“Okay, guys, get him out of here,” Officer Jones barked into the blinding rain as two paramedics wheeled away a gurney containing a black body bag. It had been nearly two hours since Jones responded to the scene, and it was not a pretty sight. Jones and Deputy Washington were the first to arrive, and found what was left of a car wrapped around a large elm tree. After parking and taking a closer look, both of them concluded that it looked more like a smashed soda can than a vehicle. It wasn’t until they found the license plate, along with a broken pair of reading glasses, a few feet up the road that they identified the mangled mess of a body as Principal Robert Shaye.

Blood was all over the small white Nissan. His arms and legs each extended out opposite sides of the car, and his brains were splattered all around the interior roof of it. Jones didn’t know where to begin when he saw it, so he called in backup. Let them clean that shit up, he thought. I have more important business to take care of. And that’s when the bad feeling returned to the pit of his stomach. He waited impatiently for nearly an hour for the paramedics and coroner to arrive, popping Tums like candy. Even after they did arrive, it was almost another hour until they were finally able to remove what was left of the principal. Firefighters had to be called to the scene to physically cut out his body with the jaws of life, or in this case, the jaws of death. It wasn’t even really cutting out the body. It was more like a dissection, and it was something Jones didn’t care to watch.

Nervous, Officer Jones got back into his car, took a deep breath, and lit up a Marlboro. He did some of his best thinking while he smoked, and this was damn sure a time he needed to think. First, it was that Swanson kid at the school. The poor kid was splattered all over the walls of that weight room. He shuddered to think of the chaos that would have ensued had he not paid that custodian Steve for some emergency cleanup. But now, it was the very principal who was dead. There was no way to conceal this. Once the news hit the air tonight and the papers were printed tomorrow, the entire town would know and all hell would break loose. But the question was, who would be next? Something really weird was going on, and he was determined to find out what. Just then, Deputy Washington appeared at his window in his yellow rain coat, beating on the window with his flashlight.

Jones barely flinched and rolled down his window. He took a long drag of his cigarette, inhaled it through his nose, and blew it out his window at Washington. “Sir,” Washington said. “The chief’s here. He wants to see you.”

Jones glared up at him in disgust. The last thing he needed was Chief Wilkinson up his ass compromising his investigation. Ben Wilkinson, 53, took over a few months after Sheriff Williams resigned in the midst of the Westin Hills/hypnocil controversy. During his time so far, he’d heard a lot about the town’s horrid past, but the gray-haired chief knew very little about the affect the past had had on this little town.

Opening his door, Jones went out into the rain, leaving his cell phone behind. After mumbling a few curse words and ordering Washington to get back to traffic detail, he got into the passenger side of Chief Wilkinson’s squad car.

“What do we have, Jones?” the raspy-voiced Wilkinson asked. “The dispatcher got me away from the big game for this, so it better be good.”

“Vehicle accident with fatality, sir,” Jones replied, loosely using the word ‘sir’. “It’s Principal Shaye.”

“Oh my god,” Wilkinson said. “What’s the coroner got to say?”

“I don’t know,” Jones answered. “He’s been over there puking since he saw it . The skid marks indicate he may have been traveling at or near 50 miles per hour at the time the car hit the tree.”

“You suspect any foul play?” Wilkinson asked again.

“No, sir, we don’t,” Jones said, lying. “It appears as though Mr. Shaye just lost control and ran off the road.”

“Good work Jones,” Wilkinson grinned. “It’s officers like you that make my job a lot easier. I gotta get back to the game now. You’re dismissed.”

Jones didn’t respond. He just got out of the squad car and back into the rain as a few other officers pulled him aside. What he didn’t know was at the same time, his cell phone was blinking and ringing on his front seat, playing Jay-Z’s ring tone of “Dirt Off My Shoulder” over and over trying to get his attention. There were more pending matters than the death of the principal.

His nephew Quinton was on his way to the hospital, faced with the battle of his life, and he had no idea it was even happening.


