Love Bites: Horror Icon Scenarios

When You First Meet

Freddy Kreuger:

You were halfway through a geometry study session when you slammed your head on your textbook and groaned. The numbers and letters - why the fuck were there letters in math - had blurred together into some kind of voodoo mumbo-jumbo long ago. Your brain was exhausted from triple-checking everything to the exact decimal point, the equation absolutely screwed if you were a fraction off. 

So, it came as no surprise that you fell asleep before you even finished thinking about heading to the kitchen for a snack.

You could feel yourself being pulled under, a slimy chill that left goosebumps in its wake. It lingered on your skin, and when you sat up to brush it off, you were no longer in your room.

It was an eerie, rundown classroom, the air heavy with a haunting silence and the windows shattered. Books lay scattered on the floor, and the walls were covered in strange, looping symbols. And then, you felt it - a sharp, cold blade pressing against the back of your neck.

You flew across the room, throwing desks out of your way, and pressed your back against the whiteboard. 

That's when you first lay eyes on him - a grotesque figure with razor-sharp claws. His hat casts a long shadow over his disfigured face, and the classroom lights turn blood red. He draws closer, each step echoing in the eerie silence.

You can't tear your gaze away from his, his eyes wide and glazed over. A slow, mean smile takes over his face, and you can feel your bones grow heavier.

"Ready for detention," he asks, his voice like gravel.

As he reaches for you, you brace yourself for the worst, but his blades gently brush against your skin. Confusion replaces fear, and the nightmare's grip lessens. You can breathe easier, and your surroundings flicker into a picture-perfect replica of your homeroom for just a second.

"Why aren't you screaming, bitch," he purrs. His tongue runs along his teeth as he steps back and circles you.

You stammer, unable to answer, your voice caught in your throat. He doesn't like that. Every muscle in his body tenses and he even seems to gain a few inches, towering over you with a snarl. The man lunges forward and you panic, turning your back to him as you try to disappear into the wall.

He's chuckling, the sound bouncing off the walls with a maddening echo. Suddenly, you remember your mom's old trick to end nightmares and bite your lip as hard as you can.

"NO! Get back here," he snarls, but it's too late.

You jolt awake, throwing yourself out of your desk chair and onto the floor. Your heart is a deep, pounding drum in your chest, and your hair drenched in sweat.

"Fuck math," you whisper, fingers digging into the carpet.

Ben Willis:

It was a sweltering summer day when you first laid eyes on Ben Willis. The air was heavy with humidity and the sun cast long shadows as you watered your garden. Your quaint little house sat on a peaceful street lined with peeling fences and seashell wind chimes. As you looked over your strawberries, you saw a car pull up in front of the house across the street.

It was a small sedan, boxes shoved into every nook and cranny as they pressed against the windows. A small gray trailer was hitched to the back, and it squeaked as the driver parked. He stepped out of the car, groaning as he popped his back. Two kids came tumbling out of the back seat, tripping over their stuff and onto the lawn.

You chuckled and the three of them turned to look. The father's dark hair was peppered with streaks of gray, and his piercing blue eyes looked tired and worn. His son and daughter shared the same eyes and an air of shyness about them. The girl slowly waved, and her brother shoved an elbow into her side. With a friendly smile, you waved back.