I have no use for them, my eyes in the visual silence of the never ending darkness; I only know they are open because I can feel myself blink and the moisture coat the thin invisible layer of my cornea. I am running, but am I? My legs are going through the motion that tells my brain that I am, and my heart rate is accelerated, but I am not entirely sure if I am actually moving. I stop and look down at my feet and I am standing on nothing, an emptiness of darkness I can see nothing but black, yet my body is under a spotlight, a light as bright as a floodlit field, illuminating the smiling face a Paddington bear holding a jar of marmalade and the blues and grey of my argyle socks. I can reach out into the dark and see my outstretched arm and the hand that waves at the end, but it waves into a void of nothingness, there is nothing beyond it. I turn to look behind me and there is nothing there, there is nothing but endless black all around me. My ears twitch as I start to hear the faint sound of metal scraping on metal the high pitched sound cutting through the nothingness, the sound gets closer, and I step back from it, but there is no one there, I turn again, but did I? I’m not sure I actually did. The invisible sound is upon me creeping closer and closer, my skin becomes reptilian as it is covered in goose bumps. I move my legs one after the other as fast as I can to get away, but I can’t escape the sound; it is right behind me now.
One, two he is coming for you, the gentle vibrations of vocal cords of a choir of girl’s voices, but where from? I look behind me, and there is nothing there, the sound is all around me, why can’t I see anyone? I look left then right, up and then down. One two he is coming for you; the singing is coming from every direction as it echoes amongst the dark. I recognise the voices, I have heard them before, and I have heard them sing this rhyme before, but where from, why do I know them lyrics? I search deep in the back of my mind to find it. My heart went white and skipped a beat as I realise, an explosion in my throat as I was about to scream out, I gasp as if a vacuum has sucked all the oxygen from my lungs. I know who is behind me now. The scraping is right on my heel, cutting in to my eardrum and I think I can feel his icy breath biting at the back of my neck, my shoulders shrug up to my ears and a shudder races down my spine. I look over my right shoulder, there is no one there, but I can feel his breath now on my face. My legs feel like they’re going to give way as I run, run as fast as my legs will allow, I ignore the pain in my hips and pelvis, pressure starting to build in my knees with each pounding step as it lands on nothing! Three four better lock your door; I see it! I see light sketching the edge of a door as it penetrates the dark. Can I reach it before the sound catches me, before he catches me? Five, six you’d better run quick! their angelic voice trail off to laughter. I reach out for it, but it remains just inches away, my finger tips can feel the smooth sphere of the door handle, but I can’t take hold of it and they slip off. My feet lose momentum as I reach out again but it is too far away now and I can’t seem to get any closer. I could feel the fabric of my pyjama top being cut and I stretch out my arm, the pain in my joints as they are about to break but I can't get it, I can’t get to the light.
I become submissive to the light as I was now standing in the hallway, the sound had stopped, and the singing girls have gone quite. My eyebrows meet in the middle as I wonder to how I got here. How did I escape from the darkness to the safety of the light? I take a look around the room examining every corner. Shock makes me take a step back, the squelch of the wet carpet under my foot, I look down and the fibres are thick with crimson red, dark red blood bubbling under my weight. Who is it? Who is that man sitting there, the stillness of his legs out stretched in front on him bent over at the waist, he is wearing my pyjamas my Paddington bear pyjamas. I reach out to lift his head, the hand I see before me isn’t my hand, it can’t be my hand, this hand is cloaked in a glove, a ripped and torn brown leather working glove with five rusting razor sharp blades were the fingers should be. My eyebrows reach my hairline as I pull it back; I watch it as it comes to a rest at my side, my mouth hanging open. I heard the sound of cackling laughter behind me as the sound carried in the enclosed space, a laughter I have heard before. A torrent of blood started to descend down the walls, and I could feel it fill my boots, as it quickly became ankle deep, but these aren’t my boots. I wasn’t wearing boots.
The reflection in the window met my gaze and I am frozen solid, my heart no longer pumping blood around my stiffened body. The intense stare of the ghost like figure with black eyes stared through me, but it wasn’t me, the brown worn fedora hat and the horizontal red and brown strips of the jumper. I know the costume, this costume belongs to Freddie fucking Kruger, but its the face I see that scares me the most, the face isn’t my face or Freddie’s it is my Dads, and it staring back at me. The look of hatred in his eyes and the menacing smirk on his thin lips and then I realise that this is not my father looking back at me, but it is a reflection of me, my true self, that I am him, I will become him and this is the monster I would become.
