Freddy Krueger's Tales of Terror #4: Twice Burned Read online

  Actually, when Vicki wasn't influencing her, Tish could be very sweet, and under other circumstances, Colleen thought that the two of them could have been friends. But mild-mannered, homely Tish held Vicki in awe. Sadly, Colleen understood. Tish was not a happy girl, and most of it stemmed, according to the prevailing rumors, from troubles at home. She apparently had an abusive father — and a mother unable or unwilling to protect herself or her daughter from his angry tirades. It was a well-known fact that Tish had run away many times to escape them both. Colleen guessed that Tish was drawn to Vicki because she exuded a power and strength of character that her mother lacked.

  Colleen sighed. Tish was so misguided. But there was nothing to be done about it. You can't change people, and people don't change, thought Colleen. C'est la vie, c'est la guerre.

  A loud thump on her study table made her jump almost out of her chair. Colleen looked up to see Kirk, fighting back laughter. The squeak of his book cart should have warned her of his approach, but she had been too deep in thought to hear it.

  "Sorry," he chuckled insincerely, "I hope you didn't wet yourself."

  As was her frequent habit, Colleen blushed. "Kirk! Stop that!" she cried as loudly as she felt she could get away with in the library. Quickly she scanned the area around her to see if anyone had noticed. No one seemed to be staring at her.

  "Ah, don't worry. You could scream and no one would care." As soon as he said that, Kirk's smile left his face. Sitting quickly, he pushed aside the stack of books he had dropped on the table. "Well, not no one." A strange, serious mood had suddenly come over him. He lowered his voice and looked deep into her eyes. "Look, I was wondering, would you wanna meet me at Wide Awake later for coffee or something?"

  "Or something?" Colleen said suspiciously, trying to be funny. But her quip only embarrassed Kirk.

  "Or steamed milk or something," he stammered defensively. "I just wanna go out with you. Just us."

  Colleen let out the heaviest sigh of the day. Since history class, she had forgotten her suspicion that Kirk had a crush on her again. She barely had the energy to reply gracefully, but she tried. "I'm going out with Lance tonight, Kirk." Anger flared in Kirk's round face. He started to say something, then closed his mouth without a word.

  "We go through this same routine every time," Kirk said. "I've got it memorized. I'm not your type."

  "We're best friends, Kirk." Colleen hung her head for a moment. She wished there were something more she could say that would calm him down, but nothing came to her. Nothing ever did. "To be honest, I don't know what I need. I obviously like you. But I like like Lance. Heck, you were the one who introduced us!" Colleen immediately regretted saying that. Stung by the reminder, Kirk stood quickly, shaking the table and nearly knocking his chair backward.

  "Thanks! I needed that!"

  Colleen stood. "Kirk, please…" she began, but was cut off when suddenly a gnarled hand gripped Kirk firmly by the shoulder. It was his turn to jump.

  "Mr. Newman, are you finished with that cart of books I asked you to put away?" The crone who now had Kirk in her clutches was Mrs. Wodell, the head librarian. She was as old as the building itself, it was said. And she smelled at least as musty. Kirk turned to face her.

  "Sorry Mrs. Wodell." His anger disappeared in an instant. A surprise appearance by Mrs. Wodell often had a sobering effect on people. "I'll get right to them." He started for the cart, but Mrs. Wodell held him in place. Her mouth widened in a disconcerting smile. As was her habit, Mrs. Wodell launched into a lecture for the benefit of both of them.

  "If books are away from the shelves, Mr. Newman, it means our patrons cannot find them. And if books cannot be found, then they cannot be read. And an unread book is the saddest type of orphan!" Mrs. Wodell's bright eyes quickly darted around to see who else might have absorbed this most valuable bit of freely dispensed wisdom. Satisfied at least that Colleen had heard, she released Kirk from her claw and hobbled away.

  Kirk stood still until Mrs. Wodell had disappeared into her office. At first, neither spoke. But as soon as the door closed, Kirk went first.

