Freddy vs. Ash

by A. Eggleston

Ash never even so much as rested his eyes for the rest of the night. It was completely illogical to stay awake for an entire night just because some bad dreams, and he knew it, but they felt real so him. He could feel that huge, bulking, Deadite's blood gushing all over his body. He could feel the claws scratching and breaking his skin open. He could even smell the foul stench of that guy's rotting intestines exposed to the night air. Ash still couldn't explain to himself how those scratch marks appeared on his arms.

  Maybe I did that in my sleep. he thought.

  It didn't make sense, but that was the only reasonable answer he could come up with. He muttered to himself. "These damn nightmares are killing me." He sat in the middle of his couch in the living room, slumped over and completely ragged. For the rest of the night, he kept himself busy by flipping through various infomercials on TV, and drinking his coffee straight from the pot.

  "Who needs a mug?" he said, justifying himself. It was apparent to Ash that he was going to need a lot this stuff, and a tiny little mug that reminded him how much he hates Mondays wasn't going to cut it. He took a small drink, grimaced, and spit it back out. Coffee that’s bitter and tastes like dirt isn't going to cut it either. Ash grabbed a handful of sugar packets and ripped them open, pouring them in the pot. "Yeah, how 'bout a little sugar, baby?" he muttered to himself, shaking the packets to make sure every last grain went into the coffee.

  His hair was a mess. It was ragged, and hadn‘t been washed in days. He'd accumulated puffy bags under his eyes. Ash was exhausted, dazed, and had caffeine running through his system. It didn't sit well him. The hazy look in his eyes, and his hand twitching as he lifted the coffee pot to his face showed it.

  Morning had finally come, and if Ash hadn't already chugged an entire pot of coffee by now, this was usually the time of day when he'd start his first cup. When he drank it down to the last drop, he slammed the pot down and turned off the television. The sunlight broke through the curtains in the living room. The light illuminated on the wall clock just across the room. 7:23 AM, it was time for Ash to detach himself from the couch cushions and get ready for work. Before he got up, he quickly decided to take one last packet of sugar, tear it open, and hope those four grams would give him enough of a sugar high to get through the day. He tossed the empty packet on top of the pile already scattered across the coffee table.

  He took a much needed shower, and put on fresh clothes. Ash went into the bedroom, quickly picked up a comb, and ran it across his head a few times. Before he left, he grabbed his name tag that read, "Ashley J. Williams - Housewares Dept." and pinned onto his shirt. He shuffled his feet back downstairs, grabbed his black leather jacket from the coat hanger by the front door, and he was off.

  He stepped outside and squinted at the sight of the morning sun. He shielded his eyes with his metal hand and walked over to his Delta 88. He opened up the trunk. It was a mess. There were empty liters of soda, a couple issues of Fangoria, boxes of shotgun shells, and a chemistry textbook inside. Not much has changed, except now Ash had stuck a note on the top of the trunk. It read, "The words: Klaatu Verada Niktu" scribbled in pencil. There was some eraser marks on "Niktu", indicating he wrote down a few other words and realized that they didn't belong. He always had some trouble remembering that one. He took the note, and put it in his front pocket. "I'm gonna find that damn book, and when I do, I'm gonna make sure you guys never come after me again." he promised to himself. He promptly slammed the trunk.

  He came in at work about half an hour early, which didn't bother him in the slightest.

  Anything to stay awake, right? He strode through the pneumatic doors of the Springwood S-Mart, and took off his jacket. He paced his way to the Housewares department, casually waving at the other clerks he passed by.

  Ash was lucky he had found an S-Mart in this town. His first job was a stock boy in Dearborn, Michigan, back when he was in high school. It was pretty much the only thing he knew how to do that was marketable. Of course, Ash didn't plan on staying here for very long. He'd heard this town had a bad history. There were a lot of murders, mostly children, but no one would go into detail beyond that. Maybe that had something to do

  with my dream...The little girl...Maybe this town has a bunch of Deadite kids running around. Eh, I've been through worse.