I can’t recall much as my vision entered back in to the real world with a blur as my eyelids started to function, salty tears running over my cheeks and gathered in the corners of my mouth, as I started to come to, the vague recollection of Freddie Kruger in my dream like state of unconsciousness, as I left one horror for another and I was back in the hallway, the echoing sounds of my mum screams. The rotation of the earth under me as the room spun, my brain still foggy, the blurry vision of his fist striking her face. A hot searing pain from the crown of my skull, the orange glow from outside seemed to be magnified by the large pane of glass and was so intense as it burned my retinas; I could feel the cornea become dry as the moisture began to dissipate, the wetness being replaced by the feeling of gravel. When I had gained full control of my senses, I could see mum was standing just off to the right of me, she was coated in the harsh white light coming from the kitchen, both her arms out stretched waving her hands, desperation on her face, the shining surface of fresh blood had broken through the crust on her nose, a heavy stream of tears, one after the other as they rolled down her cheeks and followed the line of her neck. The blade like Freddie’s shinning and sharp, a weapon without kindness, this was an object designed for cutting through soft flesh and there it was across my throat, the tip on the blade just pointing past my ear, the cold steel pressed to the curve of my jaw line, his thumb taking position where an Adams apple would eventually develop. Maybe that is the reason for Freddie to be at the forefront of my mind, as I came face to face with evil.
There was two people growing up that I was scared of, the first being my dad I was scared stiff of that man, put there was one other person I was more scared of, and that was Freddie fucking Kruger, God I was petrified of him. I was five years old when he forced me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street, as he believed that I needed to toughen up. He couldn’t comprehend how his son, the son of Chris Hunter could be scared of the dark; being scared of anything was a foreign concept to him.
‘There is only one thing in this world you need to be scared of and the dark ain’t it’ he had said, and I looked up at him with enquiring eyes to this statement to what the one thing I should be scared of was. I didn’t have to wait long to find out. His eyes giving of no emotion as looked deep into my light blue irises and followed it with ‘it’s me’ the ease the words rolled of his tongue like he had been rehearsing it and the glint that was in his eyes, the way one side of his mouth cocked up, straight away I believed that I should be scared of him.
It was a Friday night back in 1985 and we had all just comeback from a good night at the Red lion, one of the few occasions he would take us all with him, again I think this was an attempt to portray the happy family image to the neighbors and his so called friends, just like the photos the adorned the staircase wall. He entered the pub in his usual manor like he was on an episode of Stars In Their Eyes, taking both brass handles of the heavy brown doors and pulling them toward him, a gust of pale blue cigarette smoke surrounding him before running up the outside wall and headed for the heavens, inside amongst the toxic fog was a breeze of buzzing voices. He flicked his head backwards, the stray black hairs hanging in front of his face shinning in the light as it swept over his shoulder and joined the rest, hanging half way down the back of his black Sabbath t-shirt that he had cut the sleeves off, showing of the tunnel like vein as it runs down over the peak of his biceps and the horse shoe shape of his triceps. He liked to show off his muscles, I think it was to prove how manly he was or to attract the wandering eye of the ladies. He always had to make a grand entrance, to make sure all eyes were on him as he walked in, the carpet grabbing at the heels of my trainers as we crossed the threshold, nicotine and the smoke filling the sponge like lining of my tiny lungs, bringing my hand to my mouth and letting out a little cough.
Me , mum, Alice and Eve took residence at a circular mahogany table, next to one of the large frosted glass windows, the top layer of paint flaking away on the window sill exposing the different colours that had been applied over the years. The thick rings of dried ale on the table, the centre piece was a square ashtray made from hard black plastic with the emblem of four red triangles, the over flowing of days old ash and faded orange of the fag ends sticking out like a hedgehog, the thin cardboard of the soggy beer mats, each advertising a different branded lager. We rested our backsides on the backless round stools the colour matching that of the table. He greeted everyone on his way to the bar, shaking hands with a few of them as he passed and exchanged pleasantries, kissing some of the woman on the cheek, there was something in the way he placed his hand just at the base of their spine, the way he would leave it there for a few seconds to long this seemingly innocent act appeared to make Mum uneasy, the way she clenched her hands into fists screwing up the top of her handbag, that she placed on top of the table next to the ashtray, the sound of leather squeaking under her grip.
He was drunk, but not overly drunk and he had been in a good mood all evening, buying drinks, letting me play Space Invaders on the shiny table top arcade machine, that was at the back of the pub just behind the pool table, my fingers became crooked hooks from being wrapped around the little joystick with the black sphere on the end, the hard plastic of the white causing the tips of my digits to be red and sore from eager button bashing, he even treated us to a coca cola instead of the usual bland near tasteless orange squash that was that watered down it could have passed for straight up water.
