged into rotten burnt flesh with a squelch and his eyes widened with surprise. Yanking down hard you pulled the pole free, only to raise it up and bring it back down over his face. Cracking bone and cartilage rang out but still, you didn’t stop. Swinging again and again you crushed his skull until he had sunk to his knees and fallen to the floor. Panting hard, you finally paused, dropping the fire poker. As you catch your breath you tip toed into the kitchen, your brain still on high alert. You had jabbed this guy in the side of the head with a screwdriver and he shrugged it off. You didn’t think he was really dead, but it might take him longer to come back from that.

Taking a carving knife from the block, you held it in one hand as you used the other to fill a glass with water. Pressing your back to your counter, you downed the entire glass before setting it aside. Still panting slightly you didn’t feel as physically tired as you had expected. You thanked the adrenaline for that and the fact this was a dream. Just as you thought this might end soon, you were snapped back to it by the sound of the tap next to you turning on. Glancing up you found Fred filling up that same glass. His hat was gone now and it meant you could make out that one of his eyes was still hanging from its socket as it had been when you pummeled his skull. Besides that, he showed no evidence of being beaten to death a few moments before. He too chugged the glass full of water, rivulets of it dripping down his chin and throat. Finishing with a heavy gasp he smashed the glass against the counter and finally reached up and pressed the dangling eyeball into place again. Blinking seemed to reset it as he rolled it in place and focused on you, a grin peeling its way over his rotten teeth.

“Good shot, piggy. Ready for round two?” He dared, flicking his blades against each other in a threatening display. Gripping the hilt of the knife in your hand you resisted the smile that nearly stretched over your own face.

“Anytime, asshole.” You answered quickly before sinking the carving knife into Fred’s gut. The pained groan he let out was followed by a long laugh so you turned the blade in place before pulling it to the side. Opening his belly up you reached in with your other hand to assist in pulling his intestines to the floor. Retrieving your blade and hand you stepped back to admire your work. That same inky blood poured out around him but a grin stayed on his face as he scooped up his organs with his hands.

“Ohh you’re going to be so much fun.” Fred hummed, continuing to step towards you brandishing his glove. This time you couldn’t stop the smile that stretched over your face as you sprinted off through the house, giddy as he gave chase.

The night went on like this, the dream seeming to drag on as the two of you picked at each other. While Fred had managed to get you a few times, slicing your skin and clothes and leaving you tattered and leaking blood you held the upper hand. Having killed Fred again and again in messier and more gruesome ways, you were decidedly ‘winning’ this little game of cat and mouse. With every death Fred seemed to allow it, letting you gore him, behead him and tear him apart. Each kill brought the two of you closer, pulling away slower, allowing your hands to linger longer. On the odd occasion Fred got his hands on you, he seemed reluctant to pull away. This fight quickly becoming more of a macabre dance. It almost felt stupid to bother hiding at this point. He would always find you and you always wanted him to. Clasping a smaller knife in your hands, you pressed your back to a wall near your hallway listening intently for his footfalls. As he entered your periphery, you pounced.

Hitting the floor you straddled him, bringing the blade down into his chest. It felt like you had already done this, pulling down towards his belly. The incision spanned from his sternum to his belly button and effectively opened his sweater as well. Before you could take that in you were moving to finish the incision, moving up to his shoulders to make two more cuts that met at his sternum. Pulling back you paused, taking in the sight below you.

Panting and disheveled, Fred laid there staring up at you, his eyes glazed over and his mouth hanging open. Hot breath puffed out between those thin lips, his tongue darting out to lathe over them. As you sat back you found his hands were set on your thighs, his fingertips digging in desperately. All of this despite the fact his torso had been peeled open and blood was pouring out between you. You found yourself panting and sweaty, your cheeks hot as you watched him carefully. Finally your eyes met, mirroring the same half lidded look. Your free hand moved to brush open his now destroyed sweater before running your fingers over the new incision. That grip on your thighs tightened, a low groan rumbling through him.

Dipping your fingers into the wound you traced the newly opened lines of flesh, pulling back to inspect your palm. His blood looked as if it was clotting, lumps of it mixed in with the more liquid parts as it flowed off your hand. It was a rich, deep red like wine and it didn’t smell as strongly of iron. Bringing your hand to your face you inhaled the scent deeply, finding it was closer to a cooked piece of meat than raw blood. Breathing out with a sigh you let your eyes flutter open, not even noticing they had closed. Without another thought, you locked eyes with Fred as you licked a long stripe from your wrist to the tips of your fingers. Swallowing the thick mess that gathered on your tongue you relished in the taste. A shiver ran through you as it slid down your throat.

Fred was chewing his lip by now, the grip on your thighs holding you down as his hips slowly squirmed beneath you. It had been far too long since he had someone who could match him blow for blow, yet alone someone who revelled in it like you did. The sight of you swallowing his blood greedily off your hand made his heart race in a way he hadn’t felt in decades. Even after you had cleaned your hand of the ichor you craved something else. A heat had been pooling in your gut with every gory death you had put him through and now, with his hips rocking beneath you, you found yourself wanting something other than another kill.

Curling forward you leaned in close to his face, imbedding the knife you held in the wood beside his head. Your breath mingled with his, that beak of a nose grazing yours. From here you could clearly hear his laboured breaths and he could hear yours. Meeting each other’s gaze again you knew the feeling was mutual; a shared heat in your gut that begged to be sated. Your hands found his face, cupping his jaw and smoothing your thumbs over his cheeks. Brushing your lips over his you hesitated just a moment. A groan slid from Fred’s throat.

