Hey, I'm Mark Davis. I grew up in Springwood, Ohio, home of the notorious "Springwood Slasher," Fred Krueger, the child murderer that a bunch of parents burned alive... But he was so evil, and nothing that evil stays dead for long. He came back for revenge in our nightmares. My brother Bobby told me a lot, he told me it's our fear that gives him his power. So I figured, that's how the town decided to beat him. They treated him like he was a fucking.. disease, and locked up all the kids who had come in contact with Freddy, we're institutionalized in the Westin Hills Psychiatric Hospital, so we wouldn't infect the others. My proof? When we, myself and my roomie, Will Rollins broke out of the facility, we found the archives of the Springwood Library where hundreds of articles, mainly obituaries had been completely blacked out, including the day my brother "committed suicide." Coincidence? Will tried to tell me not to jump to conclusions, but he was just holding onto that psycho-babble bullshit we learned in group like some kind of goddamn security blanket. In Westin, we were taking these drugs called Hypnocil, they wouldn't tell us what that shit does but I've recently learned that it's a dream suppressant. Keep dreaming, they made you take more. Take too much of it and you turn into a vegetable that foams out the mouth and end up in the D-wing of the hospital ... I made Will promise to put a pillow over my face if I ever turned out like that, and I'd do the same for him. I've developed something of a nervous twitch in my eye, along with thick brown bags under both my eyes from lack of sleep, because I refuse to give in. I'm not going to let this crispy fucker get me, and I'd never do anything to help him, he'd have to kill me first.
My name is Mark.
and I am[Institutionalized]
Notice: Posting in this blog is restricted to Mark and Will Only. This will act as a prequel to Freddy vs. Jason, introducing the characters to each other. The language and details will be rated R. DO NOT COPY.
On the early morning of January 18th, 2000, a young distraught boy named Mark stood in the hospital entrance, next to an officer, whose look of annoyance could only have been brought on by this little walk-through preventing him of getting donuts anytime sooner. There was an orderly standing there as well, a guy who looked Mark over and probably wrote him off as another dumbass suicidal kid, which couldn't be farther from the truth. In fact, Mark wasn't suicidal at all. He actually wanted to live his life with his parents, but his brother, Bobby, had just committed suicide that a few hours before... or so that's what his death was called. Mark knew otherwise. He'd been having nightmares about Freddy for years, and now Mark was being prayed upon just as Bobby had been. He knew the truth, and Mark wasn't suicidal, but try telling these people that while with a wrist more scratched up than a damn cat-post... The four slashes on his arm were still fresh and bleeding, but had gone without stitches, Probably because the doctors felt no need to waste their time on a possible suicide case, he figured.
Mark was to be the newest addition to the line-up of teenage psychotics, put on suicide watch at ol' Westin Hills. Here not even ten minutes and he was already thinking this was a baaaad fucking idea. A year later, he would honestly ask the difference between this hellhole, and prison. If he would have known it was such a trap, he might have taken a bigger breath of fresh air while he had the chance. He followed the orderly with the police officer, who would pretend that Mark was miles away as he stood there, and as they chuckled and made fun of him right to his face. This was typical, and Mark didn't feel up to defending himself right now. What they were saying was probably true anyway. No, at this moment, Mark was too fucking tired to do anything, it was amazing that he was even able to walk at this point.
He himself didn't know exactly how many days he had been awake, too many to fucking count by this point. A patch of his hair had lost pigment and he had been wearing the same ratty coat for weeks. The skin under his eyes looked almost bruised it was so dark with luggage, and he did infact have some red scratch marks on his face, which one could only guess were made by Mark slapping himself to stay awake when all else failed. Looking kind of on the thin side, his recent diet consisted of water, coffee without any added ingredients... Sure, he'd take bites of a baked potato every once in awhile, but not really enough to survive on. His skin had grown horribly pale and his right eye had began to twitch nervously, with no signs of stopping, which was annoying as could fucking be.
