From jmpinc@rain.com Fri Nov 11 11:13:26 1994
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From: jmpinc@rain.com (J. M. Pinc)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Insomnia: Part 1 (X-Files/Elm Street Crossover)
Date: Fri, 11 Nov 1994 01:15:11 -0800
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   Well, here1s my first attempt at a fanfic, so be gentle with me. I1m an
unusually a finicky audience, so I1ve tried to make the plot as tight as I
possibly could, but there are bound to be holes (like I couldn1t find out,
for the life of me, where Springwood was supposed to be). For those, I
apologize in advance. If this one is favorably received, I was thinking of
doing an X-Files/Hellraiser Crossover. Send all comments, criticisms and
compliments about this story to jmpinc@rain.com. 
   Note: This takes place just before the ending of the first season.
Since I came into the X Files late in the season, I don1t know if this has
any episode conflicts. If so, just change the date to suit your needs 8-).
It also ignores the fourth and fifth Elm Street movies. Since Wes Craven
didn1t have anything to do with them, I1m gonna ignore them. More will be
forthcoming as I finish it, (hopefully by next week).
   Disclaimer: This story contains characters & situations from Ten /
Thirteen Production1s 3The X-Files and from New Line Cinema1s 3Nightmare
On Elm Street. Use of these characters & situations are not meant as a
copyright infringement, and is solely for entertainment purposes.

*                        *                        *  
                Insomnia: Part One

Friday, May 13, 1:23 A.M.
Springwood, California

   The night was very warm and beautiful, the promise of a summer filled
with many more such days hanging in the air. Nightlife, never very active
in Springwood, was at a lethargic low with the weekend still one day way.
An occasional barking dog and the song of crickets were the only noises
that could be heard. Most of the people in town had gone to bed long
before. Most . . . 
   Sam Doersch was pacing nervously in his room. The sounds of Metalica on
his walkman blasting in his ears had become a focus for him. He quietly
mumbled to himself over and over 3I can do this. I just gotta stay awake,
that1s all. A quiet, desperate mantra whose effectiveness was beginning
to fail.
   His legs were aching, his head throbbed dully with the pounding of his 
heart and his eyelids felt like sandpaper. He considered getting a cup of
coffee, but vetoed that idea almost immediately. The last cup had done
nothing except give him the shakes and nearly made him throw up. Caffeine
had lost it1s effectiveness, and he couldn1t get any speed until tomorrow.
Until morning, he was on his own.
   Sitting with his back against the headboard, Sam grabbed the remote
control and began to channel surf. Finally settling on an old Clint
Eastwood western, he tried to focus himself on the movie. He1d seen it a
few times before, but hopefully it could keep him occupied for a few
hours.
   He wasn1t aware that he almost nodded off until he jerked his head up
painfully to the sound of gunshots. Heart pounding in his head, Sam shook
his head sharply and slapped himself a few times. 3Sleep is bad Sambo, he
told himself. 3You wanna see eighteen, you gotta stay awake. Taking a
cigarette lighter, he ran the open flame across his wrist until the pain
kept him focused. The skin was red and tender, but at least it distracted
him from falling asleep. Satisfied, Sam went back to the movie.
   He blinked. Something was odd here. He didn1t remember this part of the
movie. Granted, he hadn1t seen it for a while, but he was sure that there
hadn1t been a gunfight in a blind canyon. 3Maybe they added some lost
footage or something. he thought. The gunfighter (he assumed it was
Eastwood) was creeping along the canyon walls, moving in on a wagon at the
bottom. What he didn1t see was the figure in the hat and black duster
coming up silently behind him.
   3Wow. This is pretty good. His six days of sleeplessness forgotten,
Sam watched the scene with rapt attention. The camera was fairly distant,
but he could see that the gunfighter wasn1t Eastwood at all. He couldn1t
quite place the actor from this distance, but he looked somehow familiar.
The dark figure behind him had almost closed the distance and was pulling
back his right arm, flashing metal in his hands. The camera flashed a
close up of the gunfighter.
   It was Sam1s face staring back from the TV. 3Oh God. No. he whispered.
Despair flashed across his young features as he turned, seeing the
horribly burnt visage of the figure standing above him. He screamed as he
saw the flash of metal descend toward him.
   Less than a minute later his parents were pounding on his door. When
they broke it down, all they saw was the poor mutilated figure on the bed
that used to be their son. That, and what coroners later identified as his
scalp, sitting on top of the television.
*                        *                        *  
Tuesday, May 16, 10:38 A.M.
FBI Headquarters  Washington, D.C.

   From the even the most mundane of  sources can something extraordinary
emerge, mused Fox Mulder. You just have to know where to look.
   Case in point: The file sitting in front of him at this very moment.
>From a quick glance, one would find it not too much different from any
other murder case. Violent death of a young man in a mid-sized California
town. No witnesses, no known motive, nothing to suggest that this was
anything more than a random killing. 
   Still, Mulder knew something hot when he heard it. The local sheriff
had called into the Bureau almost as soon as the body had been found. An
odd thing, considering most local law enforcement usually avoids calling
Feds. At least until all other options had been used. Granted, this was a
particularly gruesome example, but to cave in and ask for help this soon
was unusual. In the case of Springwood however, it would be
understandable. It had been nearly two decades since the Springwood
Slasher murders, but an incident like that isn1t easily forgotten, even if
you don1t have a photographic memory. Twenty children, all brutally
murdered tends to leave a mark on the country1s psyche.
   Scully had been called in to assist on an autopsy, so Mulder had a few
hours left to dig up something more on the town. A little background
before going in usually made things a bit smoother. 3One of the nice
things about being in the basement, he mumbled to himself. 3Close to the
Archives.
   When his partner finally returned around noon, she found Mulder deeply
engrossed in the Springwood Slasher file. 3A little light reading,
Mulder? A wry smile crossed her lips. 3Did the killer claim that he was
possessed by demons, or is this just morbid curiosity?
   3Nothing so exotic Scully. There1s been a murder in Springwood, and the
Sheriff feels that this could be a copycat slasher. He passed her the
current casefile. 3Judging by what I can see in this file, the possibility
does exist. With the exception of the age of the victim, the M.O. was very
similar to that of the original killer . . .  
   3Fred Kruger. she finished, glancing through the thick folder she
held. 3Apparently he was never convicted of the crimes. Got off on a
technicality. She handed it back with a raised eyebrow. 3Do you think he
could be doing it again?
   Mulder laughed slightly. 3Unlikely, seeing as he was burned to death by
a mob shortly after the trial. Justice is both swift and terrible.
   3I1m not one to encourage vigilanteism, but I think their reaction was
understandable, under the circumstances. Scully replied. 3That man had a
lot of innocent blood on his hands, and there1s no telling how much more
would have been shed if he hadn1t been stopped.
   3And it looks like more may be spilled, or at least that1s what the
Sheriff seems to think. He asked the Bureau to send someone to do a
psychological profile.
   3Do they need a pathologist?
   He smiled. 3Actually, they did request one. Seems that theirs is on
vacation. Stuffing both files into his briefcase, Mulder pulled on his
jacket. 3Care to take a trip to northern California, Scully?
   With a small bow and an 3after you gesture, Scully grabbed her own
briefcase and followed her partner out the door. 
*                        *                        *  

