Freddy Krueger takes on his greatest enemy: the clichés that fill our dreams.

This piece originally appeared in my Monster Mashup Part 2 short fiction collection.

Freddy Krueger has that Dream Again

Freddy watched his prey from the shadows of the Nightmare Factory. The kid was a bookish little dweeb, in a tweed jacket with leather patches. When the kid walked through a steam vent the pressure revealed his teenage combover.

Freddy’s guttural laughter echoed off the equipment. He chuckled until he felt something on his tongue, like a piece of gravel that fell in while his mouth was open.

Freddy swished it around. It felt like his cheeks were full of stones. When he spit them out he saw they were actually teeth. When he tongued the holes in his gums he felt a set of fresh molars coming in. They too fell from their sockets. When Freddy spit again a tooth got stuck inside his gullet.

Freddy coughed, but it wouldn’t come out. He slit his throat, catching the tooth in his glove. It was too large to fit in his face, like a toy a dentist would keep on his desk.

He smirked. “Well, that was Freudian.”

Freddy usually dug through his prey’s subconscious, pulling out props, costumes, and sets, but this kid was pushing things onto him, a white blood cell attacking a virus. The dweeb had himself a powerful imagination.

Freddy had to assert his dominance. He listened to the factory floor, hearing footfalls around the corner. He turned to find his quarry just beyond the brim of his tattered fedora.

The kid squeaked at the sight of Freddy’s charred peeling face. Freddy opened his glove, flashing the blades that made up his fingers. He ran them along the pipes, drawing out sparks, leaving steam in his wake.

The dweeb sprinted down the tunnel, charging right through the Door of Dread. Sunlight shined over the threshold, casting the boilers in an awkward light. The little runt was already leading the way to his deepest fear.

Freddy ran through the door to find himself in a high school class room. The students burst into laughter at the sight of him. Usually, the dream demon had full reign over the extras in the nightmares he was running, but these kids were improvising.

The teacher removed her spectacles. “Mr. Krueger. Where are your clothes?”

Freddy looked down to find he was wearing his glove and nothing else. His burnt skin was exposed. “I must have forgotten them.”

She rolled her eyes. “I trust you remembered to study for your final exam?”

Freddy scanned the students’ faces. Sure enough, the dweeb sat in the back of the classroom, hiding when he should’ve ran. Freddy made a beeline for him, when the teacher grabbed his arm. He spun around to slice her belly, only to find his claws padded with apples.

The teacher plucked one off and directed Freddy to his desk.

Freddy turned to sneer at the sniveling twerp, who was holding onto his pencil for dear life.

“Eyes on your own paper, Mr. Krueger.” The teacher snapped.

Fine, he’d play along. If only to let the little bastard twist in the wind.

Freddy read the first question:

“12 friends agree to stand guard while the others sleep in shifts. They assume that everyone will need a minimum of 4 hours of sleep. School starts in 6 hours. How many groups will they need to break into if only 1 group volunteers to take 2 separate sets of 2 hour naps?”

Freddy sliced through the page, reducing the desk to splinters.

“Something wrong with your test, Mr. Krueger?” The teacher folded her arms.

Freddy shot up, “Listen here, you stupid bitch. I’m about to give you an education in pain–”

The teacher pulled a lever on her desk. The tiles fell out from under Freddy’s feet. He found himself falling through the clouds right beside his prey.

Freddy shouted. “Seriously kid, we go from losing teeth, showing up to school naked, to falling through the sky?”

The dweeb flailed his arms. “What’s your point?”

Freddy shrugged. “Nothing. I just had you pegged for a writer and this all seems rather uninspired.”

The dweeb nodded. “Oh, I am a writer. I’m just kind of a hack.”

Freddy shrugged. “Fair enough. Hey, which would you rather fall into: a pit of snakes or a pit of spikes?”

Weighing his options, the dweeb cocked his head. “Surprise me.”

***

After getting a lot requests for prints of my art I decided to open a  store on REDBUBBLE where you can find prints and a whole lot more.