A Nightmare Reborn: FVJ 02

Windows exploded outward in a powerful blast of heat. The iron bars outside the window frames superheated and glowed before they burned the wood around the bolts holding them in place. The metal constructs crashed the ground and hissed in the rain, billowing steam. When the fire reached the furnace, there was a loud explosion that tore away the remains of the kitchen and rained debris throughout the flaming structure. The ash in the furnace, which had once hid the razor tipped glove of Freddy Krueger, smoldered in the air.

The explosion brought people from their homes, though none of them was really startled. They all knew somehow. No one made any effort to save the house or even try and find out if anyone was inside. They simply stood on their front porches and in their driveways and in the wet grass of their front lawns as the house that had watched them for so long like a demonic sentinel fell into smoldering ash. Blinding flames licked into the stormy sky like the wicked tongues of perditions fury. Black smoke poured from the disintegrating roof and curled high into the clouds as the rain fell even harder.

What everyone who saw the fire noticed, and yet never mentioned even to each other or the police afterwards, was that the rain did not extinguish the fire. The flames were defiant of the laws of nature and the order of all things rational in much the same way Freddy Krueger was. The haunted house at 1428 Elm Street was dying slowly, and it seemed not even Mother Nature could stop that.

Maybe she didn't want to.

***

"Good God," Officer Charlie Malone shook his head as he watched the firefighters extinguish the last of the flames that had destroyed the Springwood Police Station. He had no idea how many of the others had been inside when the place went up, but the mere fact that only he and one other officer, Tom Daniels, were standing outside the ruined structure left him feeling doubtful. Surely, if Sheriff Williams or Don or even Sean and Tessa were alive, they would be here now. Springwood had been blessed with good cops and in Charlie's opinion, the best the state of Ohio had to offer.

"You think anyone was in there?" Tom asked as though he had been reading his mind.

Charlie shrugged, his eyes red and irritated from smoke, "I don't know. You'd think if anyone were out and about they would have been here by now. The radio is hot with the news."

Tom nodded. The big black man hooked his thumbs on his belt and leaned against his squad car. His wide brimmed hat was pulled down low over his handsome features and hid the fact that his eyes were as equally red as the fire itself. The smell of pot was wafting through the air like a thick illegal perfume. Apparently the fire had also engulfed the evidence storage lockers along with the twenty pounds of marijuana held there from the bust a few months back at the water tower.

"Goddam if I don't get a slow burn off this shit before they put it out," Tom laughed and nodded to the firefighters. There wasn't much humor in his comment, but Charlie tried to smile. The fighters were spraying their hoses as their big trucks hummed and thrummed, pumping out water and racing against time to save what they could. But to Charlie, one of the few officers still around from the days of Donald Thompson and a child killer named Fred Krueger, the destruction of the police station seemed almost a natural function of the cosmos.

He hadn't been surprised to hear that the station had gone up. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he had been waiting for it to happen since the he came to work and discovered their beloved Sheriff Thompson had been killed in the old junkyard. Even more tragic was the fact his daughter, Nancy Thompson had died at Westin Hills the same night. Stabbed by four bladed weapons.

Charlie knew just as the others in the loop had known that Freddy Krueger didn't die the night everyone got together for a good old-fashioned lynch and barbeque. Charlie hadn't thrown a flaming liquor bottle or chucked a torch into Krueger's boiler room that night, but he had watched the scene unfold as though it were a dream. He remembered the look on Thompson's face and the way his wife was screaming at the flames as Fred Krueger burned alive. The death of Krueger was like a dramatic exorcism of a town demon, a spirit that not only possessed the social conscience but also took the lives of the young. It was almost as if Krueger was more pissed at the grownups than the children.

He remembered thinking after the first or second time Krueger showed up after his death that it was like the man wanted to take away the futures of those who had killed him. Having no children himself, a lifelong bachelor and all, Charlie could only imagine what it was like to lose a child. But seeing what happened to the parents of kids who were killed by Krueger's hand gave him a pretty solid indication of what that loss is like. Freddy didn't just want revenge, he wanted to make people suffer as he had suffered.

He supposed the whole town had been living on borrowed time.

"You okay Charlie?" Tom nudged him.