  Among the clerks Ash passed by, were two kids that worked the check-out counter. Their names were Evelyn Marshall and Cooper Reynolds, two eighteen year-olds who had their whole lives ahead of them. They were a couple, and seeing them together made Ash sick to his stomach. There they were, these happy kids without any cares beyond whether or not they'll be able to pay their rent payment. Meanwhile Ash is condemned to a life of demon slaying. But he didn't mind catching a glimpse of Evelyn now and then. She was a pretty girl. She had big, beautiful, green eyes that would stop anyone dead in their tracks when she looked at them, and had jet black hair that stopped at her waist.

  She leaned over at the check-out counter, looking very bored. The store wasn't going to open for another thirty minutes. She saw Ash waving at her as he walked away, so she smiled at him and waved back. Cooper was standing next to her, he noticed the exchange between them.

  He leaned over towards her. "You know he's got to be twice your age, right?" he said with a smirk on his face. Evelyn stood up and playfully punched him in the arm. Cooper raised his hands in defeat and stood up straight. He was really tall, and lanky. He was six foot three, so when he stood up, he towered over Evelyn. "Hey, I'm just saying," he said with a laugh, "I didn't know you had a thing for the Elvis impersonator type."

  "I was only being nice." she said. "Besides, I don't. I have a thing for you." she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  He put his arms around her waist as well. "Yeah, I know. I was just teasing you." he said with a loving smile. "Hey, Evelyn." he asked, his smile getting wider. "Guess what?"

  She matched his smile. "What?"

  He leaned in and whispered. "Chicken butt."

  Evelyn snickered and smacked the side of his arm. "That’s not funny anymore!" She ran her fingers through his shaggy, dark blonde hair before walking away, laughing.

  Cooper put on a dramatic face pointed at her. "You lie!" he shouted.

  The clock read 9:05 AM in the office of Lieutenant Harold Moore at the Springwood Police Department. Moore was a striking individual, six-foot-four, broad shoulders, blonde hair, and a beard on his square jaw. Moore was in his sixties, and had joined the police academy a few years after Fred Krueger's arrest back in 1968. He had never heard of a man so sick and vile. The things that he did to those innocent children made Moore sick just from the thought of it.

  Before Moore had joined the force, his predecessor, Lt. Donald Thompson, did everything he could to make sure Krueger was put behind bars. But, they made the mistake of searching his home without a warrant. There was nothing they could do. So they rounded up the parents of Elm Street to torch the bastard. Moore watched from afar as the parents gathered to take justice into their own hands. He hated the concept of murder, that's why he despised Krueger and what he did to those little boys and girls, but when that Molotov cocktail burst through the glass window and sent the whole building on fire, he felt a wash of relief over him. Relief that Krueger was dead, and the children of Elm Street were safe in their own beds.

  That is...until the killings started again in 1981. Moore, the entire police department, nor the parents knew how, but Fred Krueger started killing again. This time, in their children's nightmares. Children started to die by Krueger's blades in their sleep. Children were murdered by him more than they ever did when he was alive. They didn't know how to stop it. It was only until Lt. Thompson's daughter, Nancy, an intern at Westin Hills psychiatric hospital, had prescribed the children Hypnocil. It was a dream suppressant. It was perfect. It was a way to stop the dreaming. Several years ago, the entire town had concocted a plan to keep Freddy away from their children. Anyone who had even made mention of a man with burnt skin and razor fingers in their
dreams was hauled off to Westin Hills with no access to the outside world. It worked...for a while. Eventually, the town's plan had been interfered when another killer had entered their once peaceful town. Luckily, Jason Voorhees had been driven out of Springwood before the whole town could be infected with fear. It was always the fear that drove Freddy.

  By now, the town's plan had been altered to a lesser degree. Anyone eighteen or younger would be given Hypnocil, under the guise of pain medication or everyday vitamins. Moore felt that this was a more humane way to keep the problem under control, rather than forcibly admitting them to a psychiatric hospital.

  It worked for several years. There was no more nightmare-ish activity in the town for ten years after the plan had taken effect. But recently, a few weeks ago to be exact, a few unexplained murders had taken place just outside of town. He was befuddled by the occurrences. Even more so, he was worried.