“What’s wrong, sugar? First time?” Fred mocked quietly, purring the words as his hands glided up your hips and over your ass. While it certainly wasn’t your first time, it had been a very long time since you actually wanted to fuck someone. Sure, you kissed and teased some of your victims to ease them into a false sense of security, but it all felt hollow. There was no passion, no heat, no desire. But with every word from Fred’s mouth, the blades on his glove threatening to tear the remainder of your clothes apart, you felt so eager it was almost embarrassing. Your body buzzed with anticipation, begging you to keep going. Steadying yourself you meant to press forward and press your lips to his. The world around you seemed to buckle and warp, Fred’s body suddenly less corporeal. Grabbing at him your fingers no longer made contact with his skin, passing through him instead. He seemed to feel it too as he rolled his eyes, his hands falling away from your body.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding m-” Fred’s voice cut out suddenly as your vision went black. With another blink you were back in bed, breathing heavily and staring up at your ceiling. It was morning and you were alone. You had, unfortunately, woken up. The only evidence that what you had dreamt had actually happened was the fluttering in your gut and the wetness gathered between your thighs. Pressing them together you let out a soft moan as you realized just how worked up you were. Disappointment bloomed in your chest as you rubbed your eyes, knowing you were far too awake now to just slip back into sleep. Sliding out of bed you made your way into the shower to wash up and take care of the arousal left from last night’s encounter.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷

That day was spent disposing of the plastic wrapped corpse in your spare bedroom. At least, your body was preoccupied with that. Your mind was flooded with memories of the night before, replaying your favourite parts again and again. The image of him beneath you, hips rocking against yours in an intoxicating rhythm made up most of your thoughts. You wished you had gotten to kiss him at the very least. It only gave you more reason to sleep well that night, planning on a few sleeping pills to keep you there for as long as possible.

Loading the remains of both men into the back of your car, disguised in large paper grocery bags, you drove out to a nearby greenspace that bordered the town to start dumping them. With the trowel you brought, you dug several small but deep holes to deposit the parts into. While emptying each bag was tedious work, it meant the pieces would decompose quicker and wouldn’t trace back to you. Each hole was covered up with its pile of dirt, planting your gruesome little garden on the outskirts of the town. Making your way back home, you drove through the center of the town, passing by a central common space. The plan was to just pass through and head home as soon as possible. But something caught your eye enough to make you pull over.

A small mob had gathered there, some panicked and others angry. Stepping out of your car you stood at the edge of the group, trying to peak through the shoulders to the middle. Hushed words were exchanged but none loud enough for you to overhear anything. Gently working your way in, you found what was at the center of this gathering. A bulletin board which, during the couple times you had passed it, was usually bare. Now, it held two black and white missing posters bearing the faces of your victims. While your heart picked up a tick something over your shoulder still made its way through. A name uttered in a hushed tone by one of the townsfolk. Freddy. It felt so informal to hear him called that given you had grown to calling him Fred. Although you had to agree it did fit him.

As you listened in harder, pretending to read over the details of the missing men, you hear his name over and over again. They were really convinced it was their urban legend. Excitement tingled through you as you realized you could get away with so much more if you just let these people believe what they wanted. Even if it did mean you were somewhat playing into the plan Fred had teased you with the night before, you had to admit it worked well for the time being. Sure, it would take longer for you to make a name here. But it beat being hunted down in a town that already had a history of mob punishment. You could teach them your name another time. For now, you accepted the scapegoat and made your way home feeling especially accomplished.

Flipping through the channels that night, you came across a local news station. As a report on the two missing men came up you watched with a smile, plucking at a bowl of popcorn as you listened to the drone of the newscaster. Of course it was a mystery, the news anchor never mentioning the name Fred Krueger. Most likely avoiding creating any more public panic than was already started. Still, you could tell you had caused a stir and it thrilled you. You dreamed of the day they found your little garden and the horror it would instill. For now, you revelled in knowing your dirty little secret, practically vibrating with excitement as you wondered what Fred might think of this.

Glancing at your phone you realized just how late it was getting. Trotting upstairs you made sure to slip a couple extra strength melatonin tablets under your tongue, intent on staying asleep for a good long time. Your pajamas took longer to change into this time around as you took extra care to pick something cute. For the first time in a while, you were grinning ear to ear as you buzzed from your dresser to the mirror, checking your reflection with each new outfit. Finally, you settled on something, deeming it just erotic enough but not so obvious it’d be laughable. With one final inspection you swallowed the butterflies bubbling up in your gut. Head spinning with possibilities for the night, you laid down and made sure you were plenty comfortable. You were going to get a good night’s rest tonight even if it was the last thing you did.

As light creeped in past your eyelids you woke up slowly, your head groggy. Every blink felt like cement had replaced your eyelids. You were so out of it you honestly didn’t even remember dreaming. Had you slept a bit too solid? Had you forgotten it all already? There was no familiar warmth in your groin and checking over your body, you found you were devoid of any marks at all. No cuts, no bruises, no hickies. Your phone read nearly noon and you could tell this was no dream. You really had slept through the night, not dreamt of him, and woke up like any other day. Blinking a few times you almost had a hard time realizing what had, or more hadn’t, happened.

At first, you let it slide. Moving about your routine and planning to step out of the house again. As much as you didn’t care much for the other townsfolk, you figured you should be keeping up appearances. However your day was haunted by little reminders of Fred. You were living in his house, for fuck’s sake. With everything you did you imagined if he would have done the same. Making breakfast, drinking coffee at the head of the dining table, brushing his teeth before stripping and stepping into a hot shower.