"No, man," he shook his head. Charlie turned and opened the door to his police cruiser. With a grunt he sat down in the seat, his pot belly getting to be more and more of a hindrance with each passing year and grabbed his radio. He turned it on and said, "This is six-baker-six calling any officer in the Springwood area, come back. Over."

Tom stood by the open door as static hissed over the radio.

"Calling anyone in the area of Springwood, over?"

Again, nothing.

"Tommy," Charlie slammed the radio down, "I think we're the only ones left."

And then the radio crackled, "Six-baker-six this is Officers Renaud and Alexander, over?"

"Jesus," Charlie shouted and then replied, "Renaud, where the fuck are you?"

"We're-(hiss and crackle of radio static) ...to Elm Grove and..."

"Renaud, you're breaking up. Come back..."

"...(hiss and more static)... Krueger and Voorhees...(static)"

"I fucking knew it," Tom growled, "It's just like last time. Those two assholes are back."

"Renaud," Charlie frowned, "Please say again?"

"I said Krueger and Voorhees are back... new fucker named Michael My-"

Charlie looked at Tom.

"... stay with... do not attempt to engage them..."

"Listen," Charlie shouted as the fire engines around the smoldering police station revved their engines and moved to a new position across the parking lot, "The whole station has burned to the ground. We need to regroup."

"Everyone's dead," came the reply from Sean, now more clear and concise as the fire engines pulled away, "Sheriff Williams and the others were killed by Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers. Do not try to... (more static and hissing)... have a pla-"

"We need you here!" Charlie said as he slapped the side of the CB unit, "Come back, over?"

Finally the radio went dead and simple relayed static.

"Fuck!"

"Jesus," Tom said.

The radio crackled with grating garble as the open frequency rolled and spat at them. Charlie rubbed his eyes and sat back against the driver's seat. Sweat was beaded across his forehead as the heat from the fire began to die down. Thick smoke billowed and misted across the parking lot and dimmed the already overcast day. He looked out the front windshield and saw a town that was silent and dead, all the living souls hiding in their homes. And why shouldn't they? Those that had been here long enough knew that death was walking their streets unchallenged and unchecked once again. Those that didn't still sensed the danger and hid anyway. Charlie wished he could hide and be anywhere but in a cop's uniform and out in the open.

"I think it's safe to say to Jason is back," he said and then closed his eyes, "Freddy too."

"Sean mentioned someone else," Tom said, "Michael something?"

Charlie shrugged, "I couldn't make it out."

"What now?"

"We call for state back up and then let someone else be in charge," he looked to the burning building, "The sheriff and the others are gone."

"Well at least Sean and Tessa made it out," Tom offered, "That's positive, right?"

"Yeah, but still we-" Charlie jumped back and covered his face as hot liquid spattered his face. Something was in his eyes, clouding his vision and blurring the world over. He could hear a wet, gristly tearing sound as he blindly reached out and shouted, "What the fuck was that? Tom?"

No reply, only that tearing sound and then another distinct noise, that of teeth chattering hard. Charlie wiped his eyes so hard that lights exploded in his field of vision. He focused and looked up to see Tom rising into the air as though by magic. The big cop was convulsing, his hands thumping against the open door and frame as blood gushed from a wound on his chest. He realized it was Tom's blood all over him and the interior of the car.

Tom looked down at him, his eyes wide and white with fear as blood erupted from his mouth in a sick spray. He looked surprised and maybe even a little offended at this sudden attack, and when he was tossed to one side like a rag doll Charlie knew he had lost his mind. A man in a white mask with wild untamed hair was standing there holding a blood-drenched knife. It was one of the long eighteen inch blades that people hawked through infomercials, one of those magnificent knifes that could cut through tin cans and maybe even cinderblocks for $49.99.

Black eyes, like those of a killer white shark stared impassively at Charlie for only a moment. The man in the mask slowly looked down at the dead body beside the police cruiser and cocked his head to one side, as though admiring his handiwork. When the killed looked back up at him, so slow and purposeful in his gaze, Charlie felt his bladder release a warm flood of urine that soaked his pants.

"I think-" he began and reached for his gun but never finished the thought. Michael Myers rammed the blade into Charlie's skull with the force of a shotgun blast. The tip of the knife entered through his right eyeball, collapsing the gelatin of the orb and then punched through the ocular cavity and to the brain. Charlie was shoved back as his fingers spasmed and the worst fucking headache he had ever known seared through his skull.