Wednesday, May 17  9:30 A.M.
Springwood, California

   Fox Mulder and Dana Scully flashed their badges at the officer guarding
the police line and were ushered in anxiously. This had been the third
murder in less than a week and Sheriff1s Department was no closer to
finding a suspect. A lot of hope was riding on the two Federal agents.
   3Special Agents Mulder & Scully? The man before them extended his
hand. 3I1m Sheriff Michael Bordin. I1m glad you1re finally here. People
are starting to get edgy.  Sheriff Bordin was somewhere in his late
thirties or early forties. His black hair, greying at the temples, topped
a slightly paunchy 61 frame. Although no longer young the Sheriff still
looked like a man who knew how to handle himself in a fight. At that
moment, his face wore a look of concern.
   Mulder shook the offered hand. 3We1d have been here sooner, but our
flight was delayed and we missed our connection in Texas.
   Dana turned her attention toward the house. 3Have they moved the body yet?
   3No ma1am. The Sheriff gestured to the upper left-hand bedroom. 3The
corpse is still there. We figured we should wait for you before we moved
her.
   Somber, the three walked through the door. A tearful couple in the
living room, presumably the victim's parents, had just been questioned by
one of the officers. Mulder leaned over to his partner. 3You want to talk
to the parents or look at the body?
   Scully pulled out her gloves and moved toward the stairs. 3You1re the
psychologist Mulder. I1ll take a look at the body.
   Mulder sighed. He was not fond of having to talk to grieving parents.
It struck too close to home. Pushing his own memories aside for the
moment, he kneeled on one leg in front of the couple. 3Mr. and Mrs.
Kachanski? I1m Special Agent Fox Mulder, with the FBI. I know this is
difficult for you right now, but I1d need to ask a few questions.
   They were amazingly polite, all things considered. Fox did his best to
keep the questions brief and to the point. To their knowledge, their
daughter Cindy was well liked. She had broken up with a boyfriend a few
months ago, but the parting had been amicable, and the two had still been
friends. Her grades were average, she wasn1t on drugs and she had her
share of emotional problems; in short, she was a regular teenager.
   3Please Mr. Mulder. Mr. Kachanski said, holding his sobbing wife.
3Please help them find the man who did this to our little girl. Find him
and punish him. 
   Fox nodded sympathetically. He knew what they were feeling. When
Samantha had been abducted all those years ago, this scene had been played
out in his own living room. It had been his parents being questioned. His
parents trying to be brave and strong while their world crumbled around
them. Fox1d had to deal with his pain alone, his parents silent
accusation,  why didn1t you save her? 1 shutting him out from their
comfort. The Kachanski1s had it easier in a way; they knew their daughter
was dead. They could grieve, and maybe get on with their lives, the burden
of hope mercifully removed.
   Dana came down the stairs a few moments later, a strange look on her
face. Her partner looked at her quizzically. Her response was a silent  we
need to talk1. Excusing  himself, Mulder went over to her. 3What1s up?
   3This is very odd, Mulder. I only had time to take a quick look, but
it1s very unusual. Looking over her shoulders quickly, making sure the
parents weren1t within immediate hearing distance. 3She was strangled with
her phone cord and then mangled. Judging by the shape and angle of the
incisions, my guess would be several blades spaced about two or three
inches apart. I doubt that she died quickly, or painlessly.
   3You saw the Slasher file. Does this look similar?
   She shook her head. 3I don1t know yet. The phone cord is a new element
of course, but I1ll have to wait until I do the autopsy to be sure about
the wounds. I should know better then.
   3Excuse me Agents, the Sheriff had come up behind them quietly. 3I
need to talk to you about this situation. He looked very uncomfortable.
3It1s gonna sound unusual, but I think it1s relevant to the case. Nodding
toward the door, the Sheriff moved to leave the house. Exchanging curious
looks, the two Special Agents followed him.
   The Sheriff was waiting for them on the front yard. 3What I am about to
tell you is strictly confidential, and although I understand you have to
put in on your record, I would appreciate that you don1t mention it while
you1re in town. He looked at them, waiting for confirmation. Taking their
nod as consent, he continued.
   3This isn1t the first time there have been strange deaths in
Springwood. It started about  ten years ago, when I was a deputy at the
time, so I wasn1t really in a position to be able to do anything. It
started with a fifteen year old girl who lived on this street. Her parents
were out that evening, and she1d had some friends over, including her
boyfriend. The reports said that they1d been fighting, and when she turned
up dead, he was the most obvious suspect. The Sheriff shook his head.