Nearby, another ambulance sped down the street, blaring its sirens en route to Springwood Memorial. Inside, paramedics worked frantically on Quinton as Tash sat right by his head, holding his hand. “Come on baby, hang in there,” Tash cried, tears streaming down her face. She then turned her head and glanced out the back window of the ambulance and could see Mr. and Mrs. Williams following close by in their navy blue Chrysler PT Cruiser. Latoya Williams was frantic in the passenger’s side, and Leroy was on the phone, but still trying to hold her together, it seemed. Time was running out, and they all knew it. If he didn’t get help soon, all the rushing around and speeding wouldn’t matter.

Quinton’s eyes were glazed over in his head. He rolled his eyes over at her and tears began to crawl down his face as the beeping sound of his heart monitor pierced Tash’s ears. Despite being in the fight of his life, all he could think about was staying awake to avoid Krueger. He kept telling himself that in the back of his mind more than anything, but as time progressed, it became harder and harder to stay conscious. He was really starting to wish he would have taken some of Mike’s Sta-Awake pills when he had the chance.

Quinton looked up at Tash, who put her head down in a whimper. He squeezed her hand tight, and she instantly looked back up. “No sleep,” was all he could mumble into her ear, and she understood why. The medics were about to administer an IV with some morphine into his system, but Tash knocked the needle out of his hands and yelled, “No needles!” The medic stared back at her puzzled, saying, “Are you crazy? He’ll die!” Quinton heard this, but didn’t stop mumbling “No sleep! No sleep! No sleep!” even as his environment got really blurry and the people around him disappeared...

Suddenly, Quinton found himself not in the back of an ambulance, but at home, his home, in bed. Confused, Quinton sat up and looked around. It was his bedroom, alright, but how did he get there? “Tash?” he called out, but no one answered. He then heard a mysterious laughing sound faintly outside his door. “Tash?” he called out again, but there was still no reply. “What the fuck?”

Quinton, now sporting a gray Springwood Owls football t-shirt and dark green shorts, got up out of his bed and crept slowly toward the door. He couldn’t see a lot in the dark bedroom, but he did notice a small red light around the cracks of the door, so he knew something must be going on out there. Maybe his parents were home watching TV or something. “Yo, mom,” he yelled. “Dad?” Again, there was no response. Only the same repeated laughing, over and over, and it was really starting to annoy him.

Pissed off, Quinton threw open the door expecting to see his upstairs hallway. Instead, another door appeared. This one was red with black trim and a small frosted window at the top. “What the hell?” Quinton stated. Even more confused, he threw open that door as well, and saw what appeared to be Lexi’s living room, only different. It looked like somebody dropped a bomb on it. He knew for a fact that the Murphy’s never kept their living room that way, or anyone else for that matter, so he suspected the worst as the door slammed shut behind him.

He carefully walked through the living room and made his way out into the foyer, where a tall, dirty staircase ascended to the dark and mysterious second floor. “Lexi?” he asked, still somehow thinking it was her house. Then it dawned on him. This might be Lexi’s house, but it was also Krueger’s house, too. “Oh fuck,” Quinton mumbled as he remembered telling Mike about the house. Then he heard the familiar whine of the steel claws echoing upstairs. Quinton started toward the stairs, but changed his mind at the last minute and opted for the kitchen instead. There, he opened every drawer and cupboard until he found what he was looking for—a pair of butcher knives. Large and gleaming off of the moonlight, Quinton brandished the weapons tightly, one in each hand, and then took to the stairs, carefully climbing each one.

When he got to the top, he saw three different doors straight ahead of him. Talk about a fucked up game show from hell, he thought as he opened the first door, revealing a startling moment from his past...

Quinton was just eight years old and trying out for his first pee wee football team. They had just completed tryouts and the hopefuls gathered around the tall, white Coach Lanski, who began to read the names of his new team. As the numbers dwindled, Quinton stood there as proud as ever, the only black among a group of otherwise white players. He grinned from ear-to-ear, expecting his name to be called any minute. It wasn’t...

Angered, Quinton slammed door number one and opened door number two. The result was no better...

Quinton was in junior high and sat dejected in the principal’s office. Bloodied and bruised, Quinton had just gotten into a fight with a group of wanna-be white thugs who called him the N-word and talked about his mama. Principal Stewart came in at once, rendering Quinton’s punishment: “Well, Mr. Williams, that’ll be a week suspension, and Coach Gray has opted to dismiss you from the football team for the remainder of the season..."

