"So what's first?" I asked when we passed the Springwood, OH Next Right sign.

"We should hit up that museum to make sure he doesn't call me a no-show and sell your glove," Dylan responded, making the turn.

"Oooo I really hope he hasn't done that!" I cooed. "You already got me all worked up for having the thing now."

He laughed, "Worst case scenario, you have to opt for a replica instead. At least then you'd have money left over to buy something else too."

"That's true," I agreed, but in my mind I knew a replica wouldn't be nearly as good as the real deal.

I thought our town was small until we made the exit and Springwood came into view. I'd say it was cozy if it wasn't so barren. How many people actually still lived here? We made our way from the gas station and garage near the border and in toward the business district. The setup seemed like something from the historic side of a tourist town that had been built a century ago and never really updated. Most of the buildings appeared empty as well as several being boarded up. The only places with any sort of activity were the diner, straight out of an eighties film and what I only knew was the museum due to the large banner out front which read Going out of Business!

It was easy to find parking along the row and Dylan took a spot about halfway between our target and the restaurant. We then walked to the museum, which was less grand than the name it boasted: Henry's Hall of Hate. I couldn't say it wasn't an interesting title, but I was curious as to what made someone open up a crime-centered display in such an odd location. Perhaps there was a time when traffic was heavier due to the Freddy legends. However, it had been over sixty years since Freddy's human death and by the looks of my own research, there hadn't been much fuss about him in at least a couple decades.

Inside the building, there were four other people. Two men discussing what looked like an old diary, a third man studying a machete in a glass display, and a woman just inside the store's window who looked either easily distracted or paranoid. In addition to them, another, middle-aged man in business attire began approaching us with a smile.

"Welcome, my friends!" his arms came out in a large, boastful gesture, "What is it that brings you to my little emporium today?"

"Henry Meyers?" Dylan asked the curious man.

"That is indeed me," the owner grinned with a slight bow.

"I'm Dylan Mochery," my friend introduced. "I was the one who asked you about the glove?"

"Oh right, yes," Henry hummed, his eyes flashing over to me as he offered a hand, "You must be Fredriara. How apropos."

I shook his hand awkwardly, glancing over to Dylan who shot me a smug look, obviously proud of the alias he had created for me, "Yes, that's me."

"Well, you've come just in time! I've already had another young woman inquire to it," Henry informed us. "but I'm a man of my word! Please, come this way."

This guy was quite the theatric type... He guided us back behind the counter and away from the main room to what I guessed had recently been part of his tour as there were still empty displays and old posters about. Bending over behind one of these tables, he carefully retrieved a lock-box and set it atop before entering the code. Lifting the top and spinning it around for us to see, he continued his show, "This is quite a piece of humanity's hateful history. I assume you are aware of the stories?"

Ignoring the callback to his own alliterated tagline, I let my gaze fall to the glove in the box, "I am. I've actually written several papers on Fred Krueger and the legends of him."

"Oh how interesting of you," the man remarked, "The glove comes with a written certificate of authenticity, created by the investigators on the Springwood Slasher case and officially stamped by the courts."

"Has there been any restorations to it?" I asked. I didn't really care about that, I just wanted to know.

"There has. You'll see," Henry picked up the glove, flipping it over to show it in detail, "That it has been cleaned and restored. Obviously, the police were obligated to remove all organic substances from it before it could be released. Blood, skin and the like, in favor of a healthy environment. However, there has been no damage to the glove since then. The only alteration was when a previous owner sharpened the blades."

I nodded. Dylan had already said the glove had been briefly owned by another...fan, but fell to Henry's family after that person had committed suicide. It had been sitting in the museum ever since. "Three hundred was the agreed price?" I asked.

"Indeed it was," Henry affirmed.

As I pulled out the money that I still felt somewhat guilty for taking, my heart skipped a bit. Holy shit, I owned Freddy Krueger's glove! What even was I going to do with this thing? I didn't know and I didn't care. It was awesome and it was mine. I handed over the cash and Henry took it, subtly shifting the bills to be sure it was all there as he put the weapon back inside the container and lifted the whole thing.

"Well, I can't let you have my lock box, but come back up front and I'll get something for you to carry it safely home in," the owner smiled as he took the glove under one arm and slid the money in the pocket of his suit with the other.

We followed him and waited patiently as he set the box on the counter before bending once more to retrieve a cardboard box and bubble wrap, "I'm sorry, ma'am," he called suddenly, "It seems the deal went through."

I hadn't really been paying attention when we re-entered the lobby, but saw then that the woman from before was still standing in the corner and she had her eyes on us. While the owner's words to her were polite, they didn't have the same warmth behind them as they had when speaking to us. This, along with her just standing by like that, and the previous glimpse I had gotten of her made it seem that she was pretty shifty. So she was the one that had asked about the glove? And she'd just been hanging around since? How long had she been there?