  Moore was sorting through murder records when Officer Nathan Harris opened the door to his office. He was in his early thirties, with a semi-strong build. He had spiky, black hair, with thin glasses settling on the bridge of his nose. He had only been on the force for a few years, and was still learning the ropes. But, after living in Springwood for most of his adult life, he became acquainted with the town's history.

  He poked his head out of the door and knocked on the wall. "Lieutenant?" he asked. "Is this a bad time?"

  Moore's gaze peeled away from the papers and looked up at Harris, who stood at the far side of the room. He replied, "No, Harris." he waved his fingers, instructing him to come in. "But, make it short. What is it now?"

  Nathan walked in, carrying a folder in his hand. Moore assumed it was more crime scene photos. "I'm just very confused about what's been going on around here lately, sir."

  "I assume you mean the murders?" he said bluntly.

  "Yes sir." answered Harris.

  Harold leaned back in his chair and tried to rub the gruesome visions of the crime scene photos from his eyes. He had seen enough for one day. "What exactly is there to be confused about?" he asked, almost remorsefully. "For a long time, the distribution of Hypnocil to every home in the town worked. But, you know as well as I do, in this town, these plans only work for so long."

  "No, no." rebutted Nathan. "It's not that. At least, I don't think it is." He laid the folder down in Moore's desk and showed him the pictures and reports. "Take a look at these records, sir. This is isn't like the usual murders done by Krueger. I don't think he's even involved in these."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Well, just compare the two." he said. "Usually, the murders done by Krueger are in places where there are children: schools, homes, yada yada. And the victims, nine times out of ten, are kids." He spread the pictures all over his desk. "But in these, most of the victims are twenty-five or older, and occur in the outskirts of town. Most of the bodies we find are in the woods, sir."

  He looked at the pictures. "You may have a point there, Nathan." he said. "But these murders look very brutal. How can you be sure it wasn't him? Maybe he changed his methods."

  "Look at the pattern, here." he pointed to the picture showing a man who had his limbs sawed off, and his head shot. "Whenever Freddy killed someone, he always left four, continuous, slash marks all over their bodies. In this one, this man's arms and legs had been cut off with some sort of saw. And we found traces of shotgun shells in his skull. This man was murdered, but not by Freddy."

  "So what we another maniac on the loose." he concluded. "Great."

  He put the papers back in the folder. "But that's not it, sir. It's very strange, and I can't really explain it."

  "What is it?" asked Moore.

  Harris searched for the right words, but it was just so odd, that it felt weird even talking about it. "It's just that..." He closed the folder and leaned down, putting his hands on the desk. "I talked to the medical examiner today. And she said that the bodies were already decomposing hours before their pronounced time of death. And their blood, she said...that...they had different colors of blood in their bodies: red, green, black. And their eyes, they had no pupils. They were just...white. Doesn't that strike you as kind of...well, creepy, sir?"

  Harold leered at him, disgusted by the visual images that came with what Harris had just told him. "My God, that is disgusting." he said. "Are you absolutely sure about that?"

  "Positive." confirmed Nathan. "And I've done some research, and there were bodies like this found in other towns all across the country. What do you think we should do about this? Or is there anything we can do?"

  Moore put his elbows on his desk, and rubbed his temples in an attempt to subside his headache. "I don't know what we can do about these people just yet." he said. "But, we do know that each of them were murdered. And I can tell from the use of a shotgun and whatever type of saw, that it's being done by the same guy. So, first things first, I want you track down our murderer, then we'll find out whatever the hell was going on with these people at the time."

  "Okay," Harris nodded as he secured the folders in his hand, and walked away. "I'll get right on it." He quietly shut the door behind him as he left.

  By noon, everyone had gone to lunch. Ash had traded his coffee for a 20 oz. energy drink. He knocked it back like he was drinking tequila out of a shot glass. His routine seemed to work, he didn't feel any compulsion to go to sleep at all. Not...at...all.

  In the Garden department, Cooper and Evelyn were both lying in a hammock that was on display, swinging side to side.

  He looked into her eyes. "You're beautiful." he said.

  Evelyn smiled, revealing her pearly, white teeth. "You're handsome." she replied.

