Thread: Nine...Ten...He's back again...  (Sevenpercent x Kiki)

If anyone had ever bothered to ask - which they hadn't, since conversations with him tended to be short-lived - Freddy Krueger would have said he didn't regret his decision. No, he had never once regretted his choice when the eponymous Dream Demons had come to him with their offer - after all, what total yutz wouldn't have taken them up on it? After being burned alive, the sound of 'eternal life' had been music to his mangled, melted ears, and the job was nice and cushy - well suited to all of Krueger's particular talents. Right up his metaphysical alley. So he hadn't hesitated when they'd presented him with a delightfully new kind of eternal damnation, he hadn't even protested at the idea that he might never take on an actual physical form again - though he'd even managed to bend that rule a few times, too. Ultimately, he had set into his new incorporeal lifestyle with gusto and, well - it hadn't always turned out the way he'd planned. As it turned out, a few of the Elm Street kids had gotten better at surviving these days. Ever since the introduction of the newly FDA approved Hypnocil to Springwood, Freddy's fun had been dying off - kids were popping pills like glam rock junkies to keep the boogeyman away. They thought they were safe they told themselves the fear was gone because he was being kept at bay by their medications and their rules, but the very fact that they were registering and monitoring their teenagers like endangered animals was evidence enough that the fear was still very much alive in them. He just needed a gateway. Without one, Freddy Krueger was just a ghoul lurking from dream to dream his legend hadn't extended far past Springwood, rendering his powers useless, making him the equivalent of the monster in the closet or the ghost under the bed. What he needed was a mind that wasn't blocked off by Hypnocil, one that he could use, because being reduced to a scary face in some middle-aged mother's dream wasn't good enough. Making someone wake up in a cold sweat was old hat, he needed something more tangible. He needed the fear to come alive again, he needed his name out in Springwood once again - the teens he had played with so long ago, they were having kids of their own these days. They had grown up into teenagers who hadn't even heard of him, an entire generation unspoiled by his existence just wouldn't do. Just one would suffice. More was better, but he only needed one. Just one sweet, delightfully teenage mind for him to defile, one to relieve him of the boredom that was plaguing his existence. He could never be sure of how much time had passed since he had last been in the forefront of Springwood's collective memory, but it was long enough for him to pass from town to town and city to city and country to country in search of something, anything to tide him over. But very recently, something was tugging him back again, a gut instinct that was pulling him unresistingly back to Elm Street, back to the warm, fiery place in his rotted out chest cavity, all the way back to where it began. 1428. And there she was, encapsulated in her dream, sitting in class, a teenager surrounded by her tiny schoolmates, her pale hand in the air as she eagerly answered Mrs. Purdy's questions. For a moment, Freddy chewed on the shimmering, razor sharp tip of a claw, trying to quell his own eagerness, relishing the moment as he considered what angle to approach this from. He couldn't waste this, not when she was his only link. No, he needed her fear to gain strength. Carpe diem. Freddy said, shrugging his thin shoulders time to seize the day. Or night, in his case. Mid-way through writing out a simple equation, Mrs. Purdy stopped what she was doing and back pedalled, her hand jerking suddenly to the left side of the board as though it was moving against her will and she began writing a new equation 12 One boy in the class mechanically put up his hand, Three? Mrs. Purdy didn't respond, instead, she began slashing the chalk violently against the board, writing in big, messy letters 12 COMING FOR YOU 34 LOCK YOUR DOOR The chalk in the school teacher's hand had been rapidly depleted by her violent scrawl but her hand continued to move, grinding her fingers into the board, an action that caused her nails to snap and her fingertips to begin blossoming blood, which began to replace the chalk. 56 Mrs. Purdy, bloody and crazed with pain, turned robotically on the spot and pointed a broken, mangled finger at Kiki. You, she said shrilly, Come up here and write the answer!