A Nightmare on Birch Street Ch. 01

"A Nightmare on Elm Street" is a low-budget horror movie from 1984. In my opinion, it's *the* classic teen-slasher movie. I've kept the same main characters but taken some liberties with the plot.

The teenagers in this story may seem quite naive but bear in mind its set in much more innocent times, back in the 80s before the internet and mobile phones, sexting and tinder. Be warned that it wouldn't be a horror story if the central characters weren't in peril, so there are strong elements of bondage and forced, rough sex.

*****

Springfield, 1984

Late into the night, he works in the gloomy basement, hammering and soldering; shaping the scraps of metal with twisted, scarred fingers. Hunching over a rough wooden workbench full of assorted hammers, files, blowtorches and metal shavings and chuckling softly as he coaxes the hard, silvery metal into the shapes demanded by his perverse visions.

He's been waiting so long. All those years spent in this dingy basement, creating his toys and fantasizing about the day he'll finally get his revenge. A cold, calculated revenge to contrast with what those bastards did to him all those years ago. Years he'd spent alone, his bitterness and anger growing like a tumour. Waiting and waiting until the perfect time. It was so near now, the fruit so nearly ripe, just waiting to be plucked.

He's already constructed a pair of ornate handcuffs this evening, the intricately engraved bracelets connected by a slender but strong chain, each link hand-worked and tested for strength.

His small, deep-set eyes glisten he completes his latest 'toy': a worn, fingerless leather glove with a series of long, thin razor-sharp blades extending from it like freakishly long fingernails. He grunts as he vigorously files the last blade, working it until it's as wickedly sharp as its neighbours. He slips the glove on over his blistered skin and holds it up in front of his oil-black eyes, flexing the metallic joints, testing the lubrication. He smiles a crooked, gap-toothed smile, his dry, blistered lips stretched over discoloured teeth as he twists it, watching as the edges catch the dim light.

"Oh yes," he whispers in his hoarse, rasping voice. "We're going to have a lot of fun together."

--

Nancy lay back in the bath, enjoying the lovely warm sensations of the fragrant water lapping at her skin, feeling herself relaxing, the stresses of a long day at college slowly slipping away. She'd had another of her nightmares last night and had been unable to get back to sleep and now as her body relaxed, she felt herself beginning to drift off.

She closed her eyes as she floated in that lovely state halfway between consciousness and sleep as she felt the warm water swirling around her naked skin, stroking her like a lover's hands. She closed her eyes as the sensations grew more intense, the touch firmer.

Suddenly, she felt hands, rough masculine hands tugging at her ankles, pulling her down, her bottom sliding along the smooth surface, a sharp yelp of panic escaping her lips as she slipped beneath the surface, her soapy fingers struggling to get purchase on the smooth sides of the bath. She heard mocking laughter as she felt herself being drawn deeper, the rough hands pulling at her ankles and crudely squeezing her buttocks. She was pulled down and down into the darkness, the light of the bathroom getting smaller and smaller as her lungs burnt and she began to panic, thrashing wildly.

A fierce but distant knocking at the door startled her and suddenly she was awake, the water splashing over the rim of the bath as she pushed herself back up, brushing the strands of damp, curly hair from her face as she gasped for breath.

"Are you okay in there?" she heard her mother shouting.

She looked around the empty bathroom, her large, chocolate brown eyes open wide, her heart thumping against her chest.

"Honey, are you okay?" her mother repeated as she banged on the door.

"Yes, I'm fine, mom. Sorry about the noise, I must have fallen asleep and accidentally slipped down the bath," she shouted back as her heart rate slowly returned to normal.

--

Later, she reclined on the sofa in her dressing gown, sipping from a steaming mug of cocoa. She put her bare feet up on the coffee table and used the remote control to aimlessly flick through the television channels, desperate to find something to grab her attention and keep her awake.

"Hey, feet!" her mother said, returning from the kitchen clutching a large glass of white wine.

"Is that your third or fourth glass?" Nancy asked petulantly, as she slid her feet from the table.

"It's my third. I've told you before, when you grow up and have a full-time job, maybe you'll understand the need to relax in the evening."