3The room was covered in blood, pretty much like you saw in there. The
weird thing was that it wasn1t just the walls and floors. The *ceiling*
had trails on it, like someone1d dragged her across it. We caught the
boyfriend the next day, but he kept saying he didn1t do it. Funny thing is
. . .  I believed him. He was a punk kid, but he didn1t have it in him to
do what I saw that room. He said that he couldn1t see whoever did it. 
   3As far as Sheriff Thompson was concerned, we had our man. I didn1t
think it quite fit, but who was I to go against the boss? Shortly after
that, he hung himself in his jail cell. The Sheriff1s daughter walked in
with him just as the boy died. From what she had said, it looked like the
boy had been struggling against the sheet he used to hang himself.
   Mulder interrupted. 3Was the Sheriff1s daughter also there when the
girl was killed?
   3Yeah. She and her boyfriend, some kid who lived across the street from
her. They had been there both times.
   3Hmm . . .  Mulder put a sunflower seed in his mouth, thoughtful.
3What was her name?
   3Nancy. Nancy Thompson
   A small look of surprise registered on Mulder1s face. 3Did any of these
kids complain of sleep disorders? Insomnia, bad dreams . . . 
   The Sheriff nodded. 3Y1know, now that you mention it, I do remember
hearing something about the kids having nightmares. Seemed to be a lot of
it going around at the time. Why do you ask?
   3Just a hunch, said Fox. 3Anyway, go on.
   3Well, shortly after that happened, Nancy1s boyfriend was killed. It
looked like someone had torn his body to shreds, literally. He didn1t have
much more than an inch of meat on his bones, and the blood . . .  he
shuddered. 3I don1t think any of us ever forgot it.
   3We were just about to leave the crime scene when Nancy starts
screaming from across the street that the killer was in her house. She
somehow managed to set him on fire, but he escaped through an upstairs
window. We never did catch the guy who did it. Anyway, a couple days
later, her mom died in her sleep. Nancy was never the same after that. She
was committed to a psychiatric hospital for two years. Once she got out of
there, she went to college and we didn1t hear from her until she came back
to work at the same institution she1d been committed to.
   3Another, similar incident happened four years later. I was on vacation
at the time, so I didn1t actually *see* it, but apparently almost ten kids
were killed. It was the same psycho from before, because witnesses said
that he was badly burnt. We didn1t get much out of most of the kids who
saw him. He went on a killing spree at a party and most of them were
pretty shook up.
   3Two years later, a bunch of kids up at the hospital started dying. It
was supposedly suicide, but according to Nancy, who was working at the
hospital at the time, the kids were being killed. She got dismissed from
the hospital staff when one of the kids went into a coma. Apparently,
Nancy and her father both died trying to bring him out of it. I don1t know
any of the details, since no one involved wanted to talk about it. Even
when it was happening, the Sheriff wouldn1t do anything.
   Sheriff Bordin sighed. 3That1s why I called you when the first kid
turned up dead. We never did catch whoever killed those kids. I don1t know
what Sheriff Thompson was trying to hide, and frankly, I don1t give a
damn. He was a good man, and did a lot of good for this community. If it
got out that he may have been somehow involved in all these deaths, it
would ruin his reputation. I respected the man too much to let that
happen.
   3What you1ve told us will only be seen by our superiors. Dana
reassured him. 3You have our word on that.
   Mulder had a look of deep concentration on his face. 3I1ll be right
back. he muttered. Turning, he ran back into the house. He reemerged a
moment later.
   3Thank you for telling us this Sheriff. Scully said. 3If you remember
anything else, let us know as soon as possible. She handed him a card.
3That1s my cellular number there. If we1re not at the hotel, give me a
call on that.
   The Sheriff put the card into the pocket of his jacket. 3Like I said
Agent Scully, I want to catch this guy.
   3We1ll meet you in the morgue in about an hour Sheriff said Mulder.
3We need to check on a few things before we perform the autopsy. He was
quiet heading back to the car, handing the keys to Dana as the reached the
rented Taurus. 
   3What was all that about? she asked. 3You recognized the name of the
Sheriff1s daughter, I caught that much. Who is she?
   Her partner was quiet for a moment. Almost reluctantly, he said 3Nancy
Thompson was a psychologist. I1d read some of her work before. It was
brilliant stuff. Her specialty was dreams. More accurately, serial
nightmares.
   3So what was that about you going back to the house?
   3I had to ask her parents something. he said tersely.
   Dana tried to keep her patience, 3And that was . . .  
   There was silence for a minute. Scully was about to repeat the question
when Mulder finally spoke. 3I asked them if she1d been suffering from
nightmares.

