Beautiful Nightmare

"Dream On"--Aerosmith



Oh. SHIT.



Those were the only two words that passed Maggie Burroughs’s mind as her eyes adjusted to what she was seeing in front of her.



Steaming metal pipes? Check.



Hot, putrid air? Check.



Sense of ominous, impending doom? Double-check.



She stood in the middle of that damned power plant, shaking with—fear? No. No, she had no fear towards HIM. So why was she shaking? And why the hell was she wondering why she was shaking when she SHOULD be wondering what the hell she was DOING HERE?!



“FREDDY!” she called into the red void, clenching her fists. She looked around, expecting him to burst out of the catwalk, or something. No response. Not even that irksome screeching of his knives against the pipes. Nothing. She steeled her defenses and cautiously walked into the bowels of the building, keeping her eyes open the whole time. Deeper and deeper into the power plant she went, until she finally found it.



His boiler room.



The entrance was partially hidden by long sheets of cloth that looked surprisingly new, despite the old and rusted area surrounding them. Sheens of red light shown through them, and Maggie could hear sounds from behind them. Freddy was in there. But even from the sounds of things…it didn’t sound like he was killing anyone. It sounded more like he was working with something metal…



Ah, crap…his knives.



She almost withdrew, but she paused when she heard him saying something…no, scratch that—he was SINGING.



…What the hell was in that drink she had before bed? Curiosity overrode her urge to run, and she leaned closer to hear.



“Sing with me, sing for the year

Sing for the laugh, sing for the tears

Sing with me, if it's just for today

Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away, yeah…”



…What the…? NOW Maggie was sure she’d seen, heard, and experienced everything. Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord taketh her away, indeed… She brushed a bit of the cloth aside with her finger and peeked inside.



Freddy was sitting with his back to her at his desk, indeed tinkering with his knives on the desktop. He had an ashtray with a cigarette burning to his left, and…he had MP3-player earphones in his ears.



It was so domestic and civilian and…normal…that Maggie briefly wondered if this was really just a ‘regular’ dream, or if she really was in her birthfather’s world. She kept watching, slowly—almost against her logical will—slipping through the curtain into the room to watch. Freddy kept humming along to the music until he finally came to the end of the song, put down his tools, and sighed, taking the earphones out.



“…Hello, Katherine.”



Maggie’s heart leapt to her throat, and she immediately turned to the exit only to run smack into a solid metal wall behind the curtain. Freddy made no move to kill her, help her, or anything else. She sat up and pressed her hands against the wall. “Fuck…!” she swore.



“I’m not going to hurt you, Katherine,” Freddy’s voice said, making her freeze. It wasn’t what he said…it was HOW he said it. His voice sounded mellow; normal-sounding, and not like the demonic baritone she had been used to. He also sounded…sincere. Like he was her father again, and wouldn’t lay a hand on her…



…Yeah, and Hell aint hot.



She turned to peek behind her, and saw that Freddy was still sitting at his desk, only he had turned the chair to face her; and Maggie saw why Freddy had sounded so human.



He LOOKED human. Like her father, only…holy damn, YOUNGER than she was. She was currently in her mid-forties, but Freddy looked like he was in his early thirties. What in the name of God was up with this dream!?



Freddy stared at her with intense blue eyes, then held up his hands to show that there was no glove on them. Her eyes flickered to the desk; there were only assembly pieces, but no actual knived glove. It made her feel a little better, but not by a significant margin at all. “I wont hurt you, Katherine,” he reiterated. “…Though, I AM a little surprised to see you. HERE, of all places.”



“What are you talking about!?” Maggie shot back. “Why the hell would I come here WILLINGLY!?” Freddy shrugged, which only seemed to make that tick above her left eye intensify. “YOU didn’t bring me here!?”



“No,” Freddy replied, taking off his hat to set it on the table. “Which could mean one of two things—one, YOU were subconsciously looking for ME…” The look she gave him cut him off. “...Or, the Demons brought you here.”



Well, THAT seemed more logical than her actually WISHING she could see her father again.



“WHY,” he continued, “I couldn’t fathom, especially after so long.” He sighed and picked up his cigarette to polish the last half-inch off. “…After what happened the LAST time they interfered, I decided to stop questioning it.” He flicked the cigarette butt elsewhere in the room, then paused as though trying to remember something. “…What day is it?” he suddenly asked.



