The Diary of Frederick Charles Krueger

May 1966

I can't be the happiest man in the world! Loretta gave birth to a baby girl. We call her Katherine. She's so small, almost like a little football. When I first saw her covered in blood and placenta, she looked almost like an alien. With Loretta heaving, pushing and screaming at me, I only found it to thank her for giving me such a wonderful gift. We cried together when we held her. Her little stubby feet and arms were like sausage links. We laughed and cried some more and just talked to her. When I first held her, she was so light. She was screaming like a banshee but it only let me know she was alive.

We all know where she got the rage from. Nice job, Freddy.

We wrapped her in soft pink cotton, bound her within to keep her warm. While she was in my arms she looked up at me and smiled. I was absolutely shocked since babies can't open their eyes when they are first born, due to intensity of the light. But it was like she didn't feel the penetrating light in her retinas. She smiles just like her mother; a sweet congealing smile that warms every part of you. I just keep looking at her, trying to put it together of how I, Fred Krueger, made something so beautiful. She was everything I ever wanted. She had my eyes, her mother's hair, bright brown and blonde. Her Smile. My Jaw. Her hands. My feet. A even combination of Loretta and me.

Hope she didn't get the insanity that sparks in your mind. That would only make her a deformity rather than perfect.

I pray she didn't get the demons in her head. I would rather kill myself that bestow this "gift" on her. I would imagine it would drive her over the brink of insanity than what I've done. I can't ever wish that on her. She's my daughter. She's my blood, flesh and bone. I can't imagine doing anything remotely what I've done to others, especially Jamie.

She's stopped coming by. Being only 13 now, I would imagine that her interest would be in something else. School, boys, cheer-leading. When I do see her, she's not attractive anymore. Yeah, with every teenage girl, you go through periods of acne, mood swings, and cramps and blood in your panties. This blood though, it stinks more than what I'm use to. Yeah breaking a hymen you see the bright blood, sweet tasting. This blood though, it's like old-iron and you can't ever get the taste out of your mouth. It's stickier, darker and it clots fast. I found this out when Jamie and I were playing. Since she was older and a wee bit wiser we skipped the dolls and went to what we know best. She was tighter don't give me wrong it was fabulous, but the after math only made me want to puke than anything. She wasn't pure anymore. It was like she was wasted, not useful anymore. It broke my heart and yet part of me was jealous because I would never get to experience her innocence again. Extinguished, never to be ignited or broken again. It's a rather strange feeling jealousy. When I saw her getting onto the bus, not coming across the sidewalk from my house, it made me mad that she was going a different route, or she wasn't coming to visit me. I thought that she would have someone else to play with her, but I realized that I turn that jealousy into pride. I was proud that I introduced her to the new experiencing things that she and I had. Very proud. She was going to spread her knowledge.

You mean spread her legs, Fred. You made her a whore.

Now with Katherine coming into the world, my whole time has been with her. Changing poopy diapers and helping her by feeding breast milk. I would watch Loretta and Katherine together after dinner, she would suck and suck that nipple until it was either red raw or there was no more milk flowing. When Loretta tried to pull her away, she would scream loud and cry until she ran out of breath. We couldn't keep her yelling and screaming all the time so I just yell back at Loretta "Give her your tit and shut up about the pain. It's just a weakness that you need to get over with!" Loretta would just stare back at me in fear and do as I told her. It's rather interesting to see what that woman could do after a few times telling her what to do. I feel rather good about it. When I want to spend time with Katherine, I tell her to work at the diner. I still think she's a fool for passing up so many opportunities. What a waste. I love her but sometimes she's that nagging person who just whines and complains about everything. I'm really starting to think that her nagging is a way to keep in contact with, keep tabs on me. I'm really not liking that.

"Where are you going, Fred?" she would ask me. How she says it sounds like I'm leaving her for good and Katherine just a mother, no father. I will tell her that I would be going to work, down to the bar or something. With that affirmation, she would calm down and act like nothing happened. I think this is what is called clingy, where someone holds on to you on a short leash, like a damn puppy. I'm not a fucking puppy. I'm a grown man and I don't need you, mother, to keep on figuring out what I'm doing. She creates accusations, too saying I'm seeing someone else or that I'm doing something else than what I told her. I've been faithful to her, well, kinda but Jamie doesn't really count. She was just a release for me to gather myself and focus on my own life and give the fucking voices a break from bitching at me. That's why I spend so much time in the basement. For some odd reason, it comforts me. Normally the bad memories would spawn but somehow they never come anymore. That's where I build Katherine's crib, bed, changing bed, and rocking chair. I do spend a lot more time, since I eat dinner there, watch TV and listen to the baseball game. Every time I go down there, dishes are piled on top of each other, glasses and ceramic cups still full of cold coffee would be airing, some had patches of green and black mold floating on top.

Hey Freddy, looks like you got some plants trying to grow. Or even better, Pets.