*                        *                        *  

   3 . . . although dreams may be viewed as the mind1s way of processing
the day1s information, the fact remains that they tap into a deep and
powerful part of the collective unconscious. By dreaming, we create and
reinforce ancient pathways. All the monsters, heros and myths; all of them
are empowered by our dreams. Whether you look upon it as a metaphor, or as
painful and dangerous reality, dreams shape our day to day reality, and
through that, all of us. . .
   Mulder set aside the Xeroxed sheets, rubbing his tired eyes. Through
bleary eyes, he saw the small travel alarm staring back at him, displaying
the unforgivingly late hour of 2:30 ack emma. 3Make that 5:30, he moaned.
3Joy1s of jet lag.
   He didn1t begrudge the missed sleep. Much. After he and Scully had left
the Kachanski1s, Mulder thought it would be a good idea to check into the
research of the late Nancy Thomas. Dana had known better than to argue
with him when he had that look. Fortunately, he remembered the exact
issues of _Psychology Review_ her work had been in. All total, there were
maybe 150 pages she1d published, plus thirty or forty she1d been a
research assistant on. Xeroxing the lot of them had been time consuming to
say the least, but he couldn1t dismiss the feeling that the information
was important. On the drive to the morgue, Mulder buried himself in the
reams of paper they1d copied. He was lost in thought by the time they
arrived at the police station.
   The preliminary autopsy wasn1t particularly revealing. More or less, it
confirmed that the three teens had been killed by four razor-like objects
approximately 5 inches long and 2 inches apart. Whoever did it was strong,
stronger than average judging by the length and depth of the cuts. One
strange anomaly; there was no metallic residue in any of the wounds, even
on the bones, which had been noticeably damaged by the incisions. What
this meant, neither of them had any idea. The rest of the exam had been
fairly routine, and until the results from the toxicological came back,
the most that they could do was go over the evidence the police had found.
That, and search the writings of Nancy Thompson for a clue into the mind
of their killer.
   3 . . . question is, can the human mind stand against the mythic
archetype? An example could be called simply,  The Boogie Man1. He goes by
many names in different cultures, but the image is always the same; a
horror who stalks the innocent when they are vulnerable. Every race has a
Boogie Man, and every race has a story about those who can outfight,
outsmart or otherwise beat this monster. But the monster always returns.
How can we, a single dreamer in a single generation overcome the strength
of an age-old creature? Or, in more familiar terms, how can we give the
patient the tools he or she needs to cure themselves? Perhaps the key lies
in helping the patient identify with another myth, something that has more
power in their mind than the nightmare image. This defensive myth could be
many things; religion has often provided people with a shield from night
terrors. A talisman, like the dream catchers of the Native American tribes
or . . .
   Shaking his head as he set the article down, Mulder moved toward his
inviting bed. It had been close to twenty-four hours since he had slept,
and devotion to duty could only go so far. With his last bit of energy,
Fox reached over and turned out the lights.