The smoke of the fag dancing from the orange flow of burning tobacco as it lay on the edge of the ashtray on the side of the pool table, the row of 50p pieces lined up along the cushion by the people who called next. The smoothness of the wood grain of the cue as I would try my best to line up my shot or when I would pretend to us it as a bow staff or sword and I would twirl it above my head and behind my back like a ninja, the swoosh sound as it cut through the air just missing my head, the blur of black and brown as it passed in front of my eyes. I can remember the feeling of being proud of myself after I had beaten him, or should I say he let me beat him, the big smile that was too big for my face, as he wrapped his big heavy arm around my shoulders and ruffled my short brown hair with his hand, telling me well done and that he would beat me next time, playing to his audience that had gathered, before giving me 20p and ushering me to the Space Invaders table, his gait purposeful as he headed off in the direction of the fruit machine next to the bar, putting his pint of top of it before slotting coin after coin into its hungry slot, the reel bands displaying lemons, oranges, stars and the number seven, rotating them to a blur, with the vocal less pop style music before they come to a sudden holt with three loud pings, the sound of a siren to indicate he had won followed by the sound of a machine gun as it spits out his winnings in the metal of the coin collector. Dad had shown me a trick that night with beer mats where you place one on the edge of the table and with the back of your hand using your finger tips you hit it so it flips in the air and then you try and catch it with the same hand, if you caught it then you would add another one on top each time. Mum seemed to be having a good time as well laughing, her body swaying in time with the music Alice was putting on, via the jukebox, her feet tapping away under the table. Half a lager and black sat in front of her, the glass fit perfectly on top of one of the dried rings on the table, the curve of her lips as she smiled which isn’t something you would see her do very often not in the pub at any rate, Alice would be up at the rocket vinyl jukebox, flicking through the vast array of seven inch black circular disc’s, the heel of her shoe dancing along matching the rhythm of Take On Me by A-Ha. Alice like dad had a passion for music, she could listen to anything from any genre, anything to fill silence, she didn’t like prolonged silence it creeped her out made her uncomfortable. If she wasn’t leaning up against the jukebox she would be sat by Mum’s side, her arm interlocked with Mums, her head resting on Mums shoulder. Eve was on the small square of the parquet style dance floor, twirling, trying her best to sing along with the music, making up words she didn’t know, or sliding on her belly across the dance floor, after taking a long run up, her arms out by her side like an aeroplane. We all left the pub that night happy and joyful. I don’t know what time it was when we left, but it was dark outside, the thick black clouds blocking out the white light of the moon making the sky darker than it should have been, not a single star could be seen, the orange of the street lamps lighting our way home like a landing strip for a plane. Mum and Mum hand in hand their fingers interlocked, striding down the pavement arms swinging high back and forth, Mum laughing, Alice and Eve were skipping behind them giggling.
When we got home Alice asked if she could stay up a little later and watch a film, dad had said yes but he was going to pick as he wasn’t going to watch the Goonies again. The Goonies was Alice’s favorite film. Mum said it was late and that me and Eve should go get ready for bed and that she was tired and she was going to go bed as well.
‘No Daniel can stay up’ his word slurred, with a disapproving expression she reluctantly agreed, she knew it was better not to antagonise him after he had been drinking.
‘Nothing violent’ she replied as she bent over to give me a gentle kiss goodnight on the cheek. He pulled her to him, lifting her on to her tip toes and they kissed, his hands mapping out her back, she stumbled backwards slightly as he let her go placing her had on the wall to steady herself, the skin on her cheeks reddened as she turned away with a smile. He watched her leave the room pulling the door closed behind her. He turned to me, and asked if I had heard of a gentleman by the name of Freddy Kruger as he bent down with the black block of a the pirated VHS tape in his left hand, the mouth of the hinged cassette cover opening as he started to push it in, the whirl of the machine as it sucked it into place. Alice stood up ‘I’ve heard of him, some of the older kids at school have seen it. I going to bed I’m not watching it’ she turned her head and looked down to me as I was sat on the sofa, my blanket resting on my lap, this was the first time I had thought about my blanket all night, it never occurred to me at the pub that I never had it with me.
‘Daniel you don’t need to watch it either, come on lets go bed’ she held out her right hand in the hopes of leading me away, my fingers had just brushed over the palm of her hand when I heard ‘he ain’t going nowhere if you want to go bed then go, but he is watching this with me’ he shoed her away.
