"How can you sit there and defend someone like that?" the girl yelled at me angrily.

"I wasn't defending him!" I shouted back, "I'm just saying that-"

"You like a guy that murders children in their sleep?" another girl scoffed.

My shoulders fell in defeat and I sighed. People like this would never understand so I refused to keep wasting effort by trying. The three girls that had approached me in the hall after the final bell rang did so for the sole purpose of pissing me off. They were all so self-absorbed and shallow-minded that they had nothing better to do than to annoy anyone they didn't like.

Jennifer, the group's leader had always been pretty disagreeable, but after failing cheerleader tryouts due to an injury she sustained during the previous year, it seemed she had gotten even more sour. The other two, her loyal henchmen Tabitha and Amy, weren't quite so bad unless Jen was around which just so happened to be most of the time. All three of them had been in the cheerleading squad every year until now when they gave in to their leader's demand that they should quit to be with her since she wasn't able to be part of the team.

I was surprised that they actually did it. I honestly figured they would do whatever they wanted without concern for anyone else yet here they were, missing practice. The fourth member of the posse who wasn't here had denied her friend's insistence not to join the cheerleaders and had actually been named captain in Jennifer's usual place. That had to hurt...

"Hey! Leave her alone," a new voice sounded and I turned my head to see that my best friend, Dylan, had walked up beside me.

"Whatever, you psycho freaks!" Jennifer spat before stomping off past us, each one of the girls deliberately hitting my shoulder as they left.

"Wow. They get bitchier by the day, don't they?" Dylan shook his head as we watched the trio trot out the doors of the school.

"Yeah. I really wish someone would take them down a few notches," I agreed.

"Why don't we do it?" the lanky boy who stood half a foot taller than me grinned. "We could take those princesses easily."

I laughed, "Not worth our time. Besides, we'll be graduating in another year so I really don't want to risk staying in this shit hole any longer."

Dylan nodded, his smile falling away quickly as I put the last unneeded book into my locker and began strolling toward the exit, "Was this about the Freddy thing?" he asked.

I exhaled sharply, "Yeah. You know, it really irks me that it is perfectly acceptable to enjoy violent video games and action movies, basically worship assault rifles and killing animals and yet when I happen to show interest in the story of a serial killer, I'm the one that has a problem?"

"Well, hunting, collecting weapons, and killing people in virtual reality is seen as harmless, but when someone takes a liking to an actual, real-life killer...people get afraid that you're going to imitate them," Dylan shrugged. "Even the video game thing isn't entirely accepted. A lot of people are still arguing that it leads to imitation as well."

My best friend had a knack for being the devil's advocate. It wasn't that he argued just for the sake of arguing either. He had a legitimate interest helping people to understand everything about a situation and the mindset of others. So naturally, he aggravated many without intending to. In fact, before we had gotten to know each other well, he enraged me on multiple occasions. However, I gradually started to get what he was about and that he was only trying to help better the world in his own way...so I started to listen.

"That makes sense, but you know I wouldn't do that, right?" I asked.

"Oh, I know that. In fact, most of the people who are interested in serial killers and horror and shit like that are actually harmless...or at least no more dangerous than your average person," he affirmed. "Your essay was great, by the way."

I smiled, remembering the reason that The Shitheads Three had decided to talk to me after class, "Thanks. I guess I could have picked a more subtle topic."

"The idea of the assignment was to point out psychological problems which could lead to disastrous results when gone untreated," the boy pointed, "And you did a fantastic job. Think you got several students and the teacher thinking. It's not your fault that Jennifer is dumb."

I busted out in a laugh, "True!"

There was a short pause when we reached his car and I waited while he found his keys and clicked its button to unlock the vehicle. It had been a Christmas gift from his family last year- the latest Mustang, painted a dark blue with deeply tinted windows. The interior was leather with heated seats and the stereo system was godly. Needless to say, he came from money. But his parents, although they stayed busy, leaving him alone a lot, weren't assholes. They weren't the kind that looked down on you for being poor or anything. Which was good, considering my own family was both poor and broken.

Mom and Dad had finally divorced a couple of years ago and I had stayed with Mom. It was my choice, considering being fifteen at the time and even though both of them were pretty fucked up, Mom was at least stable in the sense she stayed in one place. Her priority had always been to keep her house and have food on the table, something my Dad was almost incapable of doing. Dylan's dad, the psychiatrist, had actually offered his services free to my parents for marriage counseling. The two of them refused, each saying that they weren't the problem, but the other person was. I had been relieved when the divorce was finished and I didn't have to deal with them together any more.

"Speaking of Freddy, what did your parents say about the trip this weekend?" I inquired as we slid into the car.

"About that..." Dylan started the engine, "My dad wanted to talk to you first."

I was mildly upset, thinking perhaps he'd say no, but I offered a joke so I didn't come off that way, "What? Is he afraid I'm going to seduce you into being straight?"

Dylan laughed as we pulled out onto the main road, "No, it was something about safety precautions? I don't know. He works at Westin Hills, you know?"

Oh. I had almost forgotten. My research into Freddy Krueger's life and the destruction thereafter that had been blamed on him had led me to accounts from Westin Hills Asylum. There had been several deaths there at the institute after patients insisted they were being stalked in their dreams by the ghost of the Springwood Slasher. But those weren't the only stories of this man turned dream demon that had surfaced, many from those without psychiatric records or other such problems. It had been an interesting tale indeed.

"Then it's something to do with obsessing over Freddy like those the patients from there?" I guessed rather gloomily.

"He doesn't think you're crazy. He's a psychiatrist so he over-analyzes everything," Dylan assured. "I think he just wants you to know he's there for you more than anything. He knows your parents good enough to realize, well...that life with them isn't easy." Dylan quickly understood I wasn't in the mood to talk about it and jumped to the next thing with a chuckle, "Besides, it's not like you want to make babies with Freddy or anything."