The thought invaded your head, causing you to space out as you let the image develop in your mind’s eye. When you realized you had showered entirely on autopilot you shook yourself out of it, your cheeks significantly warmer now. Once you pulled yourself together anger and annoyance filled the space embarrassment left. How dare he wind you up like this and then completely ghost you! Just to prove a point, you went on with your day. You got out of the house and met a few locals at that same central common space. All was well until you told them what house you had moved into, at which point they usually got a bit skittish and ended any conversation quickly. Even when he wasn’t around, Fred was becoming a nuisance.

By the time evening rolled around, you were home and on the lookout for jobs around town in the paper. Just because this was your new hunting ground didn’t mean you shouldn’t be making a living. The real pride comes with integrating entirely into a community, so much so they never see it coming. In the city your acquaintances were fewer and further between, but here? You could become a confidant to the entire community if you played your cards right. Did Fred do the same? Was the town so destroyed by the betrayal of Frederick Charles Krueger that they decided to wipe him from existence? The pain they must have felt knowing the man they went bowling with, who ate in their homes on birthdays and who walked their kids to school was a monster in man’s clothing.

The image of that sent shivers down your spine, a heat pooling in your gut. You wanted to hold your grudge against him but you knew better. You knew that if he showed up tonight, you’d have your hands all over him. As much as he annoyed you, treating you like some lackey and disappearing on you, he still inspired you. Something about him fed that animal in you that wanted power, recognition, pain and pleasure. Maybe it was because you saw a bit of yourself in Fred. For a moment, you hoped he thought the same. Winding down for another night you didn’t bother with the sedatives. It was a bit too desperate to do that for a second night. Plus, you didn’t want to give him anything else to use against you. Your pajamas were still on the skimpier side, though.

Morning came and again, no Fred. Another day of trying to blend in while your mind raced. What was happening? Where was he? As one day rolled into another you found yourself alone. Your dreams are uneventful and without the burnt corpse that haunted your home. Fred continued to haunt your thoughts, though, images of him creeping in no matter how hard you tried to focus. Not even television helped as one after the other, news reports of people dying in their sleep popped up. So the bastard was still out there, he was just avoiding you. It only served to irritate you further as he seemed to be playing keepaway. You wondered if he had anything to do with the daydreams but you knew better. This was just your own head fucking with you. With each passing day, and more notably night, you grew more and more frustrated. Eventually, you reached your limit.

You should have been more picky but you were too pissed off to care. The guy, Simon, was a bit older than your other victims thus far and you had spoken to him a few days ago. Turns out he's a bit of a handyman. So when you mentioned a furnace issue, he seemed to jump at the opportunity to help. Thanking him graciously you were already planning how you were going to handle this. Hell, he was going to do most of the hard work himself by waltzing directly into your cellar. Flashlight in hand he poked around while you stood at the mouth of the stairway. You wanted to be sure he was far enough in before you closed the doors to keep him from running. Apparently it made him nervous but you reassured him you were just staying out of his way. He believed it just long enough for him to walk up to the furnace in the corner of the room.

Closing the doors shrouded the cellar in darkness. In an instant Simon was turning to try and face you, his flashlight giving away his position as you zeroed in on him. Maybe you miscalculated the swing, maybe your trowel just wasn’t as heavy as you had hoped, maybe he moved. Whatever it was, it meant the hit to his skull didn’t knock him out right away. Tumbling back a bit he clutched at his head but managed to shove past you. Staggered, you dropped the trowel and slid the blade you hid on your hip into your hand. He staggered up the stairs and shockingly made it to the doors. With no interior lock, Simon pushed through them easily and crawled out onto your backyard.

Simon gasped, letting out a few loud strangled cries. Marching up behind him you forced your hand over his mouth, stifling him. Trying to steady him you lined up your knife with his throat, hoping to silence him quicker. A flash of pain radiated from your palm and you pulled away with a grunt. The asshole just bit you, and was now attempting to stand and run. Your expression contorted in rage, the bite only fueling you. Catching up again you stomped down on his calf, effectively downing him. Standing over him, you pulled him up to kneel before you holding his head in your arms. While he fought valiantly, you still managed to bury your fingers in his mouth, prying his jaw open.

“You fucking bit me.” You growled the words into his ear, struggling to keep his jaws open as he fought to clamp them down again. Positioning him between your legs, you held his body with your thighs, stilling him. Bracing yourself, you started pulling his jaw apart with steady force. Simon panicked desperately trying to claw at your arms as the skin on his cheeks stretched to its limits. With his own hands pinned to his sides, he could do nothing but slap uselessly against your legs. The pathetic whining and gurgled screams were intoxicating, pushing you past the part where his teeth dug into the flesh on your fingers. The pain was nothing compared to the despair in his eyes.

With a sudden motion you yanked his mouth wide and with a loud pop, you knew you had dislocated his jaw. A small split opened up at each corner of his mouth where the skin had stretched too far, the wounds immediately trickling blood down his neck. The weak whimpering was replaced with guttural groans and a shout of pain. Dropping him to the ground with a heavy thud you watched with a detached stare as he curled up in pain, gingerly clutching at his face. Despite the surge of power you expected, that shot of adrenaline that kept you coming back, you felt almost nothing. Aside from lingering anger from the bite and the pain in your sliced hands seeping in, you were empty. And you had a sneaking suspicion as to why.

Reeling back you launched your booted foot into his gut, causing Simon to cough and gag. Snarling you reeled back again, kicking him hard and hearing something snap underneath. Simon's noises were growing quieter by the moment, soon only letting out pitiful groans and gurgled sobs. Panting and red in the face, you finally paused your barrage of kicks to drag him down into the concrete cellar. While he's dazed and barely awake, he was still alive. Simon was alive when you hoisted him up onto the workbench, alive when you tied him down, and alive when you started to bleed him.

