73-74

*Chapter 73: Nightmare*

With his brows tightly furrowed, Agent Zhou withdrew his gaze from the sheriff and shook his head at Amanda.

He hadn't seen any signs of deception on the sheriff's face.

This meant that if everything the sheriff said was true, then what had occurred in Springwood was no longer a case of a vengeful spirit as they had previously suspected.

Instead, it was the work of a malevolent ghost seeking lives.

“I need all the files from that case twenty years ago,” Amanda said in a low voice, glancing at the bloodied corpse of the child lying on the bed before turning to the sheriff.

“That case is two decades old,” the sheriff replied, his face showing signs of hesitation. “The town’s police archive has been reorganized several times since then. I can’t guarantee that all the materials from that time are still intact.”

“Then find every scrap of information you can,” Amanda commanded firmly.

“Yes, ma’am,” the sheriff said, nodding after holding Amanda’s gaze for a few seconds.

---

“Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die…’”

Descending from the room where the deceased lay, Amanda and her team entered the living room. The air was filled with the sound of prayer.

An elderly priest stood with a Bible in one hand, praying over Dick’s mother. As the priest recited verses, the grieving woman clasped her hands together, her expression a mix of sorrow and what seemed like relief.

“Dick’s mother is a devout believer,” the sheriff explained, noticing Amanda’s questioning look. “Her family attends church every weekend.”

Hearing this, Amanda glanced again at the priest consoling the grieving mother, then stepped forward to ask, “Ma’am, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

Dick’s mother instinctively looked at the priest beside her, who gave her a gentle nod.

“Of course,” she replied, suppressing her grief and gesturing for Amanda to sit.

---

Plunk!

The sound of a stone plunging into water echoed faintly.

Nancy opened her eyes.

She found herself standing at the entrance of a dimly lit tunnel, dressed in her pajamas. Water dripped from cracks in the tunnel ceiling, forming puddles on the damp ground. The coldness of the wet tunnel floor seeped through her bare feet, sending chills up her spine.

Behind her, the tunnel’s entrance was obscured by blinding white light. Deep within, a voice whispered to her, urging her not to turn back.

Guided by this inexplicable inner voice, Nancy began to walk deeper into the tunnel.

Her bare feet slapped against the wet ground, the sound echoing unnervingly in the quiet, hollow space.

Drip.

A droplet of water fell from the ceiling, landing coldly on Nancy’s face.

Wiping the moisture from her cheek, Nancy pressed forward into the darkness.

Seconds, minutes, or maybe even hours passed. Time seemed to lose meaning as she moved through the dimly lit tunnel, its faint glow her only guide.

Water droplets continued to fall from the cracks above, drenching her thin pajamas. At first, she tried to brush the moisture off, but as the drips grew more frequent, she gave up the effort.

The dampness soaked her entirely, the icy chill permeating her body. Hugging her arms tightly to herself, Nancy gritted her teeth and trudged onward.

Finally, she stopped.

A peculiar wall blocked the tunnel’s end, its surface marred by an old, weathered door with a faint glow seeping through its glass pane.

“Why is there a door in the middle of a tunnel?” Nancy wondered.

Her thoughts swirled with confusion, yet her hand moved on its own, reaching for the door’s handle.

Creak.

The handle turned with an ear-piercing squeak, and as the door swung open, a wave of intense heat enveloped her.

The oppressive cold vanished as the warmth consumed her. Nancy lowered her tightly crossed arms and lifted her head to see what lay beyond.

A vast iron foundry.

Steam pipes crisscrossed the space, expelling bursts of scalding vapor. The sweltering heat made the environment unbearably oppressive. Standing on the hot ground, Nancy's confusion grew. Nothing before her made sense, yet some part of her mind seemed to accept this absurdity.

Drawn forward by an inexplicable urge, she ignored the inconsistencies and continued walking deeper into the factory.

Clang! 

A sharp, metallic screech echoed as claws raked across the surface of a steam pipe, sending plumes of vapor into the air.

In the shadows, a bony figure dressed in a tattered brown fedora and a red-and-green striped sweater darted out of sight.

Nancy instinctively turned toward the loud hiss of steam behind her but saw nothing in the empty space.

The unsettling noise quickened her heartbeat. Urgency gripped her, and she began to run.

Navigating through the labyrinth of pipes, she found herself dodging jets of steam at every turn. Each burst of vapor intensified the oppressive heat.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Nancy froze when she looked down at her arm—blood streaked across her skin.

“Blood? Where did this blood come from?” she muttered in terror.

Glancing at her soaked pajamas, she realized the once-white fabric was now stained crimson.

Reaching out to touch her chest, her fingers came away wet with blood. Panic filled her eyes as she pieced together the horrifying truth.

“The liquid dripping in the tunnel—it wasn’t water. It was blood!”

Horrified, Nancy looked around the factory. Fragmented memories began to flood her mind. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She should have been home, on Elm Street.

“I love your new pajamas. They remind me of the ‘good times,’” a raspy, sinister voice hissed behind her.

Before Nancy could react, sharp metal claws slashed across her cheek.