"I'm just saying," Nancy said defensively as she stifled a yawn, feeling too tired to start another argument over her mother's drinking. It was clear to her that the problem had been getting steadily worse since her father, Don, had died in his sleep from a heart-attack two years earlier and she'd been forced to return to work, but she absolutely refused to acknowledge she had a problem, let alone get some help.

"Anyway, you're up late aren't you? You've got college tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"You look so tired, dear. Are you still having those nightmares?" her mother said, sipping her wine.

It was true; the makeup she'd carefully applied this morning couldn't hide the dark circles under her eyes.

"You know, sometimes," Nancy said. In truth her nightmares, like her mother's drinking, had been getting a lot worse recently. Every night, they seemed to get more vivid and real. It had gotten to the stage where she was almost too scared to go to bed.

"What kind of nightmares are they?" her mother said, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

"Oh, you know, just the usual kind, being chased and stuff," Nancy said, reluctant to tell her mother exactly how disturbing and explicit her dreams had become recently. "Anyway, you're right, I really should be getting some sleep. Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight, dear, sweet dreams," her mother said, as Nancy dragged her tired body from the couch and kissed her forehead.

--

It was a typical teenage girl's bedroom, an untidy riot of schoolbooks, magazines, cassette tapes and discarded clothes, the walls crowded with colourful posters of her favourite bands: Madonna, A-Ha, Duran Duran. Her bedside table was cluttered with books and family photo's. A number of bright scarves and feather boas brightened up the brass bed frame.

Nancy lay on her bed in her favourite pink flannel nightie, reading a novel. She'd thought it might be easier to stay awake if she didn't actually get into bed, but as the alarm clock on the bedside table ticked past midnight, she could feel her eyelids drooping, the words on the page starting to get jumbled and blurry as the comforting warm numbness of sleep slowly crept up over her body.

--

A little while later, an odd noise downstairs made her jump, and the jolt of adrenaline made her feel wide awake again. She thought she'd heard her mother come up to bed an hour ago so it should be quiet down there. There it was again! Subtle noises like there was someone moving around downstairs.

She got to her feet, almost glad of the excuse to shake off her drowsiness. Out in the hall, she paused and listened, but hearing nothing tried knocking on her mother's bedroom door.

"Mom?" she said, but there was no reply and when she tried the handle it was locked, which seemed odd.

Carefully, one tentative step at a time, she crept down the stairs, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, as the old wooden stairs creaked beneath her bare feet. The downstairs hall was black except for the moonlight spilling through the front door and a faint glow from the living room. She paused, listening intently. There it was again! And now she could make out another noise: a faint hiss, like air escaping from a tyre.

Nancy peered cautiously around the doorframe. From the back of the room, she could see a dark figure slumped in front of the television, outlined by its cold grey light. The cable box was switched off, so the TV screen was filled with snowy white noise, a faint static hiss filling the room.

Nancy realised she'd been holding her breath as she exhaled, sighing with relief. Her mother had fallen asleep in front of the television! She wasn't surprised given the amount of wine she'd drunk! She must have been mistaken when she thought she'd heard her going to bed.

"Mom?" she said, then repeated it more loudly.

Unable to get a response, she stepped forward and gently squeezed her mother's shoulder.

Then she was screaming and reeling back in horror, as the scarily familiar figure turned to face her. Beneath the brim of his hat, she could only see half of his disfigured face, the skin horribly burned, his thin lips curled into an evil smile.

"Surprise!" he said, his voice sounding horribly dry and gruff as he sprung to his feet. It was the man she kept having nightmares about, and even though she didn't see his hands she knew he'd be wearing that dreadful razor-tipped glove.

Nancy staggered backwards, a fresh wave of adrenaline surging around her young body, the blood roaring in her ears. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she knew she had to get away. She stumbled back into the hallway, then into the little downstairs bathroom at the foot of the stairs, slamming the door in his face, hearing his body slam against it.

Her screams echoed off the tiled walls of the confined space as she looked around frantically for something to defend herself with as she heard the man throw himself against the door. There was very little in the bathroom, just some lavender-scented soap and a small hand-towel, not even a pair of nail scissors or some bleach to throw in his face.

"Come on Nancy, I just want to have a little fun!" he shouted.

On her left was a little half-open outside window at chest height. She remembered climbing in once, several years back when she'd forgotten her key.