“…You’re kidding, right?” Maggie asked. Freddy’s expression let her know he wasn’t. “…Halloween.” Freddy’s expression lightened, and he smacked his hand on the top of the desk hard, making Maggie flinch.



“Hot DAMN!” he said, an expression of pure joy on his face. “…One year…at last…at fuckin’ LAST, I’m FREE!!!”



Maggie watched her psychotic father exclaim his joy over what was apparently a

special date for him. “…What’s so great about Halloween?” she asked. “…Other than terrorizing children, that is…” Freddy sobered up a little, then fished another cigarette out of nowhere and lit it, taking a slow drag before exhaling black smoke.



“…I haven’t killed a single person in a YEAR,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “…By CHOICE.” Maggie stared at him.



“…You’ve…CHOSEN not to kill anyone for a year?” she asked. Freddy nodded. “…I think I might regret this but….why?” Freddy took another drag of his cigarette, staring off into space for a moment.



“…I was…wronged, you might say, a year ago,” he replied. “….And I killed the three who wronged me. In the real world. And since I had no way of getting back to my world, except for dying, that would mean that I would lose the souls I had accumulated during that time in the real world.” He took another drag. “…I didn’t want to let those three souls go. They were MINE to torture for wronging me. So, the Demons made me a deal.” He ground out the spent cigarette into his desk. “If I could stave off killing for a year after I died and came back here, then I would be allowed to keep the three souls for myself. Forever.”



Maggie shuddered at his tone, and at the fate of the three children Freddy now kept exclusively in his own being. “…What did they do to you?” she asked. She saw Freddy’s right hand clench so tightly, she heard cracking in it.



“…They…took something…someone…” He broke off, looking at her sideways. “…You

could say…I cared about…” His blue eyes shifted to her, gauging her reaction. Maggie’s eyes widened fractionally, incredulously.



“…Did they…” she replied, not knowing what else to say, really. Freddy made a soft sound and turned back to his desk, picking up the unfinished glove, but not putting it on. Maggie saw that the glove looked relatively new, and instead of the two-joint metal, there were multiple plates on them. However, most of the plating was missing, and a whole blade was absent from the fourth finger.



“…She made this for me,” Freddy said, his eyes still on Maggie. “After I had broken my old one, she made this for me. And the first blood it truly tasted was hers.” His eyes misted at the lovely memory, then sharpened at Maggie’s reaction. “I didn’t kill her,” he clarified. “But oh…how I wanted to, often.” He set the glove back

on his desk. “…She was infuriating. A little bitch…” He sighed. “…And the reason why deaths in Springwood has declined in the past two years.”



“…Why’s that?” Maggie asked cautiously.



“…Because she was my warden,” Freddy replied nostalgically, leaning back into his chair. “…I met her about two years back…she was twenty-one, but I mistook her for a kid…she looked like one…felt like one…even smelled like one…” He subconsciously licked his lips. “…So, upon finding out that killing her would have no benefit to me,” he shrugged, “I raped her.” He suddenly began snickering, ignoring Maggie’s look of shock. “But come to find—ha ha!—she LIKED it! She ENJOYED being fucked!” He smacked his hand on the table again. “How’s THAT for insane, eh?”



He sobered up a little. “…I had plans for her…I wanted to use her much like I had intended to use you—to get out of Springwood. Unfortunately…” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “…The Demons had…other…plans for her. They wanted to recruit her. And from what I heard, she told them no. But what DID happen was, they gave her realization that she is a Dark Dream Master—a proprietor of nightmares, and Keeper of Dream Demons.” He snorted, looking at his daughter. “Funny, huh?”



Maggie wisely said nothing.



“So, the day she made me that glove, I got my revenge for being treated like a dog. I cut her open, organs exposed and everything…” He licked his lips again. “…And I left her there with no comfort of death, and agony of pain. But…I didn’t count on her…actually taking the Demons’ offer.” He ran a hand through his blonde hair. “…And since then, she’d lorded over me; punishing me if I broke rules…” His face broke out in a lewd grin. “…Rewarding me if I was a good boy.”



Maggie seriously resisted the urge to vomit. Freddy ignored her.