"I wonder if demons can impregnate you in your dreams..." I asked thoughtfully, drawing a horrified expression from my friend, "I'm kidding!" I laughed.

"Anyway, weirdo," Dylan poked playfully, "I got you a birthday present."

"A present?" my ears perked, "I thought the trip was the present." .

"Springwood is literally a town away. I don't consider ten dollars in gas and a Saturday out with my best friend an appropriate gift," he smiled, never taking his eyes off the road. "Look in the glove box."

My gaze left him as my hand reached out to pop the compartment in front of me open. It fell open to reveal an envelope with my name on it. Carefully retrieving it and pushing the box closed again, I flipped it over and began tearing the top off. Inside, there was a piece of paper wrapped around some cash. Pulling the money out, I saw there were three hundred dollar bills.

"Holy shit," I breathed, "I cant-"

"You can because you're going to need it," he smirked.

"What do you mean?" my brow furrowed.

"Look at the paper."

Unfolding the slip of parchment that had held the cash, I realized it was a print out of a Craigslist advertisement. Rare collector's pieces! Museum Going out of Business! was the title and the body said basically the same thing with more boasting and the address of said museum in Springwood. Catching that I had finished reading and was beginning to look up awkwardly, Dylan clarified.

"The owner claims to have the Springwood Slasher's glove. He said he would hold it for me until the weekend for three hundred cash," Dylan stated proudly.

"Dyl, I...I don't know what to say..." I wanted to say no, actually. However, knowing both that he wasn't hurting for dough and that he wouldn't let me do anything other than accept his gift, I simply told him thanks. Besides...I really wanted that glove.

"You're welcome," he grinned as we pulled into the drive of the humongous brick home he lived in.

I was lucky to have such an amazing and generous friend. Someone who didn't judge who happened to have awesome parents who were the same way. Getting out of the car, I noticed that his dad's sedan, an equally luxurious model, was there. Often times he would be in his office pretty late on Friday evenings, catching up on paperwork, so it was strange to see he was home. I figured he wanted to be sure and speak with me before Dylan and I headed out tomorrow.

And I was right. As soon as we stepped in the door, the man walked into view from the kitchen, resting a smile on me, "If it isn't the birthday girl! Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Charlie," I returned, taking the hand he was offering and shaking it.

"Are you looking forward to tomorrow?" he got right to business.

"I am. We've already gotten the best routes for getting to the factory where Fred Krueger worked as well as the high school and his old home," I answered. "We plan on using pictures of the Asylum and the old church as well."

"It will definitely make a grand first video for your channel," he said, "I wondered if I might offer a few words of advice?"

I smirked shyly. I knew he only wanted to check up on me and perhaps make certain I wasn't becoming withdrawn into dark matters because of my upbringing and home life, but I appreciated how he didn't approach it that way. Rather, he talked to me as his equal, subtly letting me know that he was aware I was mature, "That would be quite welcome."

"Well, I have been in psychiatric care for many years now and I've known several people who have turned their attention to morbid things in the absence of proper treatment from those around them," he started.

Called that one.

"Having interest in the macabre doesn't an evil person create," he continued, "But it is easy to make the wrong choices or be drawn into accepting evil as justifiable when we ourselves, are not understood."

"But I thought that there are cruel acts that could be explained by understanding the person who committed them," I mused.

The psychiatrist beamed, "It always feels nice to know people listen and yes, I have said that before. However, explaining and justifying are two different things. For example, with Fred Krueger...it makes sense that he would seek out children as his victims due to how he, himself, was denied a proper childhood because of the abuse he endured. His predisposition to psychosis is definitely an unfortunate contributing factor he couldn't help. But he wasn't justified in killing those children because he endured horrible things."

A short quiet fell as I contemplated his words.

"I'm sorry," he added suddenly, scratching his head, "Did any of that make sense? Sometimes I'm a bit wordy."

"No, it did," I nodded, "No worries, I understand that people like Freddy should be held accountable for what they've done even if their reasons make sense."

"Great, well," the doctor moved on, "Outside of that, I'm always here if you want to talk about anything. I hope you can trust me."

"Of course," I smiled. He was one of the few people in the world I did actually trust. His wife and Dylan probably the only others.

"Alright. I'm going to order pizza. The usual?" he asked, to which I nodded and gave him my thanks before walking off to Dylan's room with him.

My mind was still stuck on what the man had said to me. I knew he was worried for my mental well-being and I anticipated the talk being a simple check-up on that. However, it hadn't been exactly what I had thought and I found myself psycho-analyzing the psychiatrist. Accepting evil as justifiable when we're not understood... Was he trying to hint that I might turn to being cruel because the people around me didn't understand me?

I didn't have a lot of friends and the ones I did have, I never hung out with or talked to like I did with Dylan. My parents, like I said, were fucked up. My dad was little more than a nutcase and my mom was a pretentious bitch. The pair perfectly matched in how selfish they were and how little they cared for me, for what I did, or for what I wanted out of life. Did Dr. Alderman perhaps feel that I was finding this attention by connecting with killers and demons?

I thought about that for a moment. Was I? I had always liked horror movies, skulls, knives...but after my parents got really bad and even after the divorce, my focuses became more morbid. Freddy wasn't the first killer or criminal that interested me though he was my favorite. And I think a lot of it had to deal with how his story was not only factual, but how it also merged with the paranormal. Not all of that could be proven, obviously. Or at least I had assumed that was the reason I liked him so much. What if Charlie was right? What if it was how I identified with the slasher? He had been neglected by family and society just like I was and when thinking about him, I somehow felt secure. Like he could have been a friend to me in another life...