  Cooper leaned in, closer to her face. "Not as handsome as you!"

  Evelyn laughed. Her gaze trailed off and noticed Ash from across the way.

  Cooper noticed her looking at him. "So what's this Ash guy all about?" he inquired. "Where's he from?"

  "I don't know." Evelyn added. "I heard he got transferred from the store in Dearborn."

  "Where's that at?" he asked.

  "It's in Michigan."

  Cooper watched as Ash crushed the can with his metal, semi-robotic hand, and threw it in the trash.

  "He seems like a fuckin' psychopath to me."

  Evelyn smiled a little bit. "Well, he is from Michigan."

  "Hey!" he protested. "I'm from Michigan."

  "My point exactly." she said with a smile.

  They laughed quietly, hoping Ash wouldn't hear them. Cooper noticed Ash walking away, not towards them, but he was getting close. As he walked past, Ash looked over at Evelyn, cocked his eyebrows, and gave her a sly smile.

  Evelyn shrugged it off, but Cooper wasn't going to let it go that easily. What Evelyn saw as a cheesy, but innocent flirtation, Cooper translated as "I want to bang your girlfriend." Cooper simply watched him the entire time he walked, burning a hole in the back of his head with his eyes.

  Chapter Three

  Ash strode across the store, making a beeline towards the door that led outside. He needed some fresh air to clear his head. He zig-zagged his way past the crowd of people in front of him. He was almost out.

  He zoomed by Buck, the janitor, who was talking to Anthony, the nerdy guy who worked in the Electronics department. Actually, it was more like Buck was listening to Anthony as he droned on and on. Buck was bored out of his mind, feeling like his story would never end.

  Ugh...Lord, kill me now. he thought to himself.

  "So I said to the guy," Anthony continued. He took his thick-rimmed glasses off, breathed on them, cleaned them on his button-up shirt, and put them back on. "I said, 'If

  you don't watch the first movie, you'll be totally lost. I mean--yeah, the second one is far superior, but if you have to watch them all in chronological order in order to get it.' Right? And he was just like--"

  Buck was on the verge of slipping into a coma when he noticed that peculiar guy with the metal hand and the big chin walking by. He'd heard ab
out him, rumors and such. Buck wanted to talk to him face to face. That, and it was a good excuse to get out of hearing Anthony run his mouth. He whipped around, cutting Anthony off in mid-sentence.

  He stopped leaning against the mop handle, and stood up straight. His voice was deep and gruff. "Hey, you!" he called.

  Ash stopped and slowly turned around. He saw this big, husky guy with a beard and a trucker hat staring at him. "...Yeah?" he said, hesitantly.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  Ash glared at him for a second. What does this guy want? "Name's Ash. Housewares."

  "Ash." he said, memorizing his name. "You're the one who lives in that house. 1428 Elm, right?"

  He looked at Buck inquisitively. How's that his business? Ash took a step forward and held his head up high. "Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “It’s a small town. Word gets around pretty quickly.”

  “Well, what about it?"

  Buck scratched his dark, scruffy beard, trying to find the right words to say. He was about to say something when Anthony beat him to the punch.

  "That place is a murder house, man. Every time someone moves in there, it turns into a crime scene." he blurted.

  "I think what my socially awkward friend here means," Buck added. "is that house isn't exactly..." Buck searched for the right word. "...safe." He continued questioning Ash. "You got kids?"

  He answered firmly. "No."

  "How long have you been living here?" he asked.

  "About a week, or so." he said. “Just passing by, actually.”

  Buck hesitated for a moment before asking him the next question. "And in that week, 'or so'," he said sternly. "Have you had any nightmares?"

  "Look, I didn't come here for a head-shrinking. Okay?" Ash said, annoyed. "So, just drop the questions."

  He prepared to turn and walk away, when Anthony came forward. "Wait--wait--wait! Ash, wait a minute!" Anthony stopped him.

  Ash whipped around and looked down at Anthony, glaring at him. He terrified him, but he still kept going. "Look, Ash." he said weakly. "There's something that you should probably hear. And you should hear it from us, because no one else in this town ever wants to speak about it--a--at least, not in great detail."