That gasping mouth and wide eyed stare didn't have nearly the same impact that it usually did. Instead you could only think of Fred. You imagined how he would kill, assuming he took his time in slicing his victims up before landing a killing blow. You wondered if he kept any trophies, and if so, what did he keep? You never bothered with trophies, but you could see why someone would. Your victims really didn’t mean much to you past fulfilling an urge, so there was no reason to remember them. Maybe if it was someone really high profile that you managed to kill, you’d keep something off them. Until then, the dismemberment of Simon was nothing more than practical. His clothes would end up burnt in the fireplace, the ashes mixed into your garden.

By the time night time rolled around you were exhausted. This kill had taken more out of you than you expected leaving you practically begging to fall asleep. Having bandaged your hands, your body was starting to slow down as the adrenaline faded away. Whether Fred was there when you dreamt or not, you were relieved to curl up in bed. At this point you were almost hoping he didn’t show up. While you thought it you knew you didn’t mean it. If he didn’t show up, that little hole of disappointment that sat in your heart would only get bigger. As if it wasn’t eating you up already. You couldn’t even enjoy a kill anymore thanks to this asshole. Even the ones that fight don’t fight back like Fred did. No one got it like he did. Fred Krueger had dug his way under your skin and wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. Crawling into bed, you drifted off easily as a soreness seeped into your body.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷

Stifling heat was what woke you up. Sweat beading on your forehead and dampening your back. Your pajamas clung to your skin uncomfortably leaving you feeling smothered and damp. Blinking, you finally came to and glanced around. Rather than catwalks you were standing on a concrete floor. But you could tell this was Fred’s domain. You didn’t remember it being so hot last time nor did you remember how expansive and winding it was. Looking around only served to make you more dizzy. Pipes, catwalks, boilers and other machinery lined every wall. With the world around you bathed in red it only made it more difficult to find your way around. You resorted to placing your hand on any solid surface that wasn’t blistering hot for guidance. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wandering, you found a long hallway.

The end was pitch black. No matter how hard you squinted, there was no seeing what was there. No matter how hard you tried to pull away, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Something was drawing you in, begging you to approach it. Looking back you found the doorway that brought you here was gone. Just smooth concrete faced you now. Your only option was to continue down the hallway towards that yawning black that swallowed the end. Though, it felt less like walking into an open mouth and more like being wrapped in a warm embrace. As the last of the light around you faded away you felt a wash of hot breath over your ear. Rather than jump or run, you couldn’t stop the smile that stretched over your face.

“Long time, no see, sugar.” Fred breathed behind you. Stooping down he brushed his lips across your earlobe, revelling in the shiver that ran through you. Running his fingers over your arm he chuckled at the goosebumps that raised over your skin. In spite of your thundering heart and the electricity that ran across your nerves, you did your best to hold it together. Your pride refused to let him know just how excited you were. In a flash the room lit up around you but the hallway was gone. Now, you stood in your living room. Or at least, it looked like your living room. The walls were different, the furniture and belongings not your own.

“Like what I’ve done with the place?” Fred stepped away, gesturing around at the renovations to the house. “Afterall, Mi casa su casa, right?” Backing into the center of the room he plopped down onto the ugly mustard yellow sofa. Stretching his arms out over the back of it, Fred sprawled out on it like a cat in the sun. You followed after him, still determined to grill him.

“Well actually, mi casa is su casa isn’t it?” Fred cackled at his own joke, the sound louder than it should have been, as if it was echoing around your skull. Another little reminder of his ethereal nature. Approaching slowly you stood over him, eyes narrowing.

“You disappeared, Fred.” You stated plainly. Despite the imposing nature you were faking, you had already forgiven him. You hated that you did but there was no staying mad at him. The second you heard that voice and felt his presence you were hooked all over again.

“Aww, did you miss Freddy?” Fred cooed with a teasing tone, that shit eating grin splitting his face. He peeked at you from under the brim of his hat, a shadow obscuring his face. What you could see was just as you remembered it; thin lips, long nose and those damned green eyes. All surrounded by burnt and muddled skin. Still, he seemed more handsome than you remembered. Maybe you really did miss him.

“Your timing could have been better.” You huffed, “My pajamas were much cuter the other night.” you continued, tugging at the set you had on with a disapproving look. Fred hummed, his gaze wandering over your form. You could practically feel his eyes settling at certain spots on your body, making heat settle in your cheeks and gut. You cursed yourself at just how easy it was for him to rile you up.

“Can’t say I didn’t think about ya.” He flirted, reaching up and plucking his hat from his head and setting it aside. Patting his thigh with his gloved hand, he egged you to come closer. To take a seat. Breathing deep you steadied yourself as you approached. While you were a bit uncertain at first, you positioned yourself as comfortably as you could. The moment your ass touched his thigh an arm was wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. His gloved hand came to rest on your thighs, the weight of it sending a shot of electricity through you. That weapon always intrigued you. So unique in its design but clearly carefully crafted. A weapon both brutal and graceful in a way. Tapping his blades against your skin was a constant threat of him cutting you. A threat that thrilled you to no end.

“I thought about you every night.” Leaning in, Fred spoke quieter as he invaded your space. The hand around your waist toying with your pajama top idly. The heat of his skin grazing along your lower back nearly made you jump. With the close proximity, you had no choice but to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Hearing what he said made your mouth go dry and you stumbled for a response for a moment.

“Y-you did?” You answered dumbly. The bladed hand on your thighs groped gently, leaving tiny knicks in your skin. Fred snorted out a short laugh.

“I did. Every dream…” His bare hand slid more fully under your shirt, “Every stab…” his breath washed over your face smelling of rot and ash, “Every victim. I thought about you.”

Trying to steady your breathing was pointless as heat flooded your body. While you tried to control it, you let out a nearly imperceptible sigh. But Fred heard it nonetheless. Another teasing coo and he brought a blade up to your cheek, tapping it with the tip.