“…It lasted a year,” he continued. “…Then a year ago, on Halloween, we went out to indulge in a little ‘trick-or-treating’ ourselves…in the real world. Fully mortal.” His eye twitched a little. “…She ran into three boys, two eighteen-year-olds, and one seventeen-year-old. One of them practically gutted her when she resisted him from raping her, then he slit her throat, THEN raped her while the other two argued over who went next…” Maggie saw his eyes fade into a deep red.



“…I found her just as the fuckwad got off of her, and I killed them. But I didn’t get there in time to save her from dying. I took her home, made the deal with the Demons, practically emptied the house of her belongings and brought them here, then killed myself.” He shrugged. “And here I am today—a Dream Demon with three souls to his name, and waiting for the clock to strike midnight so I can go collect more souls.” He licked his lips again hungrily. “Plenty of children out during the Witching Hour…kids falling asleep, high on candy; teenagers drunk and drugged off their asses and just WAITING for me to slaughter them.”



“You’re SICK!” Maggie burst out, her fists clenched at her side. Freddy arched a brow.



“…And this is news to you, how?” he asked. “I’m a fucking Demon, Katherine. It’s what I DO. There IS no other life for me, not even Hell. So gimme a break!”



“How about I start at your neck and work the way down?” Maggie retorted acidly. Freddy smirked.



“That’s my girl,” he purred, his voice taking on that demonic baritone. “Maniac is in your blood. You LIKED it when you killed me, didn’t you?”



“I WONT let you get in my mind like that again, Freddy!” Maggie shouted. “So FUCK OFF!!!” Freddy chuckled to himself and turned back to the desk, picking up his MP3 and turning it to the Clock feature.



“…Almost nine,” he muttered. “Shit.” He put it back down and picked up his tools again. “…I have to get this done before midnight, Katherine,” he said absently. “You know the way out. …Goodnight Princess.”



Maggie shuddered at the nickname he had christened her with as a child. She watched as he put the earphones back and flip through the song choices, and that’s when she saw something she was SURE he didn’t have before.



His left wrist had an enormous slash scar on it, like he had almost cut his hand completely off.



…He had killed himself by slashing his wrist open. The right wrist, too, she

was willing to bet.



Maggie shuddered again and turned to leave, seeing that the metal wall behind the curtains was gone. She walked through the curtains, still wondering what she was doing here in this world. Who had brought her, if not Freddy? The Demons, like he had suggested? And for what reason?



She finally came to the exit of the power plant and walked through it—only to suddenly find herself in her old house—1428 Elm. ….Only, it was more modernly furnished. She made her way up the stairs and suddenly heard footsteps from downstairs descend the stairs after her. She whipped around to see—her father. He was carrying something—no, someone. She backed up against the wall, but Freddy paid her no heed as he carried the girl into the master bedroom and set her down on the bed.



Maggie watched with apt attention as Freddy gently undressed the girl of a bloody-ruined lacy white dress, then stare down at her. Maggie stared too, sickened at what she saw.



…This had to be the girl Freddy told her about. And he was accurate in the description of her wounds—her stomach was torn open and her throat was slashed. She saw Freddy’s right hand clench so hard, the blades dug into his wrists, then turn to a dresser drawer and pull out a curved needle and black thread and began stitching the wounds closed with a tenderness that Maggie would never have thought her father possessed.



When the stitching was done, he stared at the corpse for a moment more before picking her up and carrying her into the bathroom and rinsing her bloody body off, then filled the bathtub up to the brim with water and began washing her. Maggie could see, however, that Freddy was losing his gentle touch; his teeth were clenched tightly and the pressure behind his washing was rough. He suddenly stopped, letting her body sink into the bottom of the tub, then he turned and leaned against the side of the tub and buried his left hand in his hair and screaming with rage she could FEEL.



She could practically HEAR his thoughts; evil thoughts about those boys and what awaited them once he had some time to spare.



All of a sudden, those Dream Demons that she had once seen in his memory appeared, one of them in particular seeming to enjoy pushing Freddy’s buttons and making him snap. The other one, in a voice of authority, told Freddy the deal he would make the once-human Demon, and saw her father turn to look at the girl.



“…What about Angelia?”



“You care for her,” the taunting one had stated. Freddy had tried to deny it, but the third demon with a deep voice cut in, saying that Freddy couldn’t lie to those who dwell in his very soul, and that Angelia’s fate would be a secret until next year. Then they vanished.