  "Yikes." Kirk's eyes were wide with mock fear. Colleen grinned, suppressing a laugh. She didn't like to make fun of Mrs. Wodell. Certainly the woman was growing more and more dotty, and her proclamations more absurd, but the woman's advanced age should be rewarded with respect, not ridicule. Normally Kirk had plenty of pointed remarks to make about Mrs. Wodell, but this time he turned silently to the cart and started to wheel it away. "I gotta put the 'kids' to bed."

  Colleen knew the pain of her rejection had returned.

  "Kirk…"

  He turned and looked once more at her. Sadness was set in the lines of his face. Traces of anger remained in the corners of his eyes. He shrugged. "Hey, no big deal. Another battle lost, I guess." The cart squeaked as Kirk wheeled it away.

  Colleen shuddered. Kirk's response to her was different this time. Normally he'd apologize and sulk for a few days. Then he'd forgive her and return to his nervous, desperately hip self, pretending that nothing had occurred between them. Maybe the fact that she was interested in someone else this time changed things. Or maybe the fact that the other person was his cousin Lance, and that he was responsible for their meeting, made it even worse. Would he not speak to her now, or would he be mean to her? She hoped it wouldn't be the latter. Abuse from Vicki, she could take. But from a friend as close as Kirk, now, that would really hurt. She'd just have to wait and see.

  * * *

  Colleen turned back to her research materials for her report on Joan of Arc. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate, but she had to try. Going through her pile of resources, she soon realized that one book from her reading list was missing.

  At a nearby database terminal, Colleen typed in the author of the book she was seeking, Milo Gabrev, then pressed Enter on the keyboard. The screen blanked out for a few seconds, except for a character in the middle representing a clock. Then the title of the book appeared in green phosphor letters. Jotting down the reference number, she took the information to Mrs. Wodell, who had emerged from her office and now sat at the librarian's desk.

  "Excuse me." Colleen handed her the slip of paper with the reference number. "Can you help me find this book?"

  "I'm sure I can," replied Mrs. Wodell, bestowing upon Colleen an almost beatific smile before looking at the number. She always had a smile for a library patron who needed help. She took her role at the library very seriously, and as a result, had a deep appreciation for anyone who used the library and showed an interest in books. She felt this especially with students. So many kids had been lost to video games and television that she felt it her duty to make their visit to the library a positive experience.

  As the location of the book came to Mrs. Wodell, her eyebrows lowered slightly, but the smile never wavered. "This book is found in our reference section in the library basement. I'm afraid I can't show you exactly where it is, since the stairs are steep and my bones have trouble with the four steps up to the front door of this library." Mrs. Wodell chuckled unselfconsciously.

  "That's okay," Colleen said. "I'm sure I can find it."

  "I can get someone else to help you, if you'd like. Your friend Kirk, for example." Then the old lady smiled knowingly. "He's a nice boy, but he gets distracted easily. If he helps you, you won't let him get distracted again, will you?" She winked good-naturedly.

  Colleen knew what the librarian was thinking. "Oh, Kirk and I aren't…" she stammered, choking back ironic laughter. She looked away from the old woman's moist eyes. "Kirk and I are just friends."

  "Is that so?" Mrs. Wodell asked slyly, misinterpreting Colleen's reaction as embarrassment. "Back in my day, when a boy sat that close to a girl, they were sweet on one another." Then she turned wistful. "Of course, kids today there're a lot of things they'll do together today even if they don't like each other." She sighed and there was a moment of silence. Now it was Mrs. Wodell who seemed embarrassed. "I'm sorry,
young lady. You know how it is with us old folks. Don't have a lot of people to talk to, so when we see a good listener, like you seem to be, we take advantage. The only other person who listens is Denny, and of course, he doesn't have much to say." She chuckled once more. "So would you like someone to help you find the book?"

  "No, thanks. I'll be okay on my own."

  "Okay, then. Feel free to come back if you need any more help."

