I've Never Heard Of You...
folder
M through R › Nightmare on Elm Street
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
3,126
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Nightmare on Elm Street
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
3,126
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Friday the 13th or A Nightmare On Elm Street. Heaven knows I wish I did though. I only own my nameless OC. I'm still broke, so no profit is made from this fic.
Chapter 5
The tinkle of one of the bells sounded in the overly quiet cellar. But, no one was in the room to hear it. He was rarely even in the cellar, anymore- without any use for it, what was the point? He didn't need to sleep or eat, he simply was and continued to be. Honestly, he hated being in the cellar now. He wasn't for sure why, anymore. Not a hundred percent, anyway. Vague memories tickled parts of his brain at random times, when he saw a particular something or smelled another thing. Even sounds and the way some things felt would bring back something of a half memory or two.
He knew that long ago, there had been someone close to him, that wasn't Mother. Sometimes, he could remember what it felt like, he thought, to have someone else near him other than Mother.
He had heard a car on the road leading to the camp. He'd grown familiar with that same sound over and over throughout the years of teenage stupidity bombarding the camp repeatedly. He, decidedly, hated the sound. So, he followed it.
The car was easily spotted, but it wasn't running. It hadn't smashed into any of the trees, by the looks of it. But, the car door was open. He watched and listened for any sign of life nearby. There was the sound of shuffling and then a definite moaning sound. He crept behind the trees to get a better view of what was beyond the open door. It was a female, for sure. She was alone and kneeling up on her knees in a somewhat awkward looking position. Her body rocked back and forth jerkily. She wore nothing but the paper robe of a hospital patient and her feet looked completely battered and blistered. He tilted his head in curiosity and moved, again, to get a better view of the girl's face. Her eyes were closed, in sleep, but he knew that face.
He knew that face well. It was the face of what he'd been longing for for years. The face of the one that had been stolen from him years ago. Could it be her, coming back to him after so long? What was she doing, sleeping in these woods, in that position? As the thought crossed his mind, she seemed to be thrust down onto all fours and shortly after his name was yelped. It startled him, and she seemed to be struggling with an imaginary force, as she opened her eyes. Just as suddenly as she'd started, she was still, lying on her back and staring up at the canopy of trees, breathing heavily. 'Jason,' she whispered again, and he couldn't stop himself from steeping out of the shadowy cover of the trees, slowly.
She heard his steps and scrambled towards the car, using the car door as a sort of shield from whatever she imagined was headed her way. After a few moments of staring into the dark, she spotted him. She stared in disbelief, eyes widened. 'Jason?' She whispered. He tilted his head, and she dropped to her knees, once again, unable to support herself. She made a choked sound and repeated his name, before sobbing hysterically. He stepped closer to her, keeping his machete in sight, just in case. 'Jason...' she continued to sob, clutching at the ground, her nails raking at the soft, damp dirt and leaves. The closer he got, the less his doubt hung over him. She -was- his. The one that had been stolen from him. When he was close enough, she reached out a hand and clutched at the hem of his pant leg, as if fearing that he might disappear.
Not knowing what else to do, he simply stood there and allowed it to happen. After another moment of hysterical sobbing, she looked up, tear stains clear, down her dirty face. 'I-I just want-I just want to go home. Take me home, please.' Her throat felt as if it had been grated with the finest sandpaper and her eyes burned enough to match it. He leaned down and grabbed her, roughly by the arm, pulling her up to her feet. She leaned heavily on him, clutching at the burnt remains of his shirt. She stumbled over her damaged feet to cling to him even more, but he lifted her easily, and cradled her to his chest. She had the hiccups from sobbing and she clung, awkwardly, to him. After a few steps, she passed out, completely exhausted in every way imaginable.
Rounding the side of the car, something caught his attention. Gleaming metal. He studied the source for a moment and nearly dropped the girl as recognition dawned on him. How had that glove made it out of the lake? How had she come in such close contact with it? Could Freddy have returned? Was he using the girl? He leaned down and snatched the glove up quickly, bringing it back with him, as well.
When he arrived at the old cellar and pried the trap door open, a cloud of dust greeted him. He tossed the glove onto a dust-covered table and moved toward the bed they had both shared a long time ago. He'd never moved it or changed it. But, now, the dust had all but buried the bed and most of it's memories. He casually reached down with one hand and flipped the entire mattress over, exposing the bottom side of it. He, gingerly, laid the girl out on the mattress. As he pulled his hands away, one of them was covered in a thick, wet shine. He grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled upward, forcing her to turn onto her side and exposed her back to him. There was blood smeared across four very distinct and familiar claw marks. The sight of them infuriated him. And, only in part because of their exist on something that was his, in the first place. So, the glove, certainly, wasn't a mere coincidence now.