Freddy had pulled the girl out of the tub, dried her off, dressed her in a short, pretty lacy nightgown, and tucked her in, holding her to him possessively.



“They took something…someone…you could say…I cared about.”



It seemed all-too-apparent that her father DID care about this one girl. But what made her so special? Maggie traveled back downstairs, seeing pictures and items as subtle clues. The girl about twenty-two years old, but she could see why her father mistook her for a younger girl; she was in her early twenties, but looked about sixteen. She was apparently a good cook, since she worked as a sous chef at a restaurant downtown.



Maggie also found some things in this memory-state that let her know that Freddy had been living here with her, too. He had a coat and a jacket in the closet, a few pieces of décor that were obviously of his tastes, and…



She paused when she found an old picture in the living room, on a shelf. She picked it up and stared at it.



It was a very old photo of…herself. She was about four years old, and her father was holding her. He had apparently kept this picture hidden somewhere in the house, more than likely in his “Secret Room” in the basement. But now, it was on display for anyone to see. She held the photo in her hand quietly, contemplating exactly what it meant.



“…He loves you, Katherine.”



Maggie whipped around, dropping the picture frame on the floor and making it shatter. Standing behind her was a short girl wearing a long-sleeved shirt with red-and-black-striped sleeves and a pure black chest, black jeans, a black fedora, and heavy black boots. She stared at Maggie with intense—almost neon—green eyes partially hidden behind red bangs. Maggie backed up a little from the girl, who took a step forward and raised her left hand toward the broken picture frame, which reformed itself and flew to her hand.



“I wont hurt you, Katherine,” she said, putting the picture on a table. “Freddy would KILL me if I did.” She gave Maggie a smile. “…In a matter of speaking, of course.”



“Who are you?” Maggie demanded, her eyes still searching for a way out. The girl’s smile broadened, and brought her right hand up from behind her back, revealing a black leather glove with knives on the four fingers. She twitched the index blade, and Maggie suddenly found herself in a pure black room that seemed to be made of obsidian. But it was the torture devices that made her REALLY uncomfortable.



“I’m the proprietor of this particular area,” she replied, taking off her fedora and holding it out to a skeleton chained to the wall. The skeleton animated for a moment to take it, then went back to inanimate. “But you can call me Angelia.”



Maggie gaped at her. “…You’re…Angelia…?” The girl nodded. “…You died.” Angelia sat down on a black throne-like chair.



“I did,” she replied. “Cut and raped. Hell of a way to go.” She shook her head. “It took me a year to gather up the energy I needed to transcend into this world completely. Much like your father, really.” She examined her black left-hand nails. “But the only difference between us is that he’s a Demon, and I’m his wrangler.”



Maggie said nothing, and just shifted a little where she stood. Angelia smiled sadly at her. “…I meant what I said earlier,” she said, tapping the tips of her blades on the obsidian chair. “…Freddy really does love you.” That snapped Maggie out of her shocked stupor just long enough to make a sound of disbelief.



“Right,” she replied. “His trying to kill me disproves that theory.”



“Theory nothing,” Angelia said. “It’s a fact.” She paused. “…Did you know that when I brought Freddy to the real world, he had nightmares?” Maggie shook her head, still looking incredulous. “He did. Actually, it was just ONE nightmare.” She paused again. “…His nightmare is his worst memory. The day they took you away from him.”



Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “I find that hard to believe,” she replied.



“It’s true.” Angelia held up her left hand and summoned a black crystal goblet to it. She took a pensieve sip of whatever was inside. “…It took me almost a year to get him to trust me enough to talk about it. He fought to keep you. You were the one child he would never touch; the one child he would never hurt. You were HIS girl. His Princess.”



“Then why the hell did he try to kill me!?” Maggie shot back, her fists clenched. Angelia sighed.



“Freddy has a nasty temper that impairs his good judgement,” she replied. “I occasionally found myself on the wrong end of it from time to time; the worst was when I pissed him off by keeping him from the dream world, and when I brought him back, he vivisected me with the brand-new glove I made for him.” She shuddered. “…It hurt bad. But everything after that was nothing more to me than schoolyard scraps. It took me MONTHS to earn his trust, and that’s not something he gives out lightly…considering.” Angelia gave Maggie a ‘look’.