---

(End of Chapter)  

Chapter 74: Terror

"Ah!"

A terrified scream escaped her lips as Nancy woke up in bed.

Looking around at the familiar surroundings of her room, the fear on her face eased slightly.

However, as she reached up to touch her cheek, she noticed something unsettling.

Lowering her head, she stared at the bright red blood staining her fingertips and felt the faint sting on her cheek. The fear she had momentarily suppressed resurfaced with a vengeance.

"Are you okay, Nancy?"

The door to her room creaked open, and her mother stepped in, her face filled with concern as she looked at Nancy sitting up in bed.

"I had a nightmare, Mom."

Hearing her mother's question, Nancy quickly wiped the small wound on her face, trying to steady herself as she responded.

"A nightmare?"

Her mother approached the bed, sitting beside her. Gently stroking Nancy's cheek, she gazed at her daughter's still-frightened expression.

"Was your nightmare like this?"

With a sudden shift in her tone, her mother reached up and peeled away the skin of her face, revealing a hideously scarred visage. At the same time, the hand caressing Nancy's cheek transformed into sharp iron claws.

"Ahhh!"

Nancy's long-repressed terror exploded at the sight of her mother’s sudden transformation. She opened her mouth and let out a piercing scream.

Meanwhile, Freddy, standing before her, grinned. He savored the sound of her screams, his scarred lips pulling back into a grotesque smile as he unleashed a chilling laugh.

"Nancy, Nancy..."

Elm Street, at home.

Nancy's mother stood by her bed, shaking her daughter's arm and calling out to her as she screamed in her sleep.

"Good times never last long."

In the nightmare, Freddy noticed Nancy beginning to stir awake.

He released the iron claw from her face and stepped back to enjoy the sight of her writhing in terror on her bed.

"But that's okay because I've already reserved a special place for you, Nancy."

"You're too delicious a soul to devour all at once. I can’t wait for our next date in the dream world. Of course, it’ll be another nightmare."

Freddy removed his brown fedora, revealing his bald, scarred scalp. With a mock display of "gentlemanly" courtesy, he bid Nancy farewell.

Then, without warning, he used his iron claw to slash his own throat.

The blade glided effortlessly across his neck like a knife through butter, severing his head.

Blood spurted from Freddy's neck, drenching the ceiling.

"Hahahaha..."

As his severed head spun through the air, it continued to laugh maniacally.

...

"Nancy, Nancy..."

"Ah!"

Back in her room, Nancy awoke with another scream.

She looked at her familiar surroundings, but there was no relief in her heart.

Glancing at her mother, whose face was filled with worry, Nancy's mind involuntarily replayed the nightmare. She scrambled off the bed and curled into a corner, trembling violently.

"He’s found me. Freddy’s found me..."

...

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever. Amen."

Elm Street, an old church.

Dim light fell on the church’s cross, casting a long shadow.

Under the cross, a priest held a Bible, praying fervently.

Screeech—  

Screeech—screeech—  

The piercing sound echoing through the church interrupted his prayer.

The priest glanced at his Bible, crossed himself with a trembling hand, and rose to his feet. His heavy steps led him to a hidden corner of the church, where a rusty iron door stood, locked tightly.

His gaze fell on the corroded padlock, a flicker of hesitation crossing his cloudy eyes.

The grating sound, like nails scraping a chalkboard, grew louder, replacing doubt with resolve in his expression.

Click!  

Reaching into his pocket, the priest pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock.

With great effort, the rusty padlock creaked open.

Squeak—  

Removing the padlock, the priest crossed himself again, muttering a prayer before pushing open the door.

A wave of decay hit him as the door creaked open.

Beyond the door lay a dilapidated courtyard, overgrown with wild grass. The once-visible path had long since disappeared beneath the weeds. In the center stood a blackened, rotting tree, its trunk decayed into a crumbling mess of dark soil. Bugs writhed in its hollow crevices.

The priest's gaze bypassed the overgrown chaos and fixed on the far corner of the courtyard—on a dry, abandoned well.

...

"It seems the sheriff wasn’t lying."

The next day, at the town police station.

Agent Zhou reviewed the old case file from twenty years ago, his face grim.

"This Freddy really was a deranged monster."

Though the case files were incomplete due to the passage of time, the testimonies of the victims' parents and scattered evidence painted a horrifying picture of a demon hiding in human skin.

Picking up the only photograph of Freddy in the file, Amanda stared at the grinning man in the red and green striped sweater and felt disgust rise in her chest.

"How could the court declare such a murderous psychopath innocent?"

"After the Simpson case, I’ve lost all faith in those so-called high-ranking judges."

The Simpson murder trial remains one of the most controversial scandals in American judicial history.

Although Simpson was financially ruined after the case, the lawyers who defended him gained fame and fortune.

Since then, every lawyer dreams of being the next big-name defense attorney.

The U.S. judicial system’s "better to let a thousand go free than convict one innocent" principle has become a weapon for the wealthy.

It’s also why federal police often opt to shoot suspects rather than risk legal battles with ruthless defense attorneys.

You might have the right to a lawyer, but only if you live long enough to use it.

---

(End of chapter)