He pulled one of the sheets trapped under the mattress out and gave her back a cursory cleaning. He'd need water to completely clean it but at least, when she woke up, she wouldn't be scabbed to the mattress. He flicked the bloodied sheet around the corners and across the ceiling closest to her, tearing through the surrounding cobwebs. What would the girl think of him when she woke in this place, as filthy as it was? It didn't matter, really, he wasn't letting her go for a second time.
He knew that long ago, there had been someone close to him, that wasn't Mother. Sometimes, he could remember what it felt like, he thought, to have someone else near him other than Mother.
He had heard a car on the road leading to the camp. He'd grown familiar with that same sound over and over throughout the years of teenage stupidity bombarding the camp repeatedly. He, decidedly, hated the sound. So, he followed it.
The car was easily spotted, but it wasn't running. It hadn't smashed into any of the trees, by the looks of it. But, the car door was open. He watched and listened for any sign of life nearby. There was the sound of shuffling and then a definite moaning sound. He crept behind the trees to get a better view of what was beyond the open door. It was a female, for sure. She was alone and kneeling up on her knees in a somewhat awkward looking position. Her body rocked back and forth jerkily. She wore nothing but the paper robe of a hospital patient and her feet looked completely battered and blistered. He tilted his head in curiosity and moved, again, to get a better view of the girl's face. Her eyes were closed, in sleep, but he knew that face.
He knew that face well. It was the face of what he'd been longing for for years. The face of the one that had been stolen from him years ago. Could it be her, coming back to him after so long? What was she doing, sleeping in these woods, in that position? As the thought crossed his mind, she seemed to be thrust down onto all fours and shortly after his name was yelped. It startled him, and she seemed to be struggling with an imaginary force, as she opened her eyes. Just as suddenly as she'd started, she was still, lying on her back and staring up at the canopy of trees, breathing heavily. 'Jason,' she whispered again, and he couldn't stop himself from steeping out of the shadowy cover of the trees, slowly.
She heard his steps and scrambled towards the car, using the car door as a sort of shield from whatever she imagined was headed her way. After a few moments of staring into the dark, she spotted him. She stared in disbelief, eyes widened. 'Jason?' She whispered. He tilted his head, and she dropped to her knees, once again, unable to support herself. She made a choked sound and repeated his name, before sobbing hysterically. He stepped closer to her, keeping his machete in sight, just in case. 'Jason...' she continued to sob, clutching at the ground, her nails raking at the soft, damp dirt and leaves. The closer he got, the less his doubt hung over him. She -was- his. The one that had been stolen from him. When he was close enough, she reached out a hand and clutched at the hem of his pant leg, as if fearing that he might disappear.
Not knowing what else to do, he simply stood there and allowed it to happen. After another moment of hysterical sobbing, she looked up, tear stains clear, down her dirty face. 'I-I just want-I just want to go home. Take me home, please.' Her throat felt as if it had been grated with the finest sandpaper and her eyes burned enough to match it. He leaned down and grabbed her, roughly by the arm, pulling her up to her feet. She leaned heavily on him, clutching at the burnt remains of his shirt. She stumbled over her damaged feet to cling to him even more, but he lifted her easily, and cradled her to his chest. She had the hiccups from sobbing and she clung, awkwardly, to him. After a few steps, she passed out, completely exhausted in every way imaginable.
Rounding the side of the car, something caught his attention. Gleaming metal. He studied the source for a moment and nearly dropped the girl as recognition dawned on him. How had that glove made it out of the lake? How had she come in such close contact with it? Could Freddy have returned? Was he using the girl? He leaned down and snatched the glove up quickly, bringing it back with him, as well.
When he arrived at the old cellar and pried the trap door open, a cloud of dust greeted him. He tossed the glove onto a dust-covered table and moved toward the bed they had both shared a long time ago. He'd never moved it or changed it. But, now, the dust had all but buried the bed and most of it's memories. He casually reached down with one hand and flipped the entire mattress over, exposing the bottom side of it. He, gingerly, laid the girl out on the mattress. As he pulled his hands away, one of them was covered in a thick, wet shine. He grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled upward, forcing her to turn onto her side and exposed her back to him. There was blood smeared across four very distinct and familiar claw marks. The sight of them infuriated him. And, only in part because of their exist on something that was his, in the first place. So, the glove, certainly, wasn't a mere coincidence now.
He pulled one of the sheets trapped under the mattress out and gave her back a cursory cleaning. He'd need water to completely clean it but at least, when she woke up, she wouldn't be scabbed to the mattress. He flicked the bloodied sheet around the corners and across the ceiling closest to her, tearing through the surrounding cobwebs. What would the girl think of him when she woke in this place, as filthy as it was? It didn't matter, really, he wasn't letting her go for a second time.