BURRRRRRIIIIIINGGGG!!!!

I awoke to the all-too familiar ring of the rooster alarm clock sitting on my nightstand. I had had it since I was very young. It had belonged to my grandmother, but I admired it so much growing up that she ended up giving it to me one year for my birthday. I remember being so thrilled and so proud to have it. It hadn't even been the 'nicest' or most expensive gift I had received that year, yet still, over ten years later, it meant more to me than the other presents I had mostly even forgotten what they were.

She had passed away since then. After grandpa had died from cancer that had gone untreated for too long because he was stubborn and hated doctors, she had found it really difficult to do much of anything. She tried to stay cheerful when I was around, but even being so little, I knew she had changed. Back in those days, it seemed back in those days, I didn't really worry about being the weirdo and I think it was because of her. She had been a bit of a black sheep herself, or so I gathered. She was the one person I ever felt truly loved me no matter how strange I turned out to be. I guess it was after she died that I begun caring... I didn't have that safe space anymore. Even my mother's unkind behaviour toward me about being different than the person she thought I should be seemed to increase. Maybe she had changed too when her parents slowly died...

The brief moment of happiness concerning my clock's past was quickly stripped away by these new thoughts, taking my smile and leaving me with my usual somber demeanor. I pushed myself into a seated position, not remembering the dream I had had until the bending of my stomach caused a burning sensation on its skin...the feeling of fresh cuts.

"Ow," the whine was under my breath as I took the blankets off my legs. "Shit," I muttered at seeing what I'd uncovered.

My nightgown was shredded and four bloodied gashes stretched from my chest to the bottom of my abdomen. The skin around the wounds had crusty, drying blood around them. I put my fingertips onto the cuts and could feel there was still some moisture there. I was still bleeding, though just barely. I started piecing back the events that had taken place during my slumber.

"Shit!" I said more loudly as I jumped up and ran to shut and lock my bedroom door.

I stood there, staring at my body in the mirror that hung on the back of the door, one hand cupping my mouth as my eyes widened in full realization that this was reality. I dropped that hand only long enough for both palms to reach my head, stretching back my forehead and pulling on my hair. What the fuck? This...was happening...actually happening. What...

"Jesus Christ..." I breathed...

"Francine?" the voice along with the sound of the doorknob in front of me rattling startled me, causing me to gasp. "Are you alright?" my mom asked.

"Yes! Yes, mom, I'm fine," my voice was oddly high and no doubt suspicious, "I'm fine; I'm just getting dressed." I said, my attention leaving her again to return to my injured flesh. 

As I ran my fingers across the wounds, pressing their tips into the crimson indentations, the woman began to speak again, "Well, honey, please don't lock your door. At least not for a while. You know I'm very nervous the two of us being here alone... Especially with all that's going on."

The doorknob was rattling again.

Rolling my eyes, I skipped over to the closet behind the door and grabbed a sundress and throwing it over me. It barely concealed my destroyed clothes and the gashes, but it was the best I could do at the moment. I returned to the door and unlocked it or else she would get angry at me. I smiled at my mom as she casually entered and pulled me into a hug. Fortunately, I was somewhat used to this type of pain so I didn't flinch as she pressed against me.

"Are you sure you feel like going to school today?" she asked, letting me out of the abnormal embrace and placing her hands in a clasp of faux-worry in front of her chest.

"Uh," I began, flustered, "Yeah, I'll be fine. I need to be there for Phil and the others."

"Yeah?" she repeated in a mock tone with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, ma'am," I corrected, careful not to show any annoyance at having to do so.

She smiled then, patting me on my shoulder and turning back toward the hall, "Straight home after school, ok?" she spoke adamantly, stopping to rest her hand on my door handle as she waited for a proper answer.

"Yes ma'am," I nodded fervently.

She promptly left and, trying not to be too obvious, I stepped quickly after in order to once again close and lock the door. I rapidly tore off the dress, noticing that it now had a couple of spots of blood on the inside. Likewise, I stripped from my night clothes and gazed upon my injuries in the mirror one more time before turning my attention to the gown in my hand.

So, he was real?

Shifting the nightgown from one hand to the other, I inspected my fingernails. They were perfectly clean and unbroken, nothing underneath them, and no blood except for where I had at first felt the wet spots on my stomach. I rubbed them together, then rubbed my eyes before giving them another once over and trying to properly assess the situation. I walked back toward my bed, pulling the blanket and sheet up, looking under it, and then examining each on their own. Outside of a few spots of blood, they were fine. Taking a closer look around the bed, I saw no knives, loose wires, sticks...nothing that could have been the explained the attack.

Still putting it all together as I ran through the dream again in my head, I stuffed my gown into my book bag so that it was hidden and then found fresh undergarments along with a black sweater and flowing black skirt out of my closet. I gave one last look in the mirror before dressing. As the initial confusion and shock of the experience was fading, I found myself admiring this dream man's handiwork. The bright red and even the dark bits where the blood was drying, colored my flawless white skin in a morbid yet beautiful manner. The gashes themselves portrayed much better the frustrations I had often tried to get out in the scrapes I had made myself in secret places along my body. I could never risk mother knowing that I self-harmed. She'd beat me or have me locked away for sure...

I probably should have showered that morning before leaving, but I wasn't used to doing so until after school so I hadn't really the extra time. I did, however, want something to eat... Mom was downstairs in the kitchen already...I could smell the eggs. I took a breath, confident that no distress was showing and let myself out of the room, pacing down the hallway and trotting downstairs. As I came around the banister at the end of the stairs and hopped into the kitchen, the older woman pulled out a chair where a plate of eggs and toast sat waiting for me.

In her presence once more though, I began feeling anxious to be on my own again... So even though I was hungry and loved eggs, I only strolled by the table and grabbed the toast. Mom opened her mouth to protest, but fortunately I was quick witted enough when it came to her that I simply said, "I'm not that hungry," with a smile, instantly adding, "Besides, you should eat something too."

I said it with a small, side-hug and a knowing wink. She had gotten in a habit of neglecting to eat. I first noticed it after the divorce and it gradually got worse until lack of nutrition showed in her decreased weight. I was certain she wouldn't argue, taking the act as kindness and concern for her. She loved to focus on her and play the victim. Even so, I didn't wait for an answer before jumping through the screen door at the back of the nook and waving goodbye as I shoved the toast into my mouth.

Skipping down the street in a hurry to distance myself from the home, I couldn't help but reach my hand down to my stomach to feel what I could of the wounds beneath my clothes. I should have been terrified. If this Freddy guy in my dream was Springwood's killer, then I'd soon be tortured and killed, judging by the patterns with the other kids. And yet...these thoughts not only made me happy...they excited me.

Halfway down the street, I remembered Phillip. I didn't really know if he would be at school though he most likely would be, so even though I always walked by myself, I doubled back and made the turn toward his house.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:: Chapter originally written 10/21/2015
Chapter rewritten 10/27/2017