The night before was the first time in a long time Mark had made the nearly-fatal mistake of falling asleep, if even for only a moment. It resulted in the wounds on his arm, and he considered himself lucky for that,... Not that he had been cut, but the fact that he lived to tell how the accident happened. Accident? My ass. No one would believe him anyway, but come on, for someone who is supposedly suicidal, that was one bad slash job. Mark was led into the main room, some either retards or seriously medicated fuckwads would be wandering by him, one ranted about a fucking bunny stalking his bed. Down the hall he heard god-awful screams, and looked to see a bunch of rooms, all with wide opened doors, except for one. That must be where the screams were coming from... This, is just.. Great....
"Mark? Mark Davis?" A nurse called out
No answer from him.
"Wow, you look like you haven't slept for days!"
"Weeks.." He finally spoke up in a strained voice.
".. Uh huh." She said in disbelief, since Mark was such a big liar. Fuck, look at him! isn't that proof enough?
"Well I was told to put this band on you," She held out a white medical bracelet. Mark always liked these things to be honest, but two years later he'd grow to fucking hate it. "Which arm?"
Mark held out his right. White blood-seeping bandages were barely visible under the sleeve of his extra-large and extra dark black coat. She slapped the band on his wrist hard and fast, it hurt like hell and snagged a hair, but his yelp she didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she surely didn't care.
"Well,... We don't ALLOW.. COATS. So this will have to go. T-shirts only." She said in a very rude voice, gesturing to his jacket.
"Uh..?" Mark gestured to the crazies walking by, in sweatshirts and robes. Off-white and ugly as hell, sweatshirts none the less.
"Oh, well, if you get cold, a robe will be provided to you. But until then, you are required to change your home clothing and leave it at the front desk. Clothes have been provided for you, in room 323."
"All white?" His voice was nothing short of disappointment.
"Well, you COULD wear a hospital gown, light blue and bunnies on it!"
Room 323 was home sweet home for those who are psychotic. Mark was looking down at the neatly folded off-white sweat-pants on his bed, which was basically a fucking ironing board with a midget pillow and a blanket over it. Beside the pants, a pair of white socks, a way-too-thin white short-sleeved shirt and a way too big white sweat shirt. Too hot or not, he'd complain of being too cold just to get a coat to hide under. At least he would have a room to himself.
"You will be getting a roommate soon enough!" The bitch announced. God damnit. "A young man named William Rollins, he's got the same problem you do."
"What problem?" He asked curiously with just a hint of sarcasm.
She ignored him. "There's also a list of rules you must follow. If you do not, the punishment will be MOST severe!" Her voice echoed in his mind. He hadn't even known five minutes and he could already tell she was a BITCH. "Understand, Mark, we want to HELP YOU. But, you HAVE TO WANT TO BE HELPED FIRST!!!!"
... Great, hey aren't the patients supposed to be the FUCKING INSANE ONES?
Soon he was left by his lonesome, but even then felt as if he were being watched. Looking around, he investigated the door to his room, big and had a window right in the center of it. He also noticed that, they didn't close all the way. It looked like they only moved passed a certain point if they were forced to, probably for some kind of lock-down situation, alike the screamer he had heard before. Awesome ... There is nothing better than knowing someone could just walk in and stare at you while you sleep.
He left his room and walked up to the front desk to get a look at these supposed rules. The rules were on the huge front banner that all patients were required to read, it stated the following:
"Welcome patient, to Westin Hills; Psychiatric Hospital.
FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS STRICTLY OR THE PUNISHMENTS SHALL BE MOST SEVERE!
1: Behavior: You shall remain CALM and still as stone at ALL times! Any hyper or aggressiveness will get you locked in the quiet room, or confide to your own room until breakfast the next morning! No YELLING. No RUNNING. No LAUGHTER or making LOUD NOISE of any kind of it will be taken as a THREAT! Any fast movement will NOT be tolerated at WESTIN HILLS! ANY ATTACKS made will also insult in being strapped to your bed and strapped down while being sedated by needle. You will awake the next morning, calmly and refreshed!