"Aughck!" he spit up a thick mixture of phlegm and crimson spittle as blood drained from his sinuses. Charlie kicked his boots against the floorboard once, then twice as he died. The masked killer then wrenched the knife sideways and tore apart the surrounding tissue and bone with a muted crunch and squelching sound. Charlie managed to notice a strange little tattoo on the inside of the killer's wrist, a small thorn shape. He thought it was an odd tattoo and while he was contemplating it he fell into darkness.

Michael Myers stood there for a moment before withdrawing the knife. He watched the policeman die and then when he was certain the man was dead the knife came out. He grabbed the officer by the collar and hauled him out of the driver's seat. With a mighty throw he hefted the body into the bushes where it twisted and broke in the thick branches. Michael turned to see if anyone had noticed. The firemen were too busy with the burning building to even care.

Michael sat down in the driver's seat and closed the door. The keys were in the ignition and the car started up effortlessly. He knew the other one, the one with the hockey mask wasn't far away. Michael knew he would have to kill him eventually. That much was clear. The strength of the hockey-masked killer was evenly matched to his own, and that was something new for Michael to think about. It hadn't happened before. No one had been able to fight him as this newcomer had done.

But he would die as all the others had. Michael didn't concern himself with how to do it. It was inevitable.

The radio crackled and hissed again, and Michael nearly brought his large fist down on it when a voice emerged from the static, "Repeat, this is Renaud. We are going to Elm Grove. Meet us at this address to regroup: 1978 Carpenter Street, do you copy?"

Michael turned off the radio and if he had been capable of smiling, he might have just then cracked a small expression of satisfaction beneath his ghostly mask. But Michael Myers knew nothing of happiness, let alone expressing it. He had no use for anything like it. It was an alien concept, foreign and intrusive against his nature. Those feelings had no place amongst the darkness and as such Michael knew nothing of them. They simply did not exist.

Instead, he put the police cruiser in gear and pulled out onto the street as the fire crews frantically worked to put out the fire he had started. Michael had no idea where to go, only an address given to him in a place called Elm Grove. He drove for five minutes and then saw a sign indicating that the town in question was getting closer, and it even gave some rudimentary directions.

But that was all Michael needed.

He needed to finish his business here and then go home.

CHAPTER 8

"Old Heroes and New Heroes"

Lori didn't know what to expect.

When the door opened, the woman standing there was both beautiful and haunted. Lori recognized her from the photo in the case file her father had kept hidden in the house on Elm Street. Long gone was the shine and luster of her strawberry blonde hair. Like the rest of her appearance, it had dulled and grayed a little. Premature lines had formed at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She wasn't old by any stretch of the word, but she did appear tired and worn out. Her clothes were simple and fairly utilitarian, a simple pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She was thin and attractive, but also sad.

She looked at the four strangers on her front porch with large green eyes and asked, "Can I help you?"

"Alice?" Lori asked, "Alice Johnson?"

The woman looked at her for a moment, as though the name spoken had been barbed with fishhooks. She eyed them all for a few seconds and then replied, "Who wants to know?

"My name is Lori," she said, "This is Dr. Loomis and behind him is Sean and Tessa."

"Cops?"

"Yes ma'am," Sean said politely.

"You here to arrest me?"

"No ma'am," Tessa smiled.

"You all look like someone beat the shit of you," the woman commented after a long once over.

"It's not that far from the truth," Tessa said dryly. Overhead thunder rolled loudly across the cloudy sky. The smell of burning wood and metal was thick in the air, even here in Elm Grove.

"Ms. Johnson," Loomis said, "Please, we need your help."

"Please," the woman opened her screen door after a long scrutinizing pause and then motioned a welcome into her home, "Call me Alice."

"Thank you Alice," Lori said.

Once her four guests were seated on the large comfy couch in her spartanly decorated living room, Alice sat in her recliner and looked at them expectantly. There was a long silence as no one in the room wanted to initiate the discussion about why they were here. Alice already knew. She had dreamed about them coming here. They had been strangers in the premonitory dreams, all of them faces she did not recognize. Except the blonde woman, Lori. Alice had felt like she knew Lori before, or at the very least had some ethereal connection with her.