   3Leave it buttmunch! Fox growled. 3Mom said I was in charge while they
were out, and I want to watch _The Magician_.
   Samantha managed to pout and while remaining adorable, a skill she had
mastered in spite of her short eight years. He suddenly felt rush of
warmth toward this little brat standing in front of him, and he had to
fight the urge to hug her and hold her tight. It1s difficult to win an
argument when you1re hugging your opponent.
   The feeling of dread built up inside him. He didn1t know why, but he
was afraid for her. Something bad was going to happen. Part of him
screamed to get out of there, to get away,  to take Samantha somewhere
safe, but he was helpless. He spoke his part miserably, wishing to God
above for it to be different this time.
   Samantha stopped speaking, and for a moment Fox cringed inside waiting
for the light. But, for once, his prayers were answered. Samantha turned
and started walking toward the front door, a dreamlike look on her face.
For a moment, Fox was paralyzed. This had never happened before! This was
different! Shaking off his shock, Fox ran after his sister into the
nighttime streets of their neighborhood . . . 
   Only something was wrong. This wasn1t his neighborhood. And it was
daylight. Mulder looked down at himself and saw he was an adult, wearing
his standard suit, tie and trench coat. Confused, he looked around for his
sister.
   She was half a block away, skipping rope with a vacant expression on
her face. Mulder walked toward her in slow motion as she jumped. As he got
closer, she began speaking in a strange, eerie singsong. 3One . . .  two .
. .  Freddie1s coming for you . . .
   Mulder kneeled in front of his sister. Something was wrong with her! He
couldn1t understand what, but she seemed to be in some sort of trance-like
state. Oblivious to him, Samantha continued her rhyme. 3Three . . . four .
. . better lock your door . . . five . . . six . . . grab your crucifix .
. .
   He was scared now. Mulder didn1t understand what was going on, but he
knew that a very real fear was creeping into his guts. She was building
toward something, but he didn't1 know what. 3Samantha, he quietly spoke.
3Please wake up Sam.
   3Seven . . . eight . . . better stay up late . . .
   Swallowing his mounting terror, Fox reached out for his sibling. As he
touched her cold arm, she looked into his eyes for the first time. He felt
a cold dagger of terror.
   3Nine . . . ten . . . never sleep again . . .

   Mulder sat up in his hotel bed, his sheets soaked with sweat and his
hands trembling. He took a few deep breaths and looked over at his
portable clock; 5:47 a.m. He dragged himself into the bathroom to take a
much needed shower. In spite of the early hour, he didn't think he1d be
going back to sleep again anytime soon. At least not tonight.

*                        *                       
*                                                      --
3I1ve been looking for a savior in these dirty streets
  Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
  I1ve been rasing up my hands (Drive another nail in)
  Got enough guilt to start my own religion.
  Why do we cruicfy ourselves? - Tori Amos _Crucify_

-- 
       "You do it, I'm bitter" - Crow T. Robot, MST3K
                       jmpinc@rain.com
           jmpinc@technical.powells.portland.or.us

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From: jmpinc@rain.com (J. M. Pinc)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: REPOST: Insomnia Pt 2 (Elm Street/X Files Crossover)
Date: Thu, 01 Dec 1994 23:01:52 -0800
Organization: Tir nA nOg
Lines: 477
Message-ID: <jmpinc-0112942301520001@joepinc.rain.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: joepinc.rain.com

Well, here's my first attempt at a fanfic, so be gentle with me. I've
tried to make the plot as tight as I possibly could, but there are bound
to be holes (like I couldn't find out, for the life of me, where
Springwood was supposed to be). For those, I apologize in advance. Send
all comments, criticisms and compliments about this story to
jmpinc@rain.com. 
	Note: This takes place before the ending of the first season. It also
ignores the fourth and fifth Elm Street movies. Since Wes Craven didn't
have anything to do with them, I'm gonna ignore them. Hopefuly, the third
part will be done by next week, although it may take longer depending how
much I have to do in the Big Room.
	Disclaimer: This story contains characters & situations from Ten /
Thirteen Production's "The X-Files" and from New Line Cinema's "Nightmare
On Elm Street". Use of these characters & situations are not meant as a
copyright infringement, and is solely for entertainment purposes.