“Such a hopeless romantic.” He jeered, teasing you for how flustered you were. While you felt the pang of embarrassment you couldn’t deny how turned on you were. Glancing away, your face was brought back towards him in an instant, the blade on your cheek turning your gaze. His grin was softer somehow. Maybe not kind but certainly not the cruel grimace that usually graced his burnt mug. You couldn’t help but think about how handsome he looked from this close.

“And what a mess you made out there. Honestly I should be thanking you.” Fred praised, his eyes raking over your face. The blade on your cheek grazed down to your neck and collarbone, drawing goosebumps out of you the whole way down. Your free hand had come to rest on his chest, pressing against the body that laid beneath that sweater. You wondered how he tolerated the itchy, ugly garment. You then wondered how quickly you could get it off him, even if you made no moves to do so. As if he could hear your thoughts, which given his supernatural presence he might have, Fred groaned lowly.

The hand that had snaked up into your shirt was pressing it higher up now and searching for your chest. Wrapping around your body so fully pressed more of that searing skin to yours, making you practically melt in his arms. Your hand on his chest clutched at his sweater, tugging down the collar of it desperately.

“Such a needy little thing.” Fred purred. “Don’t you worry, sugar. Let Freddy make it all better.” His lips brushing against your ear had evolved into open mouthed kisses that trailed down your throat, following the path his blade had taken. Scooping up your thighs, he spread them further and pulled you in to straddle him, pressing your bodies together in an instant. Now both your hands could slide around his shoulders, your lips coming together in a hard and sudden kiss. A low groan accompanied it, rumbling through his lips and into yours. He moves slowly but certainly as his lips slide over yours in steady motions, his eyes barely open as he watches you carefully. Your own eyes were closed, fully focused on enjoying the intimacy of it all.

Using his blades he sliced off your shirt in one clean motion. While you winced it was more at the fact he had ruined a perfectly good shirt and then out of fear. It was impressive how dextrous he was with those blades, snipping away the fabric without nicking you once. There was no pulling away to complain though as the hand on your back held you in place. Your shirt fell away and yet, you felt no cooler as Fred’s body heat warmed you to an intolerable high. Running your fingers over his bald head you dipped your fingertips into each scar and pit, pressing at the tissue that had been exposed. You almost expected the muscle to be wet or bloody, but it was clean and smooth like the scales of a reptile, yet not nearly as cold. Finding a spot on his throat you let your fingers linger there, feeling the subtle thrum of his heart, the artery much closer to the surface than it should have been.

Fred’s groaning had redoubled, now a consistent noise that poured out of him like the purring of a cat. His lips parted more as he deepened the kiss, grazing his tongue over your lips. Even as you parted them to let him in, he didn’t shove his tongue down your throat like you expected. Sliding in the tip of his tongue to run over your teeth before retreating, continuing to meet your mouth with lazy, open mouthed kisses. He tasted burnt which should have been obvious, yet the strong taste of charred meat was jarring. If it weren’t for everything else, his hands groping you and that intoxicating kiss, you might have gagged. If it were anyone else, this would have been hell.

Your hands finally ran down to the hem of his sweater, fingers easily slipping beneath it to touch more of that skin. It was a crime how baggy this damn thing was given the body you felt under it. Fred felt lean but strong, a broad barrel chest and sturdy shoulders. However, your exploration of his torso was hindered with the heavy knit garment that you continued to shove away. Yet, he made no move to help you remove it, grinning into the kiss as he sensed your frustration. Pulling away, you opened your eyes to find that teasing smile.

“You can’t even make fucking you easy, can you?” You chided, pulling a chuckle out of him.

“Thought you might enjoy removing it yourself.” Fred appealed, holding something up to you. It was a knife, the blade of it pinched between his fingers and he held the handle towards you. You really hated how well he knew you, although you had a feeling he only knew you so well because he knew what he would want. Plucking the knife from his hand you felt the weight of it in your palm. It was a hunting knife, the blade long and gently curved and the hilt slightly textured but not so much it hurt to hold. This was a very nice knife and your heart fluttered as you looked it over. Bringing the tip of the blade to his chin, Fred tilted his head up slightly as he felt it dig in. A tiny stream of that inky blood trickled away from the wound before you moved it away towards the collar of his sweater.

Whether the knife was just that sharp or the garment was that worn out, you didn’t know, but it tore through his sweater with shocking ease. Splitting it down the center sent electricity through you, the sound of tearing fabric filled your ears. When it was fully open, Fred let the ruined piece fall off his shoulders, having to shove the sleeve over his glove. By the end of it, his torso was finally bared and you wasted no time running your hands over him. Fred brought his hands to rest on your hips, letting you explore as you wanted. At first, he did so because he figured it would be entertaining to see your desperate groping. However, as your fingers teased sensitive and singed flesh, he realized he was no less eager than you. Closing his eyes he revelled in the gentle touch of your hands, your own chest coming to press against his as you ran your fingers over his belly and sides. Feeling your lips press against a raw spot on his neck made his face twitch as he held back a softer sound that threatened to break free. He’d allow himself to groan but he’d rather die again than be caught sighing.

Just as he was getting used to the gentle treatment, his head leaning away to make space for your eager tongue exploring his neck, he felt a sting of pain in his side. It wasn’t anything he hadn't felt before, but amongst the slow groping it still surprised him. The knife he had gifted you was now in your hand again and you were sliding it across his ribs, finding the spaces between them and slowly slicing the skin there. Marking each gap with a fine cut, you left him with gill-like wounds along his chest and sides. Dropping the knife, you ran your fingers along the wounds, pressing deeper and opening them up, all the while watching Fred’s face as he began panting harder and his eyes squeezed shut. Pausing, you laid your head against his chest, listening for something, testing as you pushed in deeper on some wounds.