Finally, Alice broke the silence, "Is he back?"

"Yes," Lori nodded, somehow not surprised that Alice knew the unspoken name of Freddy Krueger was the purpose of their visit.

Alice tried to smile a little, her eyes quietly mournful and sad, "It was only a matter of time, really."

"We need your help, Alice," Loomis said.

"And what makes you think I can help you?" she asked.

"Here we go again," Sean whispered to Tessa.

Loomis reached into his dark overcoat and pulled out the file folder that Richard Campbell had given him earlier. He walked it over and handed it to her gently, a strange little smile of apology and knowledge etched across his lips. He scratched his well-trimmed beard thoughtfully and then returned to his seat, deciding to say nothing.

Alice opened the file and looked through the contents. She saw a sterilized recording of her life, a report on the activities and wild ravings of an outcast. There were notes about her claims of having defeated Freddy Krueger when she became the Dream Master. She saw notes from the interview she had granted Dr. Neil Gordon so long ago. She had thought maybe Gordon believed her, and based on the cursory glance she gave the papers she had been right. It also seemed Dr. Gordon had been shunned for believing her as she had been shunned for being the Dream Master.

"I'm not who I used to be," she continued flipping through the file folder, reliving each moment and memory of her encounters with the dream killer. Like the chill of icy backwater against warm skin she recalled the horror of discovering Krueger had been hiding inside her. She had thought she defeated him, but in reality he had gone into hibernation in her dreams. She had been the unwitting vessel that sustained him and kept him from death. And then he had gone after her unborn son. He had gone after poor Jacob.

Jacob.

She shook her head and closed the folder, "He can't be killed if that's what you're here for."

"We only intend to stop him," Loomis said.

Alice graced them with a lovely smile that was both sympathetic and condemning, a ghost of her former self, "What's your name?"

"Mathew Loomis."

"Mathew," she said and sat the folder down on the floor, "You can't stop what can't be stopped. You can't kill what's already been killed. Do you understand that?"

"You were the Dream Master," Lori interrupted, "You faced Freddy and beat him. How did you do it?"

Alice looked at her and for a moment saw herself sitting on the couch as she had been before she ever knew of Freddy Krueger, of Dream Masters or anything truly evil in the world. She saw herself young and innocent, untouched by the evil of Krueger. Alice sighed, "I can't help you."

"Ms. Johnson?" Sean stood up and straightened out his stained and dusty uniform, "There are a lot of people dying out there right now."

"I'm sorry people are dying," Alice looked to the floor, "But I can't help you. You came here looking for the Dream Master, but I'm not her anymore. I haven't been for a long time. Who sent you here? Was it Neil Gordon? Dr. Campbell?"

"Dr. Campbell," Lori said, "My father."

Alice didn't seem all that surprised by this revelation either. In Springwood, it's always about family. It's always about whom you know and who gets tangled in the web with you. It's always about family. Always. She said, "You seem like you're really smart. Go now while you can."

"I'm afraid I can't," Lori met Alice's stare.

Alice regarded with mild amusement.

"I just heard all this shit from my father," Lori said as politely as she could, "I was hoping you could do better.

Alice looked at Lori and felt a strange sensation of déjà vu. In her dreams, she had seen her before. Sometimes she dreamed she was playing chess with Freddy Krueger, scared to death of losing the terminal game. The dream had plagued her for years, but more recently she had been seeing a blonde woman who looked remarkably like Lori in her place. Alice knew that Lori's being on her doorstep was not a coincidence. She knew this moment would come eventually, Alice just hadn't wanted to face it.

"You won't like what I have to tell you," Alice said evenly.

"This hasn't been a good day anyway," Sean spoke up.

"We'll chance it," Tessa added.

"Please," Loomis said, "We really don't have much time."

Alice shrugged and recounted her story. She told them about the Dream Warriors, she told them about becoming the Dream Master and she told them about her son, the Dream Child. She gave them every aspect in explicit detail, hoping to enlighten them about what it was they faced. The whole time, Lori would not look away from her. The others would occasionally glance away, but it was the young blonde girl that would not relent from her pursuit of the truth. Alice gave them the full disclosure, and when she finished all them were scared to death.