*                                  *                                  *

                                      Insomnia: Part Two

Friday, May 19  8:59 A.M.
Springwood Sheriff's Office

	"You look terrible Mulder," Scully stated bluntly. "Did you sleep at all?"
	Mulder looked up from the casefile he'd been trying to scan for the last
ten minutes. An ironic smile crossed his lips. "I slept. I got . . ." His
expression went blank for a moment. ". . . close to an hour and a half of
sleep last night. Isn't that enough?"
	His partner stared at him for a moment, unbelieving. "You mean to tell me
you've only gotten four hours of sleep in the past forty-eight hours?"
	"More or less. Is that a problem?"
	"Only if you care about maintaining you sanity, such as it is." Scully
shook her head. "You're not doing yourself, or this case, and favors by
working yourself to exhaustion."
	Mulder emptied his coffee cup with a last quick gulp. "It's nothing to
worry about Scully. I've never been one to sleep very soundly, you know
that. I've just been having a few bad dreams." He shrugged. "It's nothing
important. It usually passes in a few days." For a while, anyway.
	Dana looked at him doubtfully. "If you say so Mulder." Changing the
subject, she turned her attention to the ringing fax machine. "With luck,
that should be the toxicological. The central lab in San Francisco said
they could have the preliminaries to us today."
	Mulder went to get another cup of coffee while Scully waited for the
report to print. It took an effort of will on his part to keep his mind
from wandering. Sleep deprivation was no stranger to him, although the
reasons behind his loss of sleep had never left him feeling so drained.
He'd had nightmares in the past. With some of the things he'd seen . . .
well, nightmares were inevitable. But something about these dreams seemed
different . . .
	Sighing, he poured himself another cup and dropped in three cubes. He was
just letting this case get to him, that's all. Poking around the head of a
depraved killer was enough to make anyone loose sleep. Especially this
one. There seemed to be no reason for his utter brutality. No excuse,
except sheer sadistic pleasure. There had been no new deaths yesterday,
but Mulder could tell that it would only be a matter of time. The bastard
took too much pleasure in his 'art' to stop now, that much was clear. Each
death was orchestrated with a certain style, a certain creativity. In each
case the body had the same razor cuts with the same pattern. One had been
scalped and dismembered. The next one had been electrocuted with his
electric guitar. And then Cindy, who had been strangled before her body
had been mutilated. Morbid curiosity gave him cause to wonder what was
coming next.
	Returning to the office, Mulder ran into one of the deputies hurrying out
the door. "Excuse me sir. I know that this is a bit irregular, but I was
told that you're a psychiatrist?"
	"Psychologist, but that's close enough." He answered warily. "Why?"
	"Well, we have a jumper at the local high school. Our people and the
councilors at the school have been trying to talk him down for the last
hour, but so far no one's had any luck. I was hoping since you were here,
and that you might have had experience with this sort of thing . . ." The
Deputy looked at him expectantly.
	Mulder was all business. "Let me tell my partner what is happening. I'll
meet you out front." Without looking back, he ran to the office space
they'd been given. "Scully, they've got a student at  the high school
who's ready to jump. They asked me to try and talk him down."
	Grabbing her jacket, headed out the office door. "We need to talk to the
kids classmates anyway, so I might as well go along too. You may need a
doctor."
	Without a further word the two of them got into the waiting squad car.
The Deputy turned on the siren and they sped through the morning traffic.
Although most of his training had been in abnormal psychology, Mulder had
been forced to learn how to talk down a jumper 'on the job' as it were.
Fortunately, he'd been successful in the past. Hopefully that trend would
continue.
	Quickly, Mulder ran to the Officer in charge on the scene to get an
overview of the situation. No one knows how the kid had gotten up there,
since all the doors and fire exits to the roof were locked. He'd made it
perfectly clear that anyone that came too close to him and he would jump.
He seemed serious, and so far no one had been able to make any progress.
Fox hoped he could change the situation. Heading up the steps, he made his
way to the rooftop.
	"Clear the area." were the first words he said as he reached the roof.
"He's probably very nervous right now and the last thing we want to do is
scare him." With reluctance, the few remaining people returned to the
building, leaving Mulder alone with the kid.
	Joey McIntyre, he reminded himself. A young man with obviously serious
problems. "Joey?" Mulder called out. "Joey? My name is Fox Mulder. I'm
here to help you." Slowly, he started walking toward the jumper.
	"Stay away!" Joey screamed. The Special Agent stopped in his tracks.
Carefully, he told himself. Carefully, this kid is walking on eggshells
right now.
	Mulder had gotten close enough to take a good look at Joey. Probably
around fifteen or sixteen. His shoulder length brown hair was unkept and
his face wore a mask of hysteria. Judging by the glazed look in his eyes,
the boy was probably on something, although what, he couldn't be sure. His
face was gaunt and his eyes were sunk into their sockets. In short, he
looked like Hell.
	"I'm not going to hurt you Joey. I just want to help you. Let me help you."
	The McIntyre boy looked at him, anger flashing across his face. "Help
me?!? How can you help me?!? You can't stop him! No one can!" Tears
started pouring down his cheeks. "He's going to kill me just like he did
the others. He told me; I'm next."
	Seeing an opportunity, Mulder pulled out his badge. "Joey? Look at me."
The boy looked up at him hopelessly. "I'm with the F.B.I. We can protect
you from him. We'll catch him. I promise you."
	Shaking his head, Joey's voice became very quiet. "You can't protect me.
No one can protect me. He's waiting for me, and when I come he's going to
kill me. Just like the others." His voice dropped to barely more than a
whisper. "One . . . two . . . Freddy's coming for you . . ."
	Mulder froze. The feelings from his dreams of the past few nights hit him
like a sledgehammer. "What did you just say?" 
	Something in the Agent's voice cut through the boy's haze of fear.
Looking up, he continued a bit louder. "Three . . . four . . . better lock
your door . . ." A small glimmer of hope shone in his eyes.
	"Nine . . . ten . . . never sleep again." finished Mulder. "What does
that mean? Where did you hear that?"
	"In my dreams. Just before He came. Almost two weeks ago" The boy sat on
the ledge of the roof. "When He started coming . . . I stopped sleeping.
But I'm falling asleep, and when I do, he's going to kill me, just like
the others. Kill me and steal my soul."
	"You knew Sam and Jack and Cindy?" asked Mulder.
	"You see," Joey continued, oblivious to the interruption. "We just
thought it was a nightmare at first. But then Sam died, and we knew it was
real. That He was real."
	Mulder felt a chill along his spine. "Who is 'He' Joey?"
	The boy looked up, exhaustion radiating from him. "The burnt man with the
green and red sweater. The one with razors for fingers and a funny brown
hat. His name is Freddy." Faintly, Joey whispered. "And now he's coming
for me." Curling up into a ball on the rooftop floor, the boy began to
sob.
	Pity for this poor terrified boy filled his heart. Mulder walked over to
him and picked Joey up and began to carry him away from the ledge. He got
halfway across the rooftop when the boy jerked sharply in his arms.
	Stumbling, Mulder dropped the boy onto the rooftop. With surprising
agility, Joey rolled across the rooftop and pulled himself back to a
standing position. When he looked up, he saw the wide-eyed look of terror
on the boy's face. "HELP ME!!" he screamed hysterically. Fox reached out
to grab him. 
	Joey's hand flashed out and slammed Mulder across the rooftop into the
stair access door. Stunned, he watched as the boy seemed to struggle
against his own body, each step toward the roof ledge stiff and
mechanical. For a moment, it almost looked like a digitized computer
graphic had superimposed itself on Joey's body. Mulder felt the door
behind him open and several police came onto the rooftop as the helpless
teen walked toward the building's edge. Reaching out to them, the boy
stood on the ledge with his back turned toward the empty fall below. Pure
impotent fear implored Mulder, begging for help. That was when Joey
McIntyre began to fly.
	Mulder could have sworn that he saw the boy soar into the air at least
ten feet before he fell, screaming all the way down to the hard,
unforgiving ground. He was also sure that he heard a throaty laugh on the
wind just as Joey had flown up into the air. And as the body landed with a
sickening 'thud', Mulder was sure he had heard the scraping of a blade
against steel.
*                                                     
*                                                      * 