Listening for Fred’s heart was more difficult than you expected. Echoing inside his chest was what you could only describe as the distant screams of hundreds of victims. As if they were trapped inside him and begging to be set free. Yet you could still hear that thrumming organ, feeling its throbbing motions under your fingertips as you approached his third and fourth ribs. Pressing harder, another one of his groans muffled the sound of his heart, but it was undeniable you had found where it was closest to the surface. Picking up your knife again, you sat back and pressed the blade into that gap, opening it up fully. While you didn’t break his ribs, you still split through muscle and sinew that fought against letting you in deeper. Setting your knife aside again you dug your fingers in, finding the wound to be just wide enough to wriggle them in with the help of his blood lubricating the way.

Fred’s gaze was hazy, his grip on your hips hard and his hips rocking against yours. While he was gritting his teeth it was not from pain. The moans that poured from him were wanton and needy, not pained. When his mouth dropped open it was to allow him to pant heavily and curse as heat pooled in his gut and head. It had been decades since someone managed to do this to him and it almost pissed him off. Sure, there was the occasional crazed fan that wanted to fuck him, but it was usually pretty vanilla aside from him roughly fucking them and using his glove to cut them up. Watching you lick your lips eagerly as your fingers wriggled into his chest cavity, running over bone and meat to find his beating heart drove him wild. The hunger in your eyes only deepened when you realized your wrist was just too wide to fit in. You would have to either take another route in or you’d need to break his ribs. Both options felt tantalizingly exciting.

Pulling your hand from his chest with a sickening squelch you were going to plan your next move but were interrupted by Fred’s hungry lips on yours again. While it surprised you, you let it happen, kissing him in return. He broke the kiss only a moment to bring your now blood soaked hand towards his lips, letting his tongue snake out and lap up some of it. You followed suit, collecting the thick ichor on your tongue before pressing your lips to his again. The taste of his own blood on your tongue made him growl, eyes rolling as he wrapped his arms around your torso to pull you flush against his body.

Fred started tipping backwards and you expected him to stop as his back hit the couch, but he didn’t. With your eyes closed, you felt your momentum keep going, falling for a moment as you clung to Fred. Suddenly, you both had stopped, Fred’s back hitting something and bouncing before rolling you over and hovering overtop of you. Cracking your eyes open you found you were now in the bedroom, once again only familiar in layout as the house’s decor had changed. You could only assume this is what it had looked like when Fred lived here. When you looked back to Fred he was panting, almost snarling above you as he had you pinned. Blood seeped from the wound in his chest and onto your bare torso, the skin already slowly knitting back together. You could have sworn you watched as tiny hands poked out of the skin, clawing their way out before being sucked back in.

While you were fascinated by his healing, Fred couldn’t have cared less. He was on a mission to remove the remainder of your clothes, tearing away your pajama pants in a rushed flurry of movements. Your lack of underwear pulled another cooing noise from him as he admired your now bare body beneath him. His ungloved hand ran along your skin, rubbing the thick drops of his blood around and settling on your chest as he rolled a thumb over your nipple. Pinching it only brought more heady sounds from you as you laid there allowing him to toy with your body. Catching his eyes again, you made a show of licking more of his blood from your hand, chewing your lip as you savoured it.

“You little fucking tease.” Fred huskily growled out the words to cover up how much it affected him. Leaning in he pressed his tongue to your skin, licking up the blood he had smeared around. Finding your nipple again he pulled it into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and flicking it with the tip. That ungloved hand found the other and began the same treatment, pinching and plucking at it. Arching into his touch you keened and moaned, your hands twisting into the sheets below. Parting your thighs you draped them over his hips, pulling him close and urging him towards what you wanted. Those filthy workpants were still very much in place and you wanted to remedy that as quickly as possible. As his still clothed hips touched yours his erection beneath them was obvious, pressing against your bare cunt. Moaning lowly you rutted against him shamelessly feeling painfully empty without him.

“Please Fred…”

“Oh come on, you’re so formal.” Fred taunted. “Call me Freddy.”

Your whining was pitiful but he ate it up all the same. Bucking his own hips against yours you let out a strangled whimper, his covered bulge parting your cunt slightly. Your wetness was seeping into the thick cotton of those rough work pants leaving a dark stain in the front of them. As he pulled away from your nipples he worked his way up to your throat, suckling the skin on the way there and surely leaving a trail of pink bruises.

“Go on, sugar. Say my name. Beg for me.”

“Fuck, please! Freddy I-ah! I need you!”

The press of his hips only got harder as you begged.

“Need me how? Use your words, whore.”

“I need you-mmnh! I need you to fuck me! Please, Freddy I’ve waited so long-”

Fred latched onto the crook between your shoulder and neck, sucking down harder to leave a darker mark. All the while those blades ran over your body leaving red stripes in their wake, blood beading on the surface of some of the cuts. Hissing at the sting you let out that breath in a long moan, the pain melting into the overwhelming heat.

“That’s my good little slut. I love it when you beg.”

Fred’s bare hand worked at opening his fly, taking a moment to graze his fingers over your pussy. Humming low in your ear he parted your labia to press them further in. Feeling how wet you were tore husky breaths from his chest, panting over your cheek as he roughly pushed them deeper. Still you begged for more, practically sobbing beneath him as your hips rocked in time with the shallow pumping of his fingers. Thrusting against his palm you rubbed your clit over the meaty heel of it, chasing any sort of satisfaction.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, y’know that?” Fred growled against your skin, “You’ll never be able to fuck anyone again. It just won’t be the same. You’re going to be all mine.”