She didn't change her stance when he spoke to her and when my gaze was back on Henry, I saw him roll his eyes before speaking more quietly to us, "I was hoping she'd leave upon knowing the purchase was made. She's been here since I opened and insisted on waiting to make sure nobody beat her to the glove if you didn't show."

"It's ten. How long ago did you open?" Dylan asked.

"Seven thirty," the man sighed as he continued wrapping the weapon. "I hadn't kicked her out in case you didn't make it as well, even though she's made it clear she has interest in nothing else. But," he looked up long enough to confirm the woman was still there, "You kids be careful. I don't know if she's dangerous or anything. Never seen her around. I'll walk over and grab her attention...give a last pitch for the other items while you two make yourself scarce, yes?"

We both nodded and I thanked him as I took the box, though to be honest, I really didn't want to just disappear. I had wanted to at least look at the rest of the memorabilia and get a bite at the diner before we started filming. Guess we could always come back. It wasn't like she was just going to leave and start searching the town for us, was it? Giving a friendly farewell as we turned and left, I slipped one hand away from the box I was holding and clutched onto the knife in my pocket as we passed the woman on our way out.

Henry's voice boomed behind us, my head twitching instinctively to glance backward. I hadn't expected his 'grabbing her attention' to have been literal. However, when I saw that her eyes had been glued to us and she stepped after the moment we opened the door, the owner had actually taken hold of her wrist, casually playing off the inappropriate touch by beaming brightly as he let her go and continued with his theatre-like gestures and descriptions of the marvelous items he still had for sale.

It appeared his plan had worked because we were able to get out of the museum and into the car where Dylan immediately revved the engine and took off down the road, without even seeing her leave the building. What a nice guy. I'm sure it wasn't necessary, but it was certainly an extremely considerate thing for him to do. As Dylan sped down the road, he began to take random turns this way and that. It took me a minute to realize he wasn't following a map.

"What are you doing?" I inquired.

"Just in case she is some sort of psycho, I'm making sure she doesn't simply follow the way we left and find us," he answered, taking yet another side road before slowing down.

"Yeah, I suppose better safe than sorry, though I doubt she'd cause a problem," I shrugged. "Besides, if we can take those princesses from school, like you say, I'm sure one cracked out lady wouldn't be any different."

The driver laughed, "You saw that too? Christ, she couldn't have been what, twenty-five? Years have not been kind to her."

"I'm not for body-shaming," I agreed, "but she definitely looked too thin...like sickly. You only see people looking like that with some serious problems."

"Anyway, want to hit up the factory first, then make our way back to the school and Elm Street? Maybe she'll have given up by then," my friend suggested.

"Sounds good," I cranked the music and leaned back.

The rest of the town was just as dead and it didn't take us long to reach the outskirts of it, tearing into the gravel lane that led to the old power plant where Fred Krueger had worked. We had been talking about making a Youtube channel for the longest and when we finally decided to do stuff on the occult and other similar things like exploring abandoned places, I had, of course, suggested our debut video be about Freddy. 

With this topic, we already could do two separate videos. One would be telling the story and the other would be exploring where he worked though we had to tell the Aldermans that we would be careful and we'd only enter if it was open and there weren't any No Trespassing signs. Apparently, there is a loophole where you can technically go in abandoned property if it isn't posted that you're not allowed, and you're not breaking in.

My mom didn't know about the project considering we rarely talked and even if she did happen to be against it, I'd do it anyway. Dylan's parents, on the other hand, I respected so it was nice to have their approval. Anyway, after seeing Springwood, it looked like we may be able to find several other abandoned or creepy places. At the very least could do a video about how much of a ghost town it was.

"Wow. It's not exactly what I had pictured," I was the first to stick my head out of the window when we parked.

"Well, I mean, it's an old power plant. They're not usually too big," Dylan explained as he turned around and grabbed his camera case out of the back seat, "The largest parts are the smoke stacks, but it looks like they've been demolished. Probably for safety reasons or something."

I popped my door open and stepped out toward the building, quickly making my way to its doors. Damn it. They were boarded up. "Dylan!" I shouted, "Bring that hammer!"

"What?" I heard his mumbled voice call back.

"BRING-" I spun on my heels to yell louder, instantly shutting up upon seeing another car pulling into the area. What are the odds?

I skipped away from my spot, rushing to Dylan's side as the vehicle came to a stop beside us. My friend just then managed to pull himself out of his Mustang the rest of the way to stand beside me, both of us staring at the newcomer. It wasn't a cop or sheriff. The car was plain, old, and even though the windows had no tint to them, we didn't register that it was the woman from the museum until she had flung her door open and began getting out.

So she was a psycho. What kind of adult stalks teenagers like this? My thoughts collected on Freddy. Okay, that type of person, but still... And this was over Freddy's glove? Someone was more obsessed than I was. It didn't look like she was holding anything and her clothes were simple, not giving the vibe of anyone undercover or having a concealed weapon. Even so, my hand once again was on the knife in my pocket, readying to pull it out if the stranger tried something.