  Colleen thanked her, and Mrs. Wodell went back to the paperwork on her desk. Leaving her other books at the table, Colleen walked across the library to the stairway leading to the basement. On the way she passed Kirk, with his nearly empty cart. He simply raised an eyebrow at her. Colleen froze, not knowing what to expect from him. Then Kirk smiled and gave her a smoldering James Dean look, with a wink for added effect. Colleen felt immensely relieved. He wasn't angry with her after all. Better still, he hadn't lapsed into his usual sulking either. She returned his wink with a smile and descended into the basement. The smile disappeared about three steps down.

  Four more steps and the gloom of the library basement enveloped Colleen completely. The exchange with Mrs. Wodell had distracted her from the fact that the library basement was her least favorite place in the building to go — and she wasn't alone in that regard. The basement gave almost everyone the creeps.

  She stood at the bottom of the steps. A small hallway led from the bottom of the stairs to the basement's main section. The smell alone almost caused her to flee back up the stairs: mildew, old paper. Not as delicate as it was upstairs. What's more, it reminded her of the nightmare. Swallowing the lump of irrational fear that rose in her throat, she walked forward.

  Old card files lined the walls. They were being saved because of their value as antiques. The deeper into the basement she walked, the more oppressive the air became. Several small, rectangular windows near the ceiling of the basement were closed and provided little light and no ventilation.

  Mahogany bookcases filled the entire space, except for a «clearing» in the center, which contained a study table. No one ever studied down here — no one could, even if he or she felt the inclination. Bare incandescent bulbs shone from fixtures similar to those of the floor above. These, however, were not as elegant, nor as well maintained. The light was dim and yellow and could not reach around between most of the bookcases. Even on the brightest of days, entering a row was like walking into a dark alley late at night.

  Looking at the numbered cards at the end of the first two bookcases, Colleen realized, with some distress, that her destination was toward the back of the basement. She nervously glanced down each row as she passed it. Each seemed like a musty tunnel with a sickly light at the end. As she continued, she walked faster, realizing that the sooner she found her book, the sooner she would be able to return upstairs.

  As she had feared, her book was located on the bookshelf against the wall farthest from the stairs. Before she walked down the row, she glanced over her shoulder, suddenly sure that someone was behind her. But no one was there. Then she looked down the row: another tunnel. Daylight shining through the tiny window on the wall above did little to lessen the claustrophobic effect. The dark leather book covers seemed to absorb light.

  Cramming down the ball of fear that threatened to rise once more, she purposefully strode down the aisle, stopping where she thought her book might be. She was close. The reference numbers and titles were hard to read in the gloom, so the activity distracted her from her fears.

  It was not long before she found the book she had been looking for. It turned out to be a heavy, leather-bound volume, with gold-stamp lettering on the spine. Colleen pulled it from the shelf slowly, so as not to disturb the books around it.

  Just then, she heard a noise from behind. Her fear returned, threefold. Gasping, she turned quickly. A shadow passed by in the next aisle of books. At the same time, the book she had been holding on to fell to the ground with a loud thump. This startled her, spinning her back around. Before she could react, books that had been next to hers fell out of the bookcase en masse. In the otherwise silent basement, each book sounded like a bomb when it hit the floor. Frantically Colleen reached up and stopped the rain of books. The basement became silent again.

  Colleen was tempted to flee the basement, leaving her book behind. Instead, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a few seconds. She needed her book, and it was unlike her to leave a mess for someone else to clean up. She stooped down to organize the books that had fallen.

  Her focus on the task was so intense that she did not notice a figure emerge from the shadows and glide silently toward her.

  Once the books were stacked neatly, Colleen picked up as many as she could. As she stood, two scarred hands reached for the remaining books. The hideous pink and white flesh stood out against the dark, drab book covers. With a yelp of fear, Colleen fell backward, dropping her armload of books. Above her towered a ghastly figure wearing a dark jumpsuit. A thin ray of light from the window struck its face.

  It was the face of the torch bearer in her dream. And he was reaching a monstrous hand toward her, the scar tissue almost glowing in the dark.

  Chapter 4

  Scrambling backward like a crab, Colleen tried to escape the grotesque creature reaching for her. She kicked out, and her foot connected with something solid. With a yelp like an injured dog, the specter withdrew his hands, rubbing the one that had been kicked, and began to retreat into the shadows.

