The fog thickened over Springwood Elementary.

It rolled across the playground like smoke from an unseen fire, curling around the empty swings and rusted monkey bars. The sun, just rising, filtered through the haze in thin orange blades. And in the middle of the yard sat a girl.

Six years old. Blonde braids. White dress.

Humming.

"One, two, Freddy's coming for you..."

Alex froze as he approached the chain-link fence, his breath fogging in the cold.

"Three, four, better lock your door..."

The girl continued swinging gently, her eyes closed, smile dreamy—like the song was a lullaby.

"Five, six, grab your crucifix..."

He didn't mean to speak, but it slipped out of his throat anyway.

"Where did you learn that song?"

Her swing slowed.

Her head tilted.

Eyes opened.

And Alex's blood ran cold.

They were Willow's eyes.

But they were filled with something else.

Something watching.

"Seven, eight..." she whispered, "...gonna stay up late."

She smiled. Then stopped.

"Freddy's watching you, Alex."

He stumbled backward, nearly falling into the bushes behind the fence. When he looked back...

The girl was gone.

No footprints.

No fog.

Only silence.

And one word, carved deep into the wood of the swing's seat.

"RETURNED."

Later that morning, the group met back at Sarah's house. Her basement had become their war room—maps of Springwood on the walls, scribbled notes, red yarn connecting dreams, symbols, and victims.

Alex paced, his mind spinning. "She had Willow's eyes. But it wasn't her. It was... something inside her."

"Are you sure it wasn't a dream?" Riley asked, sipping lukewarm coffee.

"I was awake. I know what I saw."

Sarah stepped forward. "If Freddy's essence survived the ritual and burned itself into Kincaid... what's stopping it from fragmenting again? Like... horcruxes. What if he's not in one vessel anymore?"

Riley's eyes narrowed. "You think Freddy's in kids now?"

"Not just kids," Alex said. "Memories. Nursery rhymes. Stories. That girl wasn't possessed. She was echoing something. Like a speaker."

"Or a warning," Sarah added. "Like Freddy's building something again. From the ashes."

Willow once said: a curse can't be destroyed—only transferred.

What if Freddy had become more than just a killer?

What if he was becoming an idea?

They turned their attention to Willow's journal. After the ritual, they'd found it under her bed. Half-filled with coded entries, sigils, and cryptic prophecies.

One page stood out now more than ever.

At the top: "THE SLEEPING NETWORK"

Below it: a diagram showing connected dots—each labeled with initials. "J.L." "T.K." "C.M." Dozens of them. Some scratched out.

And at the center?

A crude sketch of Freddy's glove.

Alex traced the lines with his fingers. "What if Willow wasn't just preparing for one final battle? What if she knew Freddy was creating something bigger?"

Sarah pointed to one entry near the bottom.

"If the Dream Eater is not bound, it will multiply. Not in body—but in thought. Through whispers. Songs. Stories. The nursery rhyme is a key."

Riley frowned. "A key to what?"

Alex looked up. "A new gate."

That night, they returned to the library. Not to the dusty tomes or ritual books—but the local history archives.

Sarah unearthed a file marked 1987 – Elm Street Music Program.

Inside, she found a cassette tape.

Handwritten label: "Miss Langley – Children's Choir: March Recital."

They popped it into the ancient cassette player.

Static hissed. Then...

Children singing.

Voices light, innocent.

"One, two, Freddy's coming for you..."

The familiar rhyme.

But then... it changed.

"Nine, ten... Freddy lives again..."

The tape warped. The pitch dropped. The melody turned wrong. Screeches laced the background, like claws on a chalkboard.

Then silence.

A single child's voice whispered:

"He's watching from behind the veil. Waiting for the right name..."

Alex froze. "The right name?"

Sarah rewound and replayed.

Same ending.

"...the right name..."

Riley checked the tape box. "Miss Langley's class had 15 kids. Five of them were in that video you saw at the drive-in."

"Five hosts?" Sarah asked.

Alex nodded. "And Freddy only needs one to complete himself."

The plan became clear.

Find the surviving kids from Langley's class.

Figure out who Freddy is trying to possess fully.

Stop him before the veil between dream and waking breaks for good.

But finding thirty-year-old class records for a disbanded music program wasn't easy.

Luckily, Willow had written down names.

The first on the list:

C.M. — Carly Masters.

They found Carly in a halfway house just outside Springwood.

She was 38, jittery, eyes darting like she was always seconds away from a scream.

Alex introduced himself gently. "We just want to talk about the song."

She flinched. "You heard it, didn't you? The new verse."

Sarah nodded. "What does it mean?"

Carly rocked in place. "He visited us in dreams. Years ago. But he never came all the way through. Not until... until they started saying his name again."

"Who?"

"The children. The new children. They're dreaming of him now. We lit the spark. They're fanning the flames."

Riley leaned in. "Do you remember what happened at the recital?"

Carly's eyes glazed over.

"I remember blood. On the piano keys."

A chill filled the room.

She whispered, "It's starting again."

And then she screamed—backward, shrill, not her voice.

Her hands clawed at her eyes. Her mouth twisted.

And from her lips spilled that cursed lullaby again:

"One, two... Freddy's coming for you..."

They called the orderlies. Carly convulsed. Eyes rolled back.

And in her last breath before sedation—

She spoke his voice.

"You can't kill a song. You can only hum along."

As they left the facility, Alex was silent.

Sarah put a hand on his shoulder.

"We can still stop him."

Alex looked toward the treeline, where the sun was dying behind the clouds.

"No," he said quietly. "We're not stopping him."

"We're following him."

Riley blinked. "To where?"

Alex exhaled.

"To the veil."

Back at Sarah's basement, they scoured Willow's notes for any reference to a threshold—a place where the veil between waking and dreaming grew thin.

Riley found it in a drawing taped to the back of the last page.

A church. Burned down.

But familiar.

It was St. Agnes Orphanage. Abandoned. Sealed after a fire in 1993.

And it just so happened to be where Freddy was rumored to have grown up as a child.

Or at least... where the boy who would become him was kept.

Alex stared at the charcoal sketch.

"Tomorrow," he said, "we go there."

That night, Alex dreamt.

But not of Freddy.

This time... he saw Willow.

Standing by the veil.

She was glowing.

"Don't lose your name," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"If you say it... if he takes it... you'll never wake up."

And then she was gone.