2. Clothing: YOU ARE TO WEAR OUR SPECIFIC CLOTHING AT ALL TIME! No home clothes! No t-shirts with designs or multi-colors! No jackets or shoes! No clothes with STRINGS! You are to wear a hospital gown, or WESTIN HILLS white sweat shirt, sweat pants, white socks and a white shirt, which are to be changed DAILY (YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WASHING YOUR OWN CLOTHES!) If it gets too cold for you, a hooded sweat shirt shall be provided, but until and unless that time occurs, NO COATS ALLOWED!
3: Meals: BREAKFAST, LUNCH, SNACKS AND DINNER WILL BE SERVED AT SPECIFIC TIMES ONLY. If you miss your meals then you will just have to starve. You may not eat meals without completely washing first, and if any food spills on your clothes you will go unfed for the rest of the day! Your meals will be chosen for you and you will finish your trays or skip a meal for the day. NO SODA! NO DEW! NO COOKIES! NO CANDY! You will be given fruit and health food ONLY! Schedule for meals can be found listed below:
Breakfast - 9:00 AM
Lunch - 12:15 PM
Snack - 6:30 PM
Dinner - 8:00 PM
4. Sleeping/Washing: YOU ARE TO STAY IN YOUR ROOMS AND BE ASLEEP BEFORE 11 PM EACH NIGHT, AND AWAKE AT 6 AM, BE SHOWERED BY 8 AM AT THE LATEST! FAILURE to comply to these rules will result in LOSS OF SNACKTIME, TV TIME, and VISITOR RIGHTS!
5. Accessories: Those with glasses will be given soft contact lenses, you will have to hand in your glasses and retainers and/or false teeth and hearing aids! All nail polish must be REMOVED, and your nails filed and cut down SHORT! As for Shaving, ONCE a month you will be granted a plastic razor (A nurse will be nearby while use) and you will be granted to shave excess hair off, DRY ONLY!
6: Entertainment Room: GOOD BEHAVIOR and OBEYING the RULES will grant you ENTERTAINMENT ROOM time. You will only be allowed access to this room for FIVE HOURS a day, FIVE DAYS a week! In this room you may play cards, socialize with other patients, play board games, read books, and watch T.V! (Selected channels ONLY, Soap Operas, News, sometimes, and NASCAR!)
7: Medication: MEDICATION WILL BE GIVEN AT 8:30 PM EXACTLY, after you have had time to digest your well-made dinners. You will get in line as your name is called at the front desk and take all required medications, along with two cups of water. An advising Doctor will be standing nearby to insure that all medication has been swallowed before you will be allowed to leave.
8: Visitor rights: You may only have ONE visitor at a time! Visitors may only be someone OF RELATION to the patient! They may only come THREE TIMES a week! They may only STAY for ONE HOUR at a time! VISITORS may only come if the PATIENT as followed the rules! You may also contact your visitors by PHONE (NO CELLPHONES! You may use the payphones TWICE daily for up to 15 minutes at a time!) and INTERNET once a MONTH, NO VISITING WEBSITES! NO INSTANT MESSENGERS!
9: Group: Three times a day we will be having GROUP SESSIONS, and ALL DAY on WEEKENDS! You will be expected to attend each group and gradually get BETTER as the medication will be HELPING TO GUIDE YOU. YOU MUST AGREE WITH the selected Therapist for EACH GROUP as they are RIGHT and you are WRONG because you are the PATIENT in NEED of MEDICAL HELP!
10: Discharge: UNDERSTAND, it will be up to US to decide WHEN YOU ARE BETTER and READY TO LEAVE. We are professionals and you can only trust us to know when you are mentally ready to leave! If you must, you can stand in line to look out the window in the Entertainment Room for up to five minutes at a time however!
As a Patient you are expected to follow all these rules. If you at any time choose to disagree with any one of these rules, the punishment shall be very rash and you will spent a lot of time alone, in the quiet room, being studied and given experimental medication to make you think otherwise so this situation will never occur again! "
Mark gave the rules a once over and sighed. For an instant he wondered if he had bled to death and this was his own personal Hell? You know what? Quite fucking possibly. That damn nurse was at his door knocking before he had really been given the chance to do anything.
"Oh, no, no, no Mark, you are to CHANGE your clothes, and bring them to the front desk."