	The deputy and his two passengers rode back to the station in silence.
Interviews with the friends of the dead teens had only confirmed what
Mulder had suspected: every one of them had been suffering from
nightmares. With each student they talked to, Mulder's suspicions were
confirmed, and the sinking feeling in his stomach grew. Yes, they had
dreamed about someone trying to kill them. Yes, they had been avoiding
sleep for days. Including Joey. Everyone he and Scully had talked to told
him something he didn't want to know. That each and every one of the dead
kids had been afflicted with the same nightmares that he had been having
since he came to Springwood. What that meant, he was afraid to guess.
	Added to that, Mulder also was sure that they were under surveillance. A
few times while he had been questioning one of the students, he was sure
he caught the glint of a camera lens from a building across the street. He
even saw what he was sure was a man in black across the campus, moving
into an alleyway. Fox hoped that lack of sleep was just making him
paranoid, but he was afraid that somehow, such was not the case.
	"Agent Scully?" One of the deputies ran up to them. "Those faxes you were
expecting from San Francisco are here."
	Thanking the officer politely, the two agents moved toward their
temporary office, report in hand. Mulder already had a theory, but held
off judgement until hearing the lab findings. Although nothing had been
'normal' about these deaths, he still held out hope that these deaths had
been caused by a natural, albeit disturbed, mind. Still, after examining
the crime scenes and the bodies, he had the sneaking suspicion that these
deaths were more than just a 'tribute' to the Springwood Slasher murders.
The M.O. wasn't just similar. It was the same, down to the cut angles and
their brutal efficiency. From the sick sort of 'creativity' the killer
displayed with each homicide, he was afraid that this wasn't just some
copycat.
	Scully scanned the report while Mulder sorted through the Slasher file
again. The Springwood Sheriff's department had not released much in the
way of information about the Slasher murders to the press, hoping to avoid
any possibility of a copycat. It was not public knowledge that Fred Kruger
had a preferred tool for his work; a metal glove with razor-tipped
fingers. Even after his trial and death, the authorities felt it unwise to
reveal that fact to the public. And yet in each death, with the exception
of Joey McIntyre earlier today, the body had displayed razor marks, in
four evenly spaced slashes. Unless one of the police who had been involved
in the Kruger case was the killer, he would need to have some inside
source to know how to duplicate the wounds exactly. Perhaps even first
hand experience?
	"Mulder, take a look at this," Scully faced the pages toward  him. "Each
one of these kids had been ingesting massive doses of stimulants. Judging
by the level of caffeine, amphetamines and biotoxins in their
bloodstreams, I'd have to guess that they hadn't slept in close to a
week." She shook her head incredulous. "This is insane! That level of
sleep deprivation is extremely harmful. Why on earth would they do that to
themselves, in spite of nightmares?"
	Her partner was silent for a moment. Staring at his steepled fingers, he
finaly spoke. "I have a theory about that. . ."  She gave him a patient
look, waiting for him to continue. "Every one of these kids were suffering
from bad dreams on a regular basis. I talked to some of their friends, and
I saw a pattern in the dreams. In each case, they had no communication
with each tother, yet they dreamt about the same person. Someone who
wanted to kill them. A few nights of this, and they gave up sleep until
they were killed."
	"Or, in the case of the McIntyre boy, committed suicide." Scully said,
flinching slightly. Although Mulder seemed to be handling the boys death
well, she wasn't sure if he blamed himself. Oddly enough, it didn't even
seem to phase him.
	"I'm not sure that Joey's death was suicide."
	Dana looked at her partner, slightly confused. Mulder was not one prone
to denial. "What do you mean? You were there. You saw him jump. He slammed
you against the wall before he jummped, as you recall. The witnesses say
that he was hysterical, and when they tried to reach for him, he jummped.
Case closed."
	"His behavior didn't fit that profile. His movements were too controlled,
almost mechanically precise. I've dealt with hysteria before Scully.
People do not move like robots when they loose control." Mulder shook his
head. "And he didn't try and jump until after I'd picked him up. When he'd
fallen asleep."
	"So what are you saying Mulder?"
	"Just this: Every one of those kids were avoiding sleep like it was
poison." He picked up the fax sheets off the desk. "Each and every one of
them had done whatever possible to avoid falling asleep. Some of them
hadn't slept in over a week!" Mulder glanced at one of the pages. "These
kids had dangerous amounts of amphetamines in their systems, Scully. Why?
Finals week? No. They were terrified of falling asleep."
	Scully was sceptical. "They had all been suffering from nightmares. . ."
	Mulder pressed on. "Over a week! Do you know what that does to the human
mind? Even in the most extreme case of night terrors has to give into
biology, Scully. The way these kids were avoiding sleep bordered on
fanatical. Or phobic, as if they were afraid that if they fell asleep,
they would die. Which they did."
	She couldn't believe what she was hearing.  "Are you saying that somehow
the fact that they fell asleep somehow contributed to their deaths?
Mulder, they were killed by a very sick human being, not the sandman. The
only reason falling asleep could have been dangerous is the obvious one:
That someone could sneak up on them." Archly, she said, "If they'd been
avoiding sleep for such an extended period of time, it's not that much of
a stretch to believe that someone managed to break into their bedrooms
without them noticing." 
	"That doesn't explain Joey, though. He told me that someone was trying to
kill  him, and if he fell asleep that he would die." Mulder looked sad for
a moment. "Well, that happened. He was screaming for help Scully. He
didn't want to jump. He *wanted* someone to talk him down, but no one
could understand what was happening to him."
	"And you do?"
	He paused for a few beats before proceeding very carefully. He wasn't
quite sure *he* believed what he was about to say. "Yes. I do. I believe
that somehow, something in the dreams of these kids is responsible for
their deaths. That somehow, by falling asleep, their killer can get to
them, murder them, and leave without a trace."
	She blinked. Although she trusted her partner implicitly, her patience
with his outlandish theories sometimes wore thin. "Mulder, that is
ridiculous! They were killed by a lunatic, not by the monster under the
bed. How can a dream kill someone?"
	"I don't know. But the fact remains that these deaths are hardly
natural." A tired note crept into his voice. "The kind of damage done to
those bodies takes time, Scully. You know that and I know that. And from
the first screams till the discovery of the bodies, there wasn't enough
time to perform that kind of mutilation. Even if there was, to be able to
do that *and* leave quickly and silently, leaving no trace whatsoever is
not humanly possible."
	"Maybe there's more than one. . ." she said uncertainly.
	"Serial killers work in groups rarely, if ever. And when they do, there's
usually a sign of it in the 'work'. These killings are all done by one
hand." He persisted. "Let's assume for a moment that there are two or more
killers. That still doesn't explain why there was no sign of a struggle,
nor any physical trace evidence. No metallic residue from the blades, no
fingerprints, no skin samples under the nails of the victims. Hell,
there's not even a single hair at any of the crime scene's that doesn't
belong there! We went over those places with a microscope, ditto on the
bodies."
	"Scully," Mulder said softly. "I know that this is hard to believe, but
you've got to. Because I'm going to need your help, and I need you to at
least entertain the possibility that I might be right if you're going to
be able do anything."
	She wasn't sure she liked what her partner was implying. 'Spooky' may
have been his nickname at the Academy, but Fox Mulder was never prone to
blatant insanity. Granted, some of his beliefs were questionable, but she
had seen enough in the time they'd been teamed up to at least give him a
benefit of the doubt. Scully was sure that there was a rational
explanation for what was happening, but she was willing to listen to what
he had to say, if only out of respect for a friend. Finally, she said
"What help do you need?"
	He could see the debate going on in her head. Mulder understood how this
must look, and wouldn't have been surprised if she'd called him nuts. The
fact that she trusted him enough to listen made him feel relived. "Joey
talked about his nightmare to me Scully. He started singing a nursery
rhyme that he'd heard in the dream. I heard the same rhyme in my dream the
first night we got here, and again last night."
	"So what does that mean? That you're going to be next?"
	Mulder sighed. "Right now, I don't really know. But just in case
something does happen tonight, I want you there with me when I go to
sleep, to keep an eye on me." He leered at her slightly. "Care to join me
in bed later Dr. Scully?"
	A wry smile crossed her face. "Since you're going to be sleeping, I don't
see why not. You should be harmless enough then."
	A dry chuckle escaped his throat. "Little does she suspect. . ."
	Rolling her eyes, Scully went back to the toxicological. Mulder's smile
faded as she looked away. He felt bad about not telling her all of it, but
he wanted to reserve judgement until he was certain about his theory.
Tonight he would know for sure if what he suspected was true: Fred Kruger
had cheated death and was killing again.
*                                                     
*                                                      * 

