I awoke just before noon that Saturday and quickly threw on some jeans and a tshirt. As I walked out the door, a thought struck me. I stopped and smelled myself. Sighing, I went back in to the bathroom and sprayed deodorant all over me and brushed my teeth.

The second time out the door was the first time in ages I'd go without seeing home for a period of several hours on a Saturday. I admit that part of me was nagging to just turn around and go back to bed, but the greater part was determined to at least make it to Springwood whether I learned anything or not. A sort of minor feat for myself, which was what my therapist was wanting anyway: for me to push my boundaries.

Though I wasn't sure why I decided to start listening to her now. Sitting in the driver's seat of my old Chevy sedan, I realized this apparent enthusiasm wasn't making me feel like any less of a piece of shit. I adjusted the mirrors, cranked the engine, and placed both hands on the wheel. I let out a long breath before shifting to reverse and backing out of the drive.

No, I still knew I was pathetic and worthless. There was no reason for me to live other than to suffer. So why did this feel so important? Was I honestly just that curious? I looked briefly into the rear-view mirror as I changed lanes and caught a glimpse of my own face. However, I didn't see a thin, dark-haired man in his early twenties...instead I saw regret, despair, and pain.

My therapist would have no doubt told me to relish those thoughts and to try to understand why they were the emotions I was feeling. She'd want me to delve deeper into this rare moment where I felt something other than nothing...but I had stopped seeing her months ago.

I had only been mandated to see her for a certain period of time as part of my rehabilitation. Even though she had said very little that helped, I could tell she honestly cared. So I saw her much longer than was required. Back then I still wanted to be saved; that wasn't so anymore.

Would Springwood hold the answer to my escape? Maybe it was my soul guiding me to a quick end- a way out of this endless torture. My thoughts then filled with visions of car crashes, dangerous hitchhikers, and even muggers.

Perhaps I would chance upon a thief on my journey. A man with a gun and nothing to lose would grow angry when he saw I had no valuables. In his fury, he'd shoot me three times in the chest and once in the head for good measure.

An eighteen-wheeler sped by me then, almost vibrating the small car that carried me. I watched as it passed and returned to the lane I was in. It seemed to disappear from my sight far too quickly. I glanced at my speedometer. I was going just above the speed limit at sixty-five mph. Damn. How fast had the truck been going?

My foot pressed down harder on the gas and my car gradually rolled faster and faster. After a few moments, I saw the truck again...or a truck anyway. I continued speeding towards it. Maybe this was how it'd end. The trailer became larger and closer with each passing second.

I could ram into the back of the truck...

The driver would barely feel a thing...a bit of a bump, maybe. He'd slam on his brakes and pull over. Jumping down from his seat, he'd start walking to the back until he saw my car halfway off the road and sideways. His heart rate would pick up then and he'd start to panic.

Getting closer to the scene, he'd see the bent hood and broken glass...looking more closely, the sight of my caved in skull and broken neck, covered in blood...tissue and flesh cut and hanging from all about...even perhaps my eyes would be ripped from their sockets and staring at him. Would his nose start to bleed as this vision devoured his thoughts?

I chuckled at the idea.

My thoughts returned to reality and I realized I was mere feet from the back of the truck. My eyes grew wide and I jerked the steering wheel to the left, removing my foot from the gas pedal and stomping onto the brakes. A horn sounded behind me. Shit! I had pulled out right in front of another vehicle!

I pounded on the gas once more, barely missing collision with the van behind me. My heart was racing as I passed the truck and got in front of it. The van then passed me, the passenger flipping me off. I didn't respond. I only began to look for the nearest exit.

Springwood, next right

Oh.

A minute or two passed before the exit. My hands were still shaking as I made a soft right into the town. I had expected there to be a gas station or rest stop soon after, but I found myself driving several miles further before I finally reached anything and it was a small convenience store.

I drove into the lot and parked just in front. There was only one other vehicle there and the road behind me was equally empty. I knew I wasn't completely into the place yet, but it felt like a ghost town...

I took a few moments to make sure I was calm and collected before pushing my door open and going to the store's entrance. The door was glass and strangely heavy. Stepping inside, I caught the attention of the shopkeep. He was an older gentleman sitting low behind the counter, reading a newspaper. He glanced up and nodded a 'hello' to me. I smiled and nodded back as he returned to his paper.

I went to the rear of the store and grabbed a soda, then on my way back, a bag of original flavored potato chips. When I reached the old man and started to put my items on the counter, I saw that his paper was covering it and I retrieved my hands.

"Good afternoon," I smiled, hoping to get his attention.

He looked up at me and cleared his throat. I couldn't tell if he was scowling or if old age had just settled into the lines on his face. I kept my smile as folded the newspaper and set it to the side. I put my items down as he began to type into the register. My mind only then saw how old the building was. I turned around, letting my eyes have a quick sweep of the place. The inside structures were entirely wood as were the shelves. The freezers at the back were bulky and one was apparently leaking.

"$6.81," the man said.

I looked back at him as I pulled out my wallet. "Do you take cards?"

"No," he returned flatly.

I took my fingers off my debit and pulled out a ten and handed it to him.

"You're new," he stated, taking the bill and entering numbers into his machine again.

"Yeah," I agreed, "I'm a few towns away, actually. I just drove in to-"

"You been watching TV," he pointed.

I grinned awkwardly and scratched my head, "Yeah."

He stretched out his hand and I took my change. "You'll be wanting to talk to Maggie then."

"Who?"

There was a pause as he bagged my snack and pushed it across the counter to me. "Maggie Burroughs," he said. "1428 Elm Street."

"Oh. Maggie, 1428 Elm...got it," I grabbed my bag, "Thank you."

"No problem. Be careful," the man dismissed me, sitting back down to his newspaper.

Just as my hand touched the door handle, a thought came. I turned my head to look at the shopkeep again, "Who exactly is she?"

"A nutjob," he muttered.

"What?"

He looked at me and spoke up, "Fred Krueger's daughter."