Even more pissed off, Quinton slammed that door as well, nearly breaking it and screaming “Fuck!!!”

He opened the third and final door, and was surprised to see a dark, empty room with a TV in the middle. Quinton slowly approached the small 19-inch television, when, out of nowhere, a familiar scene appeared as he watched...

It was earlier in the night, and Quinton had just broken the huddle saying, “But I don’t like it.” The Springwood commentators then began to call the play-by-play as Quinton stood there and painfully watched: “Owls have five-wide in this set, Williams in motion. Here’s Clark, with time, flushed to the outside, has Williams open over the middle, hit as he throws, but it’s caught! Caught by Williams! Caught by...oh my, down.”

Just as Quinton reacted to the vicious hit, the recognizably evil laughter of Freddy Krueger returned, his claws screeching off of a nearby wall.

Infuriated, Quinton kicked the screen in with his foot, smashing it instantly. He spun around, expecting to be face-to-face with Freddy Krueger, but Krueger was nowhere to be found. There were only the two Collins players who drilled him, and they were coming full speed at his head!

Just as they were about to level him one more time, Quinton screamed and fell on his back, eliciting more of Krueger’s maniacal laughter.

“Where you at, motherfucker, huh? Show yourself!” Quinton screamed, swinging his knives in all directions.

Krueger then appeared directly behind him and sliced him across the back with his claws, sending Quinton sprawling to the ground.

“Owww, mmmm,” Quinton grimaced in pain as Krueger stalked toward him. “That’s how you wanna play, motherfucker? Come on, let’s play.”

“Bring it, little bitch,” Krueger glumly replied, swinging his claws at him again.

However, this time, the claws missed, and Quinton was able to connect with his knives, stabbing the evil dream demon across the chest repeatedly.

“Ahhhhh!” Krueger yelled, retreating back to the far corner of the room. “You think you got what it takes?”

Quinton charged at Krueger again, but this time, Krueger sidestepped him and threw him straight through the wall—and into an even deeper realm of his dream land. Krueger laughed wildly as Quinton was buried underneath the rubble.

What the fuck? He stated as he emerged from the rubble, brushing the plaster and dust off of himself. His eyes instantly widened with horror as the blaring heat of the boiler room scorched his face. There, above the flames of the boiler, hung Apryl and Veronica.

“Holy shit!” Quinton yelled, rushing toward them. He looked back for Krueger, but he was gone. Sensing an opportunity, Quinton carefully climbed the boiler, holding onto the top with all his might. Using his knives, he was able to remove Veronica’s restraints first and help her to the ground. Veronica hugged Quinton, and was able to talk again, saying, “thank you, oh, thank you!”

“Be careful,” he told her as she got on solid ground. “The bastard is here somewhere, I can smell him!”

Then, Quinton was just about to free Apryl as well, but his knives seemed to melt in his already-scarred hands. “No! No!!!” Quinton yelled as the knives wrapped themselves around his forearms. He looked back down and saw Krueger standing there, laughing again. “What the fuck are you doing, you motherfucker!” He screamed.

Krueger just pointed back at Quinton’s forearms with his claw. When Quinton looked back, there were two large snakes, one wrapped around each arm, and they were squeezing all the strength from his body. He was hanging above a boiler, the palms of his hands hurt like hell, and he had very little strength to hold himself up. Apryl just looked on in horror, helpless, as Quinton’s grip slowly slipped away.

“Nooo!!!” Veronica yelled, revealing herself to Krueger. “Hey, Freddy, over here, asshole!” She then took off running back into the bowels of the boiler room, hoping Freddy would leave them alone and follow her into the darkness.

“Come here, piggy!” Krueger yelled with a scowl, chasing after her. However, just before he disappeared into the darkness, he stopped and looked back at Quinton, who was now hanging by one hand, desperately clinging to the one snake still wrapped around the top of the boiler.

“Hey, Q-tip,” Krueger joked. “Go Lonnnnnng! Ahahahahaha!” Quinton’s eyes then widened as Krueger flicked the forefinger of his claw and sliced the remaining snake off of him, sending him plunging into the infernal abyss below.

“Game Overrrrrrr! Hahahahahaha!” Krueger yelled as Quinton’s flesh melted right off of the bone.

Proceed To Chapter 20
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