10:45 p.m.
Hillsgate Motel

	"So all you want me to do is wake you up if you start having a nightmare?"
	Mulder nodded in consent. "If I seem to be having anything other than a
normal dream, get me up, however you have to do it. And whatever you do .
. ."
	Dana smiled reassuringly. "'. . .don't fall asleep.' Got it."
	"Thanks for putting up with this, Scully." He slipped under the covers.
"I hope I'm wrong, even if it means that you miss a night of sleep for
nothing."
	"It won't be for nothing." she said, a wry look crossed her face. "Once
you wake up and nothing's  happened you'll see that not everything is an
X-File. Some monsters are of the garden variety human kind."
	Fox laughed. "I think I'd rather deal with the hobgoblins. At least you
don't have to go to trial. Usually."
	Picking up her copy of _Milagro Beanfield War_, Scully reached over and
turned out his bedside lamp. "Go to sleep Mulder. I'll be here if you need
me."


	He recognized several of the buildings he'd passed following the little
girl. I must be near the outskirts of town, he thought. He tried to
remember what had happened, but it was so hard to think.
	Mulder remembered being back on Elm Street, the old neglected house
looming behind him. There was a girl skipping rope just down the avenue. 
He called out "Samantha!" but she looked at him, laughed and ran away. It
felt like he'd been chasing her for hours, although he knew it could only
have been for a few minutes. The town isn't that big, he thought to
himself.
	The girl ran into an old burned out factory, with Mulder close on her
heels. He was sure the girl was Samantha! If only she'd stop and talk to
him instead of playing this game with him. He needed to warn her about . .
.  what? He paused to think and the girl ran into the shadows of the old
building. He followed close behind, darkness engulfing him.
	Slowing, Mulder moved into the blackness, choosing each step with care.
His ears strained to hear the footfalls of the little girl. From the sound
of it, she should only be a few yards ahead of him. He reached out to grab
her, but she laughed, evading his grasp.
	Fox could just make out a reddish light glowing a hundred feet or so in
front of him. He moved toward it carefully as possible, until he heard the
scream.
All concern for his own person left Mulder when he heard it. Reaching into
his jacket, he pulled out his 9mm and ran toward the cry.
	Mulder heard a fleshy ripping noise as he rounded the corner of the
boiler room. Just ahead of him,  he could make out a figure hunched over
something small and bloody. Reflex kicked in as he aimed his gun and
shouted "Federal Agent! Don't move!"
	The light was dim, but Mulder could easily make out the back of the man
standing in front of him. He was tall, even hunched over, dressed in a
green and red striped sweater and dirty brown hat. Slowly he turned
around, an evil grin on his face.
	Mulder gasped, taking an inadvertent step back. Nothing could have
prepared him for that visage. The flesh was burned, scarred tissue peeling
from the cheeks. Cold, sadistic eyes looked out from that face. Old evil.
Fox felt a jolt of sick terror and revulsion.
	"Hiya Foxxie. We've been waiting for you." He tossed the mutilated corpse
of the little girl at Mulder, laughing maniacally. Fox looked on in horror
as the face of his sister stared back at him from  the body on the boiler
room floor. Horror, and an insane anger that he hadn't known he possessed.
	"You killed her you bastard!" he screamed, raising his gun to unload his
clip into the face in front of him.
	Mulder never even saw him move. His gun was slapped out of his hand as a
hand grabbed him around the throat and slammed him against a boiler. "Awww
. . . what's the matter Foxxie? Did I piss you off?" The man raised his
right hand, steel claws flashing dull red in the firelight. A distant part
of Mulder's mind noted this, with satisfaction. This was indeed Freddy
Kruger.


	Scully noticed with gratification that her partner had fallen asleep
without event. She debated taking a nap, but decided that betraying
Mulder's trust, even on such a trivial matter, wouldn't be worth the
sleep. Sighing, she settled into her book.
	Nearly an hour had gone by before Scully looked up from her book to check
on Mulder. His eyes told her he had just entered R.E.M. sleep. Giving him
a quick once over, she made sure that his breathing was even and steady.
She had settled down again when she heard him gasp. Her debate whether or
not to wake him up lasted until he began to gasp for breath. That decided
her. Now was the time. Dana reached to shake him awake, noticing with a
start the beginnings of a large purple bruise on his neck.

	Stars began to swim in front of Mulder's eyes. Reflexively, he kicked out
at Freddy's knee, hoping to loosen his hold. A grunt of pain and a rush of
air told him he'd been successful.  He quickly followed up the kick with a
punch to the jaw as he reached for his handcuffs.
	Kruger jumped out of his reach at the last second. "Why Mulder, that's
not very nice of you. And after all the fun we had with Joey. Too bad he
ran out of quarters, eh?"
	Mulder circled Kruger warily, staying well clear of his blades. He'd seen
what they could do to human flesh, and had no desire to feel them
firsthand. Since he was unarmed, he looked around in desperation for some
kind of weapon to fend off his assailant. Noticing a metal pipe eight feet
away, he began to move toward it.
	Laughing, Kruger made a gesture with his bladed hand and the boiler next
to Mulder belched out a gout of flame. "What's the matter Foxxie? Getting
a little hot under the collar?" 
	The fire began to spread in a circle surrounding the two of them, sucking
the air and strength out of Mulder's body. His old pyrophobia paralyzed
him as he felt his trench coat begin to smoulder. Fighting down panic, he
frantically looked for a way out. But every time he thought he saw a hole
in the wall of flame, Freddy would make a gesture and the fire would leap
out at him.

	Scully had been shaking her partner for close to a minute with no effect.
Grim determination on her face, she slapped him across his face. When it
became apparent that was having no effect, she ran to the bathroom,
emptied out the plastic garbage bin and filled it in the bathtub. Running
back into the room, she looked at the bed with astonishment. Mulder, and
the bed around him, were beginning to smoke. "Wake up Mulder! Now!" She
dumped the bucket of water on top of him.

	"Wake up Mulder! Now!" He could see Dana through the flames, as an
opening in the conflagration appeared. Moving with speed born of terror,
he sprinted toward his partner.
	Freddy bellowed with rage, grabbing for Mulder's arm as he passed out of
the circle of fire, holding it in the open flames. Struggling against him,
Fox punched Kruger solid in the jaw and was rewarded with a searing pain
in his arm as the four blades cut him deeply. Slipping out of his
trenchcoat, he dove for the opening.

	Mulder sat up in bed, sputtering in shock as he awoke. Scully stood next
to the bed, looking concerned as she checked his pulse. "It's okay. You're
awake. You were having a bad dream, that's all." Soothingly she made to
dry him off with the towel she'd grabbed.
	"It wasn't just a bad dream Scully!" Mulder jumped out of bed. "I was
right! It is him! He was here!" Snatching the towel from her, he began to
wipe off the water and perspiration.
	"What are you talking about Mulder?" She looked at her partner in
confusion. "No one was here but us. You were starting to thrash around and
couldn't breathe so I dumped the water on you. Would you calm down?" She
seized him by the arm to make him stop pacing, causing him to gasp in
pain.
	Pulling up the sleeve of his sweatshirt gingerly, he exposed his burnt
left arm. "Explain to me how I got second and third degree burns on my
arm. And while you're at it," Turning it over he displayed four long
gashes. "Explain where these came from."
	Ignoring his last jibe, she went to her medical kit. "We're going to have
to take you to the hospital Mulder. I don't have anything to treat those
burns." Gently wrapping his arm in a gauze bandage, she looked in his
eyes. "I can't explain where these came from, but I'm sure that there has
to be a reasonable answer." The uncertainty and fear in her eyes told him
all he needed to know: She didn't believe a word she was saying.
*                                                     
*                                                      *

-- 
       "I've been looking for a savior in these dirty sheets
           Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
        I've been raising up my hands (Drive another nail in)
       Got enought guilt to start my own religion" - Tori Amos
      jmpinc@rain.com / jmpinc@techincal.powells.portland.or.us