The thrusting of his fingers sped up, his palm continuing to grind against your clit bringing you closer to the edge with every motion.

“Come on, cum on my fingers whore.”

Fred’s taunting only egged you on, those filthy words purred in your ear in his rough voice only serving to make your head spin with arousal. He was shockingly careful about finding that spongy bundle of nerves within your walls, rolling the pads of his fingers over it in tight circles. Your hands left the sheets below and grasped blindly at his form, seeking purchase and stability as you reached your peak. Moaning and crying out into his ear you came undone over his fingers. Your legs twitched and clamped down around him, trying to hold him as close as possible as you rode out the waves of pleasure. For a moment you worried it might wake you up, leaving you once again somewhat wanting. But as you came down, your eyes fluttering open, you found he was still there slipping his fingers out of your wet cunt. Locking his gaze with yours he licked them clean, running his inhuman tongue over his hand and lapping up your juices.

“So wet and sweet, and all just for me.” sucking his fingers into his mouth he hummed as he finished cleaning them, “You spoil me.”

That hand dove down to quickly finish shoving his fly and pants out of the way, pulling his cock free. While Fred was already lining himself up you were trying to sit up slightly, just enough to see it. You refused to come this far just to never see his dick. Quirking up a brow, Fred gave you a bit of a puzzled look as you shifted before he realized what you were doing, throwing his head back with a loud chuckle.

“You’re fucking adorable, slut. Y’know that? Desperate to see my cock before I bury it in you?”

Sitting up you finally got a good look at it, already chewing your lip in anticipation. It was just over average length and a normal thickness but the scarring that lined it left the head prominent and an angry red. Fred made a show of stroking himself slowly, rolling his palm over the head a few times then pulling away and letting it twitch against your pussy.

“Done staring, sugar?”

His words snapped you out of whatever spell you had been under, glancing up at him and nodding quickly and laying back down. You hadn’t even gotten comfortable yet when Fred lined himself up and began pressing the head of his cock into you. It slipped in all too easily, letting him sink his length in with one long thrust. Every scar and ridge along his shaft tugged at your walls and by the time he was fully nestled in your walls you knew you weren’t going to last long.

“F-fuck Freddy that’s…”

“So fucking good.”

Fred finished your sentence for you, his gaze entirely focused on watching his cock disappear into you. With both hands gripping your hips tight, he held them up while your back stayed pressed to the bed. As he pulled out you let out a keening whine, feeling every inch slide out of you before shoving back in. After that, his pace picked up significantly, pulling and pushing your hips in time with his thrusts. The fact he could man-handle you like this had you reeling as it was, yet alone the angle of his cock inside you had you seeing stars with each motion. You wanted to touch him, to hold him close just to hang on to something, but he kept just out of your reach. Instead you tangled your hands into the sheets again, finding something hard amongst them. Peeking over you found it was your knife.

Sitting up more fully this time you clambered up to Fred’s level, smiling softly at his confused face. Still your bodies stayed tangled, Fred continuing to thrust up into you despite the change in position. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you moved your hips in time and revelling each time your hips met with hard, raw slaps.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing but you better fucking watch it or-”

Fred’s complaints were cut short as he felt something pierce into his chest just below his ribs. Letting out a confused grunt he looked down to find you were slipping your blade into him. Your face still blissed out and slack as you moaned with his thrusts, your eyes unfocused and yet entirely centered on what you were doing. Opening up the wound you dropped the knife to the side before bringing your hand up to replace it. Grazing your fingertips over the opening you opened up the edges before burying your hand into it, digging into his chest cavity.

With every inch your hand slid in Fred’s vision blurred more and more, his hips bucking harder and faster. His hands grabbed at you, the blades of his glove slicing into your thigh as he pulled your body hard against his over and over. His mouth hung open as he panted, letting out deep, husky moans. By the time your fingertips had found their target, you had pushed your entire hand and some of your forearm into his chest. Caressing the throbbing muscle that pounded behind his ribs your moans redoubled.

“You f-feel incredible, Freddy.” Your voice was raw. Whether you were referencing his cock or the thrumming of his heart, he didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care either. The pain was unimaginable, but in this world of dreams it felt like sheer and daunting pleasure. The mix of your walls trembling around his cock as he plowed into you and your hand now groping at his innards had Fred moving on sheer instinct. His hips snapped against yours with little to no rhythm, his heart squirming in your palm as blood seeped from the wound and down your arm.

Grazing your lips over his you barely managed to press a few kisses to his open mouth between both of your moaning and panting breaths. Your tongues briefly danced over each other, Fred drooling openly over your mouth as he fucked you mindlessly. His grip on you now was painful but you ignored it, your focus now entirely on the second orgasm building in your gut. Fred’s heart was pounding hard and fast in your hand, signalling his own end barreling into him. Stroking your fingers over it you gave it an experimental tug, pulling it slightly out of place. The tug sent a spike of pain through Fred, his head tipping back with a pained shout.

All movement paused; your hand, his thrusts, even your panting breath. You didn't think you could actually hurt him but maybe you had gone a little too far. Still, his cock twitched inside you as you sat in his lap, your arm still buried in his chest up to the elbow. Just as you were going to move away he pulled himself together, mumbling something you couldn't hear.

“Fred, are you OK-”

“Do that again. And be ready for me to fill that pretty little cunt with cum, got it?”

Before you could ask anything else Fred was pounding into you again, pulling a surprised yelp from you. Doing as he asked, you tugged at the heart in your hand and his thrusts got shorter and faster. The groaning was now constant, broken only by hissing breaths pulled between his teeth and repeated curses under his breath.