"Open this door, bitch!" he was yelling, the little brass lock rattling as he pounded on the wood.

Behind her, the door was beginning to give now, a small gap opening between the door and the frame and she shrieked again as he slipped his razor fingers through the gap, making a skittering noise as he slid them up and down, trying to catch the lock. She quickly jumped up, using all her strength, and eased her head then her torso through the small window, her breath coming in tight panicky little gasps. Outside, the front yard was dark and quiet, the air cool against her face. If only she could squeeze out she felt sure she could escape, the bushes beneath the window would break her fall.

She'd obviously grown a little since she last tried, her girlish hips becoming more rounded. As she struggled to wriggle through, she heard a victorious grunt behind her as the door flew open.

"No, no!" she squealed, kicking her legs as she felt scaly hands clutching at her ankles, pulling her back, her stomach sliding back over the frame. She had to brace her arms against the frame to stop him pulling her any further.

"Bitch!" he spat as she kicked out and felt her foot connect with something solid, but despite landing another kick she just couldn't shake him off. As much as she squealed and wriggled she found herself stuck half-in and half-out of the tiny window, the window's wooden frame hard against her stomach, her legs waving uselessly in the air, her feet not quite able to reach the floor.

"No! Let me go, you bastard! What do you want?" she squealed as she felt him push her baggy nightshirt up over her bare legs.

"I want to hear you scream!" his voice rasped as he slid a metal finger beneath the waistband of her panties, the razors-sharp steel easily slicing through the white cotton. He laughed wickedly as he tore at the ripped cotton, pulling the ragged remains down over her legs leaving her naked from the waist down, the pert, pink cheeks of her buttocks exposed.

"No, stop!" she panted, struggling as if her life depended it, but unable to free herself from his clutches. She shuddered as she felt him roughly pulling her legs wide apart, his crooked fingers clutching her soft buttocks, chuckling as he eased them wide apart exposing her most intimate treasures.

"Mmm, nothing smells sweeter than virgin pussy," he cackled as she felt his hot breath on her bare skin, his fingers sliding up between her legs.

Nancy threw back her head and screamed.

--

"Wake up, dear, wake up!" her mother insisted, reaching out and shaking her shoulder as her daughter writhed on the bed, her nightdress riding up over her thrashing legs, the duvet sliding onto the floor as her feverishly hot young body bucked against the mattress.

"Stop, please, stop!" Nancy was moaning, her voice gradually losing its urgency as she became conscious.

"It's alright, dear, you were just having a nightmare. There, there," her mother said, looking concerned as she placed a cool hand on Nancy's forehead, brushing away a lock of her dark brown hair.

"What? Mom?"

"It's okay dear, it's just a nightmare."

"What? Yes, just a nightmare, I'm okay now," Nancy mumbled, her eyes half-open, slowly focussing on her mother's face. It looked pale and puffy without her make-up, and her eyes were slightly bloodshot, probably a result of her drinking.

"Well, it's a little early but I might as well get up and make breakfast now," her mother sighed, running a hand through her tangled hair and glancing at the clock. "Come on downstairs when you're ready sweetheart."

Nancy slid her hands beneath her dishevelled nightdress, and felt a cool flush of relief when she found her panties still intact. It really was just a dream, she reassured herself. It was all just a harmless dream.

--

Birch Street was a pleasant, respectable cul-de-sac on the edge of Springfield, the large, detached houses set back from its tree-lined streets, the front gardens neat and well-kept. This morning the April sun heated the driveways and glistened on the windscreens of recently washed cars.

Every weekday morning, Nancy would meet her best friend, Tina, outside her house and they'd take the same route to college. Down to the end of the street past the green, well-trimmed front lawns of their neighbours, left onto Canyon Road, then right at the bakery on the corner, past the junior school, then a small row of shops, the shopping mall and then through the park, finally arriving at Springfield High on the other side of town.

At eighteen, Tina and Nancy were in their last year of high school. Next year, they'd be off to university or, if things didn't go so well, heading out into the real world and looking for work. They'd already talked about renting an apartment together.

"So where's Glen this morning?" Tina asked as they walked, clutching their books to their chests a little tighter and leaning forward a little as they turned the corner by the bakery and felt the chilly spring breeze ruffling their hair.