I was happy that my father wanted to spend some one on one time with me. We had had a nice evening and now I was going to watch a film with him. He sat down on the faded cross crossing light and dark browns of the plaid sofa, the cushions had begun to fray around the edges and you could see the yellow of the sponge poking through, his big arm over the back of the cushion, I could feel it across the back of my cranium and I turned to him looking up with a shy warm smile, he pressed play. The white crackling snow storm effect on the screen lit up with colour on the twenty inch television that you had to put 50p in for it to work; a man would come round once a month and collect the treasure from the tin like box at the back. It sat on the mahogany corner unit opposite the kitchen door. The green and brown of the four raising porcelain Mallard ducks that look like they were flying up the wall from behind the television and were heading toward the brick built fire place, with the heavily varnish shelf that stood two polished silver plated picture frames, that contained black and white photos, one of Granded Jack standing tall in a flannel suit in front of a shop window, boxes of fruit and vegetables stacked along the wall in front of it. The name HUNTERS in big capital letters over his head and the other Granny Peg in her pinny standing behind a counter next to a till, they were my Dads parents; they passed when I was three. Mum told us that they owned a corner shop not too far away from where we lived. They owned it for thirty seven years right up until they were robbed at gun point. She said a man in a balaclava burst in just as Jack was locking up for the night, knocking him to the floor, when he tried to stand the man had kicked him in the stomach making him vomit, he was sixty one years old. Peg came out from the back room to see what all the fuss was about and the man ran round the counter and grabbed her putting the barrel of sawn of shot gun to her head and made your grandfather hand over all the money in the till and all the cigarette they had or he was going to blow her brains out all over the counter. They never went back in until they had to clear it out, Grandad had become withdrawn afterwards and the slightest noise scared him, the whole thing made him the shell of a man he once was. Two weeks later my Dad was arrested and charged with armed robbery, he was found guilty and spent the next four and half years in prison, he has always denied any involvement in the robbery, but Jack couldn’t face him again after his conviction or going back to the shop so they sold it and moved near the ocean.
From the very start of the movie, the heavy breathing of a unseen man that was in what looked like a work shop, to Tina Grey in her white night gown running through the dark boiler room, steam shooting up into the air from holes in the hot pipes as she was being chased by a disfigured man, I was scared, I drew my legs up from the floor, placing my chin onto my knees pulling my blanket to my face ‘we won’t be needing that’ he said and snatched it out of my hands.
The one scene that I always remember is the one just after that were Tina walks out into dark alley behind her house and there he was Freddie fucking Kruger a silhouette of a man in a fedora with what looked like knives for fingers, his arms stretched out like springs and he scrapes the blades on his glove along the wall sending sparks out as he chased Tina along the ally, the noise coming from the TV like finger nails on a blackboard, making me wince. Then I saw his face the disfigured, burnt flesh as he holds his gloved hand next to his face and chases her into her back garden and cuts his own fingers off with a smile. She is killed by an invisible force that slashes her across her stomach and drags her kicking and screaming body up the wall and along the ceiling of her bedroom leaving a thick blood trail behind her before her lifeless body is dropped to her blood soaked bed and she falls to the floor sending blood all over her boyfriend. Naturally I started to cry I mean who wouldn’t seeing a movie like that at that age? but instead of turning it off the following words rolled of his tongue ‘if you don’t stop crying I will give you something to cry about’ I was so scared of Freddy Kruger for years after seeing it and if anything it made me even more scared of the dark and I wouldn’t sleep properly either, I think that might be were my sleeping problems first began after that night being forced to endure the one hour and forty one minutes of that film.
It was worse when we holidayed in north Wales, we would always stop in the same bed and breakfast, I can’t remember the name just that it had a red door and a red awning over the big bay window, the window box made from clay that had been painted white, packed deep with soil and a rainbow of blossoming flowers. It was on a side street that was full of other bed and breakfasts and was maybe about hundred meters from the seafront. On the opposite side of the road on the corner stood this big imposing hotel, I could see the hotel from the room we would always stay in, at night it would be lit up from the light of the promenade on the opposite side of the road running along the sea front, and the orange cone of the street lights, the one in front of the crumbling stairs inviting the darkness as the bulb flickered. With it sandstone coloured walls, the dark red of the stone lintels above the windows and doors which most had been replaced with charcoal black scorch marks were the toxic talons of the hungry flames licked out at the brick work trying to consume it. The gaping black holes were the windows used to sit. At night I couldn’t stop looking into each visible black hole, watching to make sure he wasn’t watching me waiting for me to fall asleep. My heart would race when a car passed and its headlights lit up the walls on the inside making the blackness move from one side to the other, my young mind playing tricks that the walls were moving and the shadows were coming to get me. I was petrified of this shell of a building not because it was a burnt out old hotel no, it was because my old man had told me that that is where Freddie Kruger had died, that he had burnt to death in that very hotel and he lived in the burnt out carcass of what remained. I couldn’t even walk past it during the day without being scared that he was in there somewhere watching me waiting.