ByJames Embry, writer at
James Embry

His skin is moving, breathing and seeping.

"Let me, PLEASE!!!!!!!!" He screams.

The forever present burning stench of a bloody death by way of fire dominates his senses. The pain graduated from excruciating to all encompassing eons ago, yet he still vividly remembers the parents anger when they discovered what he'd done. How many children he had murdered. The way they looked at him. He is on his knees in a room that breathes, made of red flesh and oozing pockets. His restraints are white hot spears, impaling through thigh and calf as his shins sizzle against hell ground.

He looks up at his Master, a horned, winged demon and begs. Every time he is able to speak he begs. Sometimes his Master fills his throat with fire and it spreads until he is a pile of ash. He is no longer human he IS fire. He is concentrated pain, suffering and grief, yet it always ends the same. Burning, on his knees and begging but not for death or forgiveness. Not even for the pain to stop. He begs to kill. He begs for vengeance.

"You still hold on? You still have a hope that i will relieve you of your torment?"

Torment? The word triggers something in the burning, melting man. A memory, other than the screaming faces of his victims parents. The burning agony fades and he begins to think freely. His father taught him torment. He taught him its the sweetest when you get it from little things. When they were alone, he showed him.

His Master was now intrigued. No one had ever thought anything other than what he allowed for centuries. Is this mans evil that strong? Hatred dwarfing that of even his several biological maniac fathers who also took up residence in hell?

"Did you remember something? Did you actually have a thought beyond my control?"

The burnt man raised his head as charred skin dripped and slid down his neck. He met eyes with his Master and studied him for a few seconds before he spoke.

"I was thinking of my father. The one I knew. He used to teach me about torment by cutting me on my back and stomach so teachers wouldn't see. I don't think he ever realized that I liked it. Oh well, he was a bitch like you."

The man then let out a laugh. It rippled through his charred body and echoed throughout the chambers of hell. It was an unpleasant sound to his master. However, he couldn't deny the fact that this mans evil is impressive.

The spears embedded in the burning mans legs suddenly jettison from his thighs into the forever of hell, leaving behind gaping holes that sizzle and seal on their own. Metal and blood converge and dance before the now standing, half melted man becoming the familiar sight of the child murderer's weapon of choice.

A glove with knives on the end of each finger.

"Claim your gauntlet to accept my terms, Freddy."

The burnt man slides his hand into the hovering glove and is instantly engulfed in the flame, agony and hatred. He lets out another laugh as he gives into his anguish. His masters intrigue is now at a fever pitch.

"You can get them Freddy. You can get their children and their childrens children. You can make them all afraid. Make them all remember. Take their dreams. Teach the parents the meaning of eternal grief and when you fail, I will have to teach you what your father didn't."

Freddy stands before his master,the devil. The glove is heavy now and it forces him to slump his burnt and dislocated shoulder. Freddy stares at the devil and the devil realizes that this is the first man in all eternity that is truly not afraid of him. This man is envious.

The burnt man turns his head and spits out a blood clot, snorts and says:

"I need my fucking hat."

The Beginning.


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