".. I know that, I was just reading the rule sheet."
"Well, you need to do that later. Right now you just need to change."
"..I'm, going to .."
"Just change your clothes and bring them--"
"I got it. Thanks."
"Don't forget to read the rule banner!" With that, she left his sight again. Probably to stand aside and pop back in like some kind of fucking android to say that all again, in the exact same tone, in the next thirty seconds.
"Come the fuck on.." Mark muttered under his breath. He wasn't in the mood for this shit. His brother was dead. This was his parents "solution" to protect him. Fuck this place...
Still, there was no escape. Off would come the coat, Mark winced as he had to pull his arm out of the sleeve. The bandages were loose and one single drop of blood leaked slowly down his arm. He figured fuck it, they wouldn't care to help him anyway, and just wiped it off with his coat, pressing the bandages on for a hopeful tighter stick. Time to get changed. Bare socks touched the marble floor of the halls, above them the long legs of his loose off-white sweats, and a sweatshirt that hung off him like a potato sack on a broom being used for a scarecrow. Mark stood outside his room and just as predicted, there was Satan, that fucking nurse, waiting for him to follow through with her fucking simple directions.
"Well, now you just look right at home don'tchu!"
"I'm still kind of cold, actually." It wasn't a total lie, it was cold as winter inside this building, obviously they didn't have any opened windows to get the hot temperature that existed outside these walls.
"Oh, well, I'm sure you'll be fine."
".. I'm cold. I think I'd like a robe."
"No, you can--"
"I said get me a damn robe!"
The Nurse looked shocked as could be, as if such language had never entered her ears before. That look of shock only turned into an evil glare as she suddenly let out a roar of "PATIENT DAVIS IS ATTACKING!!!!"
"..What?" Mark had dropped his clothes to the floor, and was holding his sore ear lobe." "I didn't--"
Before Mark knew it, he was being attacked by two men in dark red scrubs, one grabbed his arm, blood seeped through the sleeve of his white shirt which he would later get in more trouble for, fucking great.
"Hey let go of me! Fuck!! Ow! I didn't do anything! I just got here for fucks sake!" Mark tried to explain to them, as they dragged him back into his room, throwing him roughly onto that piece of fucking wood they tried to claim was his bed, and strapping him down by his wrists and ankles.
"What-- Dude come on! I-- AHHH!!!" He hadn't even felt the poke of the needle in his neck until it was too late. I guess Mark had been a little pre-occupied with what being manhandled by two huge demons, for all he knew. The bitch of a nurse had filled a syringe up of god-knows-what and stuck it right into his neck. Blood spurted when the needle came out, to which she quickly held a piece of gauze.
"Now you see, that was uncalled for, Patient Davis. You should have just read the rule-sheet to begin with." The nurse chimed in with her bitchy smile.
" ... Fuck you."
"Oh, none of that. Not anymore. Welcome to Westin Hills, Mark. You're going to be here for a very long time. Until we decide you are ALLLLLL BETTERRRRR."
The nurse nodded to the two men, who left the room as she followed. She inserted a key that allowed the door to shut completely, and then locked what sounded like three completely different locks. The bitches face smiling at the window was the last thing Mark saw before his eyelids felt heavy, and soon he was surrounded by darkness.... Westin Hills. Home for the mentally insane...
"I thought we were supposed to be MAINTAINING sanity in this place..?!!" He yelled out loud.
He was drowsy now.. Slipping into deep sleep...
....The sound of rusty but sharp blood-covered knives clinging against a metal surface was suddenly heard, followed by a familiar laugh that Mark feared, and now would have no choice but to face. There was darkness no more, but glows of red from the fires revealing to be a nasty old boiler room. And there in the barely visible, a dirty old glove with four long blades attached to each finger grabbed onto a metal pole, as the fiend in blood red and dark green stripes swung around, to face Mark, and behind that burnt skin, he began to smile.
"Well now," He raised and flicked his glove, it was still dripping fresh blood off the tips of the knives. "Where were we?"