  Colleen suddenly realized where she was: the basement of the library, not some nightmarish town square where she was about to be burned as a witch. She closed her eyes and in a moment willed away the smothering fear and called after the creature, who was rounding the corner at the far end of the aisle.

  "Denny! Wait!" The figure hesitated, then disappeared out of sight. Colleen got to her feet. "I'm sorry," she pleaded, as if speaking to a small child. "I wasn't paying attention. You startled me, that's all. It's okay. You can come over here."

  Only a slight whimpering suggested that he remained just around the corner. Then, as silently as he had appeared before, Denny returned. The dim light again revealed his scarred, monstrous features, but Colleen successfully suppressed the urge to wince in disgust. Knowing that he had little use for pity, either, Colleen forced herself to just relax.

  "Whew!" she laughed. "I was totally zoned. Didn't even see you there." With a casual shrug, she stooped to pick up the books that were now scattered widely over the floor. Denny, who had stopped several feet away, moved toward her again and silently began to help gather them.

  Colleen looked up and smiled at Denny. As soon as she did, he averted his eyes. Denny was the Springwood equivalent of the village idiot. Mute since birth, he had been dismissed long ago as retarded. Natural parents might not have accepted that label, but Denny had no real parents of whom anyone was aware. Shuffled around from foster home to foster home, he had received only the most rudimentary education. Very early on, an apathetic social worker had deemed him capable of only the most menial labor, so he had been taught to sweep and mop and, occasionally, hammer a nail. Those small skills might have allowed Denny a reasonable existence. But then there were the hideous scars that covered much of his body. According to the whispers among the adults, a drunk and sadistic foster father had punished Denny for some minor offense with a bath of battery acid. Despite the cruelty involved, the man responsible had gotten off lightly. After all, Denny was "only a feeb."

  His appearance ruined, Denny achieved monster status in Springwood. Parents would actually use him in place of the boogeyman in bedtime stories. As a result, he was feared by young children, and taunted by the older ones. Only Mrs. Wodell had treated Denny like a human being, offering him a job as custodian at the library. At first, the so-called city fathers had protested, saying that he would scare away the children. It was hard enough to get them in the library these days. Finally Mrs. Wodell shamed them into a compromise that allowed the library to hire Denny, with the promise that
he would keep mostly out of sight during business hours. Unwittingly, this only furthered Denny's reputation, for he became the rarely glimpsed fiend who lurked in the library basement.

  Not long ago, Colleen had been among the fearful. She had never openly teased Denny, but she dreaded the sight of him. Then once, she had observed him hard at work, unaware of her presence. At first she had been repulsed by his appearance. But something about him made her keep watching. That's when she realized how natural and relaxed his movements were, how confident he was of his abilities — he was fixing a bookcase at the time — and just how normal he appeared. Not like a monster, but like a person. Before she realized it, she was walking toward him, to get a better view, and gave herself away. The instant Denny looked up, the moment was ruined. He retreated immediately, fear replacing the glow of satisfaction in his eyes. She had called out for him to wait, but he didn't even look back.

  Colleen felt ashamed. At first she thought it was because she had spied on Denny in a private moment. But it was more than that. By his reaction, he had been anticipating mockery or disgust. It had happened to him all his life, so why should this moment be any different? He was a monster because people refused to see anything but a monster. And so he was instantly defensive and skittish around «normal» people. No wonder he acted in ways that reinforced the perception of those who persecuted him.

  That moment had convinced Colleen that Denny deserved better. So she would do better. This encounter had been her first opportunity since then, and she had blown it badly, so far. On the other hand, the fact he had come forward in the first place was unusual for him. Perhaps he had sensed her intentions after all.

  As they replaced the last of the fallen books onto the shelf, Colleen tucked the one she had come down for under one arm and extended her other hand toward Denny.

  "Thank you, Denny. I'm a klutz!" She was smiling at him, brightly and naturally. Denny looked nervously from her hand to her face. Colleen was beginning to think he wasn't so frightening after all. "Don't worry," she told him, "I don't think either of us bite."