"Shut the fuck up, for once please?" I would keep asking them. They would giggle , sometimes snort and snicker. I hate how they laugh. When I didn't have something to do or if Loretta wasn't bitching, I would find myself going to Katherine's room and watch her sleep. She almost looks like a doll in the moonlight. Breathing every other second and smiling in her sleep. I'm so glad she has good dreams. I would play with her hand and let her hold my pinkie. She does have a grip, for just something so new to the world. Looking into her crib I'm so glad to have a daughter like her. She's perfect and I couldn't ask anything less or more from God. Such a miracle, this one. She's never going to leave my side. I already love her enough to smother her with kisses and hugs.

She's is cute...for a baby. Still too young to play with though...ain't that sad?

This is one thing that I will not do to my daughter. What happened with Jamie was because I was interested in her. I wasn't in love. It was lust and absolute sin that I cannot forgive myself for doing what I did. But Katherine? She's my life. I gave it to her. I gave her the innocence, and I'll be damned if I will let someone else take it from her.

September 1966

This kid is driving me nuts! Crying, bitching, whining, pooping, peeing. I'm changing diapers 7 times a fucking day. All this kid does is eat, poop cry. Are you really serious? Loretta said that's what a baby does, the hell they do! They are suppose to sleep. Sleep through the day, wake up, eat, and go back to sleep. That's it. No, Katherine just stays awake, crying or eating or shitting fucking diapers until they are so full they leak onto her legs. I told Loretta we need to take her to the doctor, see if there something wrong with her. Loretta refuses to take the child to the doctor. I've about had it with her lip when I mention something about the doctor. I'm looking out for my fucking daughter for Christ's sake! That's what a father does, you twit of a wife. I've been married to this woman for a few years now and everyday is a struggle to get anything pass her. I have to do dishes at night because her feet are sore from work. Woman, your feet never hurt in the first place when you work there. Why the sudden change? If it's because of her being a mom and working at the diner, I'll hit her so hard that some sense will knock her in or out.

Freddy, you're talking like him, again.

"Who?"

Underwood. That son-of-a-bitch who would hit, kick, punch whatever he wanted to do to you. You sound just like him. I guess his legacy does move on. Fueling the desire, I feel it.

"NO! I'm not him. I'll never be him. That sick bastard was the reason I have these thoughts. The fucking asshole who would do nothing but bitch at me- Wait!"

The realization was like electricity flowing through my body. What am I doing now? I'm cleaning after Loretta, taking care of her and Katherine. I cook when I don't work or get off early. She sits on that fucking couch and whines. Oh my God! I didn't kill him after all. He's inside her. She's acting the same way he did when I was fifteen. Why can't I just get the hell away from him? I cut his fucking throat clean and watched the blood pool out from him. I burned his body, charred and watched it crumble in the flames. How in the hell could he follow me here? He's a damned soul and I know they won't come around and embed themselves into others. Spirits don't do that, do they?

"Nope. He's something else."

A demon festers in a person and changes them. They alter their mind and change their personality. Is Loretta really haunted and is now being tortured by Underwood? It would seem like him to fuck around with me just to hurt me. That must be it! Loretta is possessed by that demon Underwood. How do you rid a demon?

"You take away it's power. The energy you gave him. But when you were young you had so much energy that he beat out of you that it would power a nuclear bomb. 6 years is a long time to be with Underwood and all the shit you had to go through."

Then I have no other choice...If I can't take his energy from him, then I'm going with Plan B: Loretta will sing no more for me, or anyone else. If she cannot get out of her lazy vacation bullshit, then I'll try another way. I'm not going to resort to beating her, it only would make me angrier. I love her enough that I will end the suffering she has endure with Underwood inside her. Loretta, my sweet bird, your voice now faulters against the winds and now is nothing more of a squawk of noise. Silence is your medicine.

December 1966

Katherine's first Christmas was a hit! She was dolled up in a green emerald felt dress with white lace around the neck. She had her little baby headband around her crown and she was absolutely adorable! I love Katherine so much. It warmed me to see her blue eyes open large at all the Christmas lights, the boxes of presents wrapped in many colors, the carolers singing outside on the curb. It was almost like Heaven. My Christmas' when I was in the orphanage and with fuck-ass they were nothing compared to what I have witnessed this day in this year. The orphanage would have small gifts of socks or little toys that would only keep kids interested for maybe a day or two but then would be lost, taken or broken. I remember when I got a jack-in-the-box when I was four. It had streamers that would come out of it along with a clown with wild orange hair. It would laugh when it popped out. I loved that toy. It scared the shit out of me but then made me laugh in the end. It was sad when I found it broken and the clown was ripped out, showing the silver spring under his costume. It was almost like he was tortured then just left for dead. Thanks to Tommy, mindless asshole, he stole it from me when I was sleeping and just demolished the toy. I don't know how long I cried after I found it's body out of the box. When I would try to play it, the music was warped and missing notes. It was almost a solemn eulogy rather than a cherry tune.