"Oh, you know what he's like, he's probably overslept," Nancy replied as she stifled a yawn.

"Yeah, I had trouble getting out of bed this morning, myself."

"Late night? Did Rod come over again?" Nancy said, nudging her in the ribs.

"No! I've been having these weird dreams, some creepy guy chasing me."

"Really? I've been having dreams like that too!" Nancy said, spinning to face her.

"You're kidding, right? Is he, like, all gnarly and wearing a green and red-striped sweater?"

"Yes, exactly, and a hat. A fedora? Is that what they call it? And he's got this horrible raspy voice and he's, like, chasing you?"

"Right, and he's got a knife or something in his hand, and he's really freaking crazy?"

"Yeah, but it's not a knife, it's like a weird glove thing with blades instead of fingers."

"Yes, yes, that's right! A glove! That's it exactly!"

"Wow, how weird!"

"Yeah, that is weird! How can we be having nightmares about the same bogey-man?"

"I don't know; maybe we just saw the same horror movie or read the same book or something."

They walked on for a little in silence, Nancy wondering how Tina could possibly be having the same dreams as her. Maybe it was based on someone they knew, or something on the news.

They were passing the junior school now, the children outside playing in the sunshine behind the wire fence. Some cute eight- or nine-year old girls in plain white dresses were laughing as they played with a skipping rope and something about their chanting made Nancy stop.

"One, two: he's coming for you," they chanted as they spun the rope. "Three, four: lock your door."

"What is it?" Tina said, noticing her friend had stopped.

"Five/six: he's got plenty of tricks," they continued as the rope slapped the ground.

Nancy held her finger up to her lips as she listened.

"Seven, eight: he comes when it's late. Nine, ten: you won't be seen again," the girls continued to chant in their high-pitched, sing-song voices.

"What is it?" Tina asked.

"That song, we used to sing that when we were their age, didn't we? What's it about?"

"I don't know, it's just a silly song, I don't think it means anything."

"Don't you think it's a bit spooky though? The words, I mean?" Nancy said, feeling an icy shiver as they stood in silence trying to comprehend what it all meant as they watched the young girls playing. Now another girl took her place in the middle and they began the chant again.

"One, two: he's coming for you..."

They didn't notice the large, dark figure creeping up behind them.

"Got yah!" a husky voice growled, as they felt rough hands gripping their shoulders.

Nancy spun around, her breath catching in her throat only to find her boyfriend, Glen, standing there, a stupid grin spread across his good-looking face.

"Hey, you guys look like you've seen a ghost," he laughed, flinching as Tina punched his arm.

"You jerk! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Nancy gasped breathlessly, her hand clutching her chest.

"What are you doing anyway? Why are you watching those kids?"

"You know that old song they sing when they're skipping? We were just wondering what the words meant," Nancy answered.

"Come on, you must have heard that story," Glen said, as they resumed their walk towards the college.

"What story?"

"You've never heard the janitor story? I thought everyone around here had heard it. I tell my kid brother every Hallowe'en, he loves it. Nearly pees his pants every time."

"Come on, then."

"Well, years ago, there was this janitor who worked at the college."

"Our college?"

"Yeah, Springfield High. Anyway, I'll keep it short: apparently this guy was trying to start a fire in the boiler. This is in the old days, when the college was heated by a big old wood-burning boiler down in the basement. Anyway, one winter's day, it's early in the morning and there's snow on the ground, and he's desperate to get a fire started. The story goes that he kept trying and trying, but the wood was damp, so after a while he starts to get annoyed. He gets out a big bottle of lighter fluid, you know what that is?"

The girls nodded.

"This stuff's really flammable, right? Anyway, his fingers are numb from the cold and he's fumbling with the bottle and he's getting real angry now, so he crushes the plastic bottle, spraying it all over the wood, but it splashes back onto his sweater. Apparently, he used to always wear this ratty old green and red-striped sweater."

"Go on," Nancy said, exchanging glances with Tina.

"Well, you can see where this is going, right? As soon as he strikes the match, his sleeve catches fire, and he panics and then starts trying to pat it out with his other hand. But as he does this, he spills even more of the fluid over his clothes and then his skin, and in a few seconds he's rolling around on the floor, flames licking his skin, the wool of his sweater melting and clinging to his arms."