“Oh, fuck you!” Maggie shot back. “He was KILLING people! He KILLED my MOTHER!!!” Angelia sighed and clinked her blades.



“…He originally had no real intention on killing her,” she said. “…While you were in the basement, he had told your mother that if she kept her mouth shut, then ‘this would never be discussed again’, and they could get on with their lives. But your mother…said that she wanted a divorce, and that she was taking you with her.” The blades scraped against the obsidian, making deep rents in it. “…He never really loved your mother, but he loved you. You were the ONLY person he ever loved, and he would be damned before he let you go.” Her acid-green eyes slid up to meet Maggie’s dark ones. “...So, he impulsively killed her, with no immediate plan on how to dispose of the body, no immediate alibi, nothing. He never meant for you to see that side of him, ever. But it happened.”



Maggie felt tears run down her face in rage. “He…tried…to…kill…ME…!” she ground out between breathes. Angelia nodded.



“Once more, it was his anger. He never wanted to hurt you, only use you to get out of Springfield. But once you fought back, he grew angry that you would betray him, so he impulsively tried to kill you. But then he saw that same fire in you that he felt in himself…he tried one more time to get you to come back to him…and…” She thrust her own blades up in the air in a faux-slashing motion. “THAT plan went to shit.” She down the rest of her drink and dropped the goblet into nothingness. “But he never stopped loving you. I just thought you might want to know that.”



Maggie stared at Angelia for a moment. “YOU brought me here!” she finally said. Angelia nodded. “WHY?!”



“I just told you why,” Angelia responded. “So you would know he loved you. He always wanted you to know that, but he’s too much of an asshole to really tell you straight-up.” She stood up and stretched. “But what else is new? He’ll always be an asshole, but hey, I like him.” She smiled at Maggie. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to call on him at least once a year.”



“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Maggie deadpanned.



“I shit you not,” Angelia replied, shrugging. “I think he’d like to know that he’s a grandpa now.” She giggled. “Hard to imagine Freddy as a grandpa…”



“And have him go after MY daughter!? HELL no!”



“Freddy wont touch her,” Angelia replied. “Ever. He wont even try. And if he did, I’d smack the shit out of him, snip his dick off, and leave him hanging in my torture room for a year.” She walked up to Maggie and held out her left hand, which held a small doll in it. “It’s a gift for your little girl,” she said. “…Freddy said that it used to be yours when you were a girl.”



Maggie took it, remembering that this WAS her old doll. She had gotten it for Christmas when she was four, as a gift from her father. She turned it over in her hands, seeing that it was just as she remembered it; the same pretty blonde locks made of yarn, the button eyes, the pretty pink dress. She loved this doll, but never had a chance to grab it when the Child Services came for her….



She hugged the doll to her chest, and looked at Angelia. “…You…better make sure he STAYS in line…!” she warned. Angelia held up two fingers.



“Scout’s honor,” she replied. “You can go home now…” She broke off, looking

toward a metal door. “…Now if you’ll excuse me…” She cracked her knuckles. “…I have a Dream Demon to keep on a leash.” She walked toward the door, then paused. “…You’re so lucky, Katherine,” she said softly. “…You’re the only one who truly has his heart.”



Before Maggie could contemplate that completely, she woke up with a start, sweating.



“…Mommy?”



She looked over to see her ten-year-old girl sitting on the edge of the bed. Maggie sat up and hugged her daughter, Loretta. “I’m fine, Lori,” she replied. “Just a dream.” She pulled back and kissed her daughter on top of the head. She pulled back the covers and tucked Loretta in with her.



“Mommy, what’s that?” Loretta said, pointing to something Maggie was holding. Maggie looked down and saw that she was still holding the doll to her chest. She stared at it for a moment before smiling and giving it to Loretta.



“This used to be mine when I was little,” she said. Loretta took it and hugged it tightly.



“…Smells familiar,” she said softly. She snuggled into it, unaware that Maggie was watching her. “…Grampa…” She drifted off, smiling.



Maggie stared at Loretta in shock. “…Grampa…who…?” she asked barely above a whisper.



“…Grampa…Freddy…” And Loretta was gone to sleep.



Maggie was silent for a few moments, then laid back on her pillow. There had been contact, and she never knew. But...whas that REALLY so bad? She looked down at her daughter, seeing her content, angelic face, and closed her eyes, hugging Loretta to her.

‘…Daddy…’