Then there was Christmas' with Underwood. What Christmas? The only thing he would ever decorate was a plastic Santa in the living room. He got that for me when I first moved in, when he was a little sociable and decent. Well, he was never decent but I didn't know it then. It would light up and show Santa's rosy cheeks, his bright red suit and green mistletoe in his right hand. As the years progressed though and his drinking became more of a habit, the Santa didn't brighten up the room anymore. Soon the batteries died and the colors of his suit and rosy cheeks turned brown and black from the smoke, dust, and ill treatment of it. It had cracks, some parts were busted through and just gathered at the bottom. When I saw that Santa the last time, it made me realize that Christmas was for kids that had parents or in my case, foster parents, was more of a tradition that was handed down. Underwood had no tradition, just his bottle of booze. After that, I hated Christmas. Every song, shopping mall, even the decorations were just wasted crap. There was no feeling, no meaning behind it. I just left me with thoughts of an empty stomach and a dark house.

Since Katherine was born, I've been excited to show her things that usually I wouldn't give a damn for. Christmas lights on houses, seeing Santa Claus in the mall, having her picture taken, dressing her up, singing songs. I don't want her to grow up the same way I did. I don't want to keep her in the darkness when she can experience Christmas, or anything else, like every other kid on the street. Loretta made a stuffed ham, stuffing and sweet potatoes. I loved how she made dinner. She had so much love in it and made every bite, every swallow a great privilege. I think I must have had 3 plate-fulls of food. Katherine played in the wrapping paper, moving her arms swishing the paper around her. She looked like an angel in the middle of it. After opening presents, we found her sleeping, cuddled with wrapping paper in her arms. I couldn't help but chuckle as I reached for her. I held her close as she stretched her arms out, open her eyes and fall back asleep.

Thank you, Katherine. You gave me the best Christmas I've ever had. The first for you and me.

June 1967

What...have ...I ...done? I can't write these words in this journal. They are nothing but a sin, even writing them, I whisper to myself when I move my hand to print. God, I'm digging so hard into the paper that it's started to rip. I can't keep my hands still. My breathing is erratic.

We can tell. You saw Joey on his bike earlier today while you were sitting on the porch. You were a bit bum with Katherine and Loretta gone for the weekend, to visit her parents. You were watching him, like a hawk. He took a tumble off his bike and landed on his side. He scraped his knee. He was crying softly enough for you to hear him. And wouldn't you know it, you came running over to him. You were consoling him, telling him that you had a first-aid kit in your basement and you could fix his bike.

His chain was off the bike, it could have been a easy fix right there. But no, you cunning little bastard. You took him in your hand and the bike in the other. You walked casually across the street up to the fence. Once you got back to the backyard you opened up the cellar door and escorted him in the darkness. Like a gentleman. The boy was a little scared but you assured him that it was ok. I could feel the smile across your face.

"I don't want to know anymore."

Oh but you do. You sat him on your bench and tended to his knee. After applying the band-aid you told him that there was a Popsicle in the freezer in the other room and that he could go get it. He smiled at you and wiped his tears away. You then grabbed your crowbar, since that was the only thing around.

"NO! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANY OF THIS!"

You will listen NOW! You followed him into the other room and raised the crowbar over your head. You hands were steady and strong and stroked the child's head. He fell almost immediately. You were humming to yourself as you went over to your work desk. This was something that even we were surprised, you made something.

"What did I make?"

We thought that you were mindless at this. But we were proven wrong. You slipped this tool across your hand. It looked like a glove, but it wasn't. It was more of a prototype since it was missing a few pieces. Your right hand slipped into it. You then walked over to the child and laid him on his back. He was out cold and the blood from his head was seeping through his blonde hair, almost orange-ish.

"Please, God. Tell me that I did nothing to that child. Tell me that I helped him and I should be locked up and taken far away."

God wasn't there, Freddy. Just you, that glove and the kid. You raised your hand high and shined the metal fingers into the glowing work lights. And then you lunged those piercing knives into the boys belly. The feeling was something of hamburger meat. There was blood everywhere. The boy never even flinched, or screamed. You kept stabbing him, and slashing his young chest, leaving claw marks around his heart.

"God in Heaven...what have I done?"

You opened yourself up, Freddy. But this time, we never helped you. You did this all on your own. We watched and applauded you.

"What happened after I...killed that boy?"

You gathered his body and wrapped him in a blanket and waited until dark. You did clean up the blood so that if Loretta came down she wouldn't know the difference. Bitch couldn't see a plane crashing right in front of her if you told her. When the pale moonlight was out, you took his body and put him in your truck and drove to the factory. Luckily it was the graveyard hours and no one was working at the time. You should know the rest.

"I took him and put him in the furnace. Didn't I?"

Well with that encounter you had to. It's more of your signature. You had to rid the body somehow, dumb ass. Just like Underwood you watched as his body burned. This time though it was a little different.

"How was it different?"

You were giggling and talking to yourself. You said "Sweet Dreams, little piggy."