Digging your fingers into the meat of his heart you tugged harder. It throbbed as if fighting your grasp like a wounded animal in a trap. Bringing your hips down with every thrust you met him again and again, your own cum collecting in the scars and ridges on his cock. Burnt skin pulled and pushed at your fleshy walls, leaving sparks bursting behind your eyes.

“C'mon you fucking whore, cum already.”

Fred’s barked demands were all you needed, your hand crumpling around his heart as you came. More waves of pleasure surged through you, weakening your muscles further and filling your head with fog. There was no stopping from Fred; no waiting for your orgasm to pass or a moment of reprieve. You clung to him as he fucked you faster, harder, the fat head of his cock kissing your cervix. Groaning morphed into shouts as he became frantic, pushing your hips down onto his with every animalistic motion. The animal faltered and paused just a moment as he tipped over the edge, his mouth hanging open in a silent wail. Fred’s cock twitched when he finally came pouring rancid, thick cum inside of you. It was almost uncomfortable, making you squirm and wince but he held you tight.

“Hold still, slut. I told you to be ready. I'm gunna empty my fucking balls in you and you're going to like it.”

That snarled warning sent a shiver through you. Despite your discomfort, you sat obediently. Letting you get up off his cock, you cringed at the sound and feeling of his cum leaking out of you. Finally you retrieved your arm from his chest, pulling it from the wound with a similar wet pop. Your arm was drenched in clotting, wine coloured blood. It drooled off in heavy lump, landing hard on your bodies and the bed below. As you caught your breath you peeked up at Fred. He was panting, open mouthed and hazy eyed. You'd never say it since you weren't stupid enough to be gored, but he looked perfect like this. Fucked out and dazed after a strong orgasm was a very good look on him. You hoped this wouldn’t be the only time you saw him this way.

Falling backwards you hit the bed, the energy in your body dissipating in an instant. It was odd to be tired in a dream. Fred crawled over your form, his blades dragging over your torso with featherlight precision in mindless patterns. Tiny knicks littered your belly as the tips of those blades nipped and bit your skin. The hole in his chest was still leaking blood onto your body and spilling out onto your, no his, sheets. Your arms wrapped limply around his neck, revelling in the heat he radiated. It had been years since you felt so peaceful, so satisfied, so alive. Leaning in close his hot, putrid breath poured over you as those burnt lips grazed your ear again.

“Keep killing. Show these townies what fear tastes like.”

Sunlight woke you slowly, your body heavy and warm under the covers. Peeling your heavy eyelids open you glanced around groggily. Groaning you sat up, your body sore and drained. You felt hungover, the room swinging around you. The realization that the sheets were wet and what they were most likely soiled with sunk in and you sighed. Shoving them off you yanked your bedding from the mattress and left it in a pile to be dealt with later. Shuffling into the bathroom, you started the process of cleaning up after Krueger. Even with how annoyed you were, you couldn’t help but smile. Those final words ringing in your mind over and over again. You would make a name for yourself in this town yet.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷

The summer in Springwood was dry, hot and miserable. Yet everyday, you found yourself in your backyard, knees dug into the soil below. While all your neighbours had a hard time keeping their gardens lush and vibrant in the stagnant heat, yours was always pristine. Amongst other bushes and flowers, your garden was dominated by large thatches of white blooms. Your gardenias were your pride and joy and the envy of anyone who saw them. It would be a secret to everyone but you as to how you managed to keep such fertile soil, no matter the weather. Burying a final, small bundle you packed down the dirt ensuring it stayed buried. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you retreated inside to the cool of your living room.

There you left your front door open despite the town wide paranoia around a serial killer. Not only had Springwood’s fear of their resident boogeyman resurfaced, but the very real threat that another killer was now amongst them had arisen. You played the part of a scared citizen well enough, but some people held their suspicion. Without enough evidence, they could speculate all they wanted. You would remain free.

With each kill you got better at mimicking Fred’s style when you needed to, blurring the lines between his and yours. Some of yours would be cut to shreds with a set of parallel blades, and some of his would end up buried around the town and your garden. Fred’s cellar still remained well used and his home a vessel for pain and suffering once again. The walls of this building alive as they thrived on the blood spilled within them, as if they were always meant to conceal such evil. Splayed out on the couch, you sipped the lemonade you had made for a day such as this. Perspiration slipping down your fingers from the glass. The TV played a local news station as per usual and while they tried to hide their trepidation, it all came out as they got to their most recent stories.

Another murder. Another person missing. No leads aside from the name we shan't say and a new face we have yet to identify. Being named The Gardener in a small town like this felt like a right of passage. Big cities tended to avoid naming their killers, at least not anything worth bragging about. But in small town America, they loved to sensationalize a killer. When there wasn’t much going on anyway, even the worst case scenario seems like a good time. No matter how they denied it; Springwood loves its killers.

Grinning to yourself, you downed the last of your refreshment before preparing to step outside again. Your freezer was now full to the brim with small bundles of gore and meat that all needed to be planted by the end of the day. Covered by the scent of your overwatered, root rotting gardenias, they would go unnoticed until the worst of the putrefaction had subsided. With the sun overhead already speeding up the process, you knew this batch of victims would be rich, black soil within weeks. Kneeling in the dirt once again, the house on Elm Street towers behind you. Deterring prying eyes you were free to do as you pleased. All the while you walked among those that you hunted. Shook their hands, talked around coffee, drank at bars and worked for a humble pay. Only to go home at the end of the day, lay your head down to sleep and dream of the man that preyed on them at night. Between both of you, Springwood wasn’t safe awake or asleep. Pride bloomed in your belly as you daydreamed of what you would experience tonight. Working automatically, you buried another bundle in this bountiful garden you had built with him.

#slasher fic

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#slasher fic