Note: This article was originally published in Post Mortem Magazine #4. This is the article as submitted at the time. I thought it appropriate to post it given that the new Nightmare on Elm Street flick hits theatres on April 30. I’m looking forward to checking it out.
Never Sleep Again: When Darkness Awakes the Mind
by A.P. Fuchs
“One, two, Freddy’s coming for you . . .”
Who can forget that chilling opening line to Freddy Krueger’s nursery rhyme? Even to this day the unsettling picture of two young girls playing jump rope and singing that tune in those high-pitched, lilty voices still sends shivers up my spine.
I have a confession: I never saw A Nightmare on Elm Street and its sequels until I was nineteen years old. I know, a crime. But one of the main reasons was quite simple: Mom and Dad said no. They didn’t want the scenes and images from that film to invade my head, scare me and, inevitably, lead to nightmares. I can’t blame them. I’m a father myself and if I knew something might disturb my son, I’d probably tell him he can’t read that book or see that movie either. Fortunately my son’s eight months old as I write this so I don’t have to worry about that yet.
Because I wasn’t allowed to see Freddy, that didn’t mean I still didn’t get a chance to catch a glimpse of him. When I was in grade three or four, talk of Freddy Krueger filled the playground. All the “cool” kids would come to school and state how they stayed up late and watched Krueger hack people to bits either on TV or on video. I’ll admit I was intrigued, but not to the point where I had to see Freddy in action. Being raised Catholic, it was something I never had an interest in. Horror was not allowed in our home and, as a result, my exposure to it was so limited that it might as well not have existed at all.
Then one day someone had brought a picture of Freddy to school. It may have been from a magazine or even the VHS box itself. Either way, I finally got to see the man everyone talked so much about, got to see his burnt skin, bubbled and peeling, the ratty fedora, the famous red-and-black-striped shirt, and, of course, the thing that made Freddy Freddy—his glove, the blades protruding at odd angles, rusty and coated with blood.
And so the nightmare began.
“Three, four, better lock your door . . .”
I couldn’t shake the image of Freddy from my mind and, it’s safe to say, his creepy visage spooked me even more than your average kid because, like I said, horror wasn’t allowed in our home. Freddy was my first true exposure to the dark side of humanity, to the idea of murder, to the concept that—all childhood bumps and cuts aside—blood can flow outside the human body and not just flow, but burst forth in great crimson waves.
As much as I tried to lock the door of my mind against Freddy’s face, he stood there prominently in my thoughts, begging to have a go at me. At night, in the supposed safety of my bed, I got to meet Freddy for the first time. The main thing I remember from that nightmare was—having some foreknowledge from a secret source that Freddy attacked you while you slept and invaded your dreams somehow—I had to try my best to keep myself awake. I remember, in my dream, being in bed, the lights out, the door closed, the only hint of light a small sliver of illumination from the crack beneath my bedroom door to where a light was on in the hall. If I knew one thing for certain in my dream, it was that I was alone. Then outside my bedroom door I heard the front door to the landing open and I knew, I just knew, it was Freddy coming for me. I bolted from my bed and ran across the hall, in my right peripheral noticing the shadow of a man with a hat, who had long fingers splayed out from a hand attached to an arm that was poised at an odd angle at his side. I burst through my parents’ bedroom door, closed it fast behind me and, sure enough, they weren’t there. Their bed had been slept in and was unmade, but I had no idea where they could have been. Downstairs, maybe, but I doubted it. Footsteps ascended the stairs and I couldn’t help but sense Freddy was in my room. Knowing full well that my parents’ bedroom was where he’d look next, I tore out of there, bounded down the stairs and streaked across the living room to the front landing…and I was out the front door.
I was free.
The next thing I knew I was at the neighbor’s across the street, standing with a faceless individual, someone you know in your dreams but have no idea who they are in real life. I remember looking across the bay we lived on and our driveway was filled with cop cars, red and blue lights flashing. Police carefully made their way to the front door, guns drawn. Then Freddy appeared behind the outside door, glove ready. When he opened the door, he looked right at me.
Beating him wasn’t an option. His gaze told me so. There was nothing I could do. He moved past the cop and…
“Five, six, grab your crucifix . . .”
I awoke with a jolt, my heart racing faster than the Flash. I called for my mom or dad and, thank goodness, they came to comfort me. I told them what happened and they reminded me that I had been dreaming but because of God, I was protected from scary images and nightmarish creatures. It was the right thing to say to a young boy who was in hysterics over the man with the razorblade hand.
“Seven, eight, gonna stay up late . . .”
Freddy visited me several times over the next few years and one of the subsequent nightmares I had was an almost play-by-play of the first nightmare that still ravaged my mind and made me look twice under the bed before falling asleep. After all, Freddy was still out there. He and I never had a final showdown in my dreams.
There were times when I was terrified to fall asleep, all because of the haunting image I saw of Freddy Krueger at school. It goes to show that even the mere idea of something sinister can play into our fears and emotions and turn our whole world upside down. And being a kid who was obsessed with make-believe and daydreaming and concocting different adventures where I was Superman, having Freddy as a personal villain became even easier for me to entertain and accept.
“Nine, ten, never sleep again.”
As mentioned, I never saw the Nightmare on Elm Street films until I was nineteen and truly discovered horror as a genre for the first time. But I tell you this, being able to watch those movies as an adult, with an adult’s mind and true knowledge it was all pretend, made it much easier, especially since most of the those movies carried the trademarked B-horror cheesiness that made them great and, at times, laughable.
Freddy was the first to really nail me hard on what horror was and if you asked me about what had been my worst nightmare(s) ever, the one with Freddy would be one of two big ones that come instantly to mind.
It’s been a long time since I’ve dreamed of Freddy, probably fifteen years. But I do wonder if he’s still out there, waiting until the time is right, to come for me again.
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26th Aug 10
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