It truly was a nightmare, just like in real life, Mark was strapped down the entire time. He was totally defenseless against Freddy... and yet, he was still alive. Why? Because killing him would be too easy. Freddy chose to instead toy with him, a little scratch here or there just to fuck him over before--
Freddy was gone! It was as if Mark just vanished! The dream went to darkness, the nightmare was no more. What in the hell was going on? It was like the dream got blocked in some way, some how... Mark awoke the next morning, looking dazed and fucking confused as could be. He almost thought the past was nothing more than another nightmare, but sadly the true nightmare had only just began. Mark's eyes opened and he was instantly startled by the eyes of that annoying bitch of a nurse glancing down at him, giving him one of those 'you got what you deserved' looks.
Oh, here we fucking go again...
"Looks like someone needs his fingernails shortened, by the looks of that."
Mark was caught in confusion, until he looked to his wrists, being untied from the straps to see that the skin was all very blood-caked. He had several marks all along the skin, much resembling the four slashes on his right arm already.
"Oh no. I didn't do that..." He recalled Freddy toying with him in the nightmare. Doing enough damage just to make it look as if he could have done it himself. That fucker...
"Mhm, well, those nails must be cut or you must stop that kind of dreaming. One or the other. Now don't forget to shower this morning, and breakfast will be waiting for you in the entertainment room."
"What happened to me last night?" He asked. "I was.. having a nightmare, and then it just, ended." Mark looked to the fresh bandaid on his, and the IV drip next to his bed. "What did you guys give me?"
"You just never mind. Now come!"
With that the nurse left, Mark rubbed his wrists, confused and lost. How long did he have to be in here? He didn't even know, but he sure the fuck couldn't wait to leave. No music, no comics, no internet? Fuck this man... Later when he'd shower, Mark would find the water to be ice cold and that's as warm as it would ever get. He'd only have ten minutes to shower, being done in less than five, and still would be late getting to the entertainment room and lose the chance to eat the nasty breakfast that they had prepared for him. Quickly cooked eggs and greasy bacon .. He wasn't missing much.
By this point, he thought maybe just letting himself be taken by Freddy would be the best choice. No more fucking torment. He was done. Time would pass and he would only become more insane, seeing people come and go, never long enough to make friends with any of the drug addicts or people brought in for suicide or homicide. Mark would wait in line, just to stare out the fucking window. It was all he had to look forward to. More bullshit excuses from the doctors once a month, coming up with medical-term ways to say "we love making you suffer so here is a reason for why you won't be leaving anytime soon, hehehee!!!"
All the time, Mark could only wonder, just what in the hell did HE DO to deserve this? It was Freddy's fault, and that burnt up bastard son of 100 maniacs wasn't going to win. Mark wasn't going down without a fucking fight, that was for sure. But it was a fight that he knew he couldn't fight alone.
Over time, some teenagers would be submitted into the fucking asylum, all knowing of Freddy but, being too weak to survive the nightmare, and eventually would each fall victim to him. Mark was there to see them all get picked off one by one, while the doctors shoved new pills down his throat and he fought to stay awake each night. Have you ever had to pretend to sleep without actually falling asleep in fear of dying? Knowing the moment you do, he'll be there waiting for you? It's a mind fuck, if there ever was one.
Everywhere in Westin was about standing in lines. A line to get into the bathroom. A line to stare out a window. A line to fucking be in a line. When you're in an asylum, standing around doing nothing is at least doing something productive, rather than just laying around on that fucking board they called a bed. Mark hated being social, especially with all these freaks when he obviously didn't belong here. He wasn't crazy .. But give him a few months in this place and we'll see about that.
Mark had just stood in a line for over an hour just to get a fucking book, only to find nothing to his taste. With an aggravated groan, he lazily pulled up a copy of Beowulf and mainly just skipped to the parts involving Grendel. Reading this or that, he stood in another line, surrounded by people who have murdered, and maimed, and raped the innocent (one, including a squirrel ... ) But, Mark couldn't care. After everything he had suffered through, losing his closest friends and struggling to survive, he had learned that no one is truly innocent, not really. Not anymore in this day and age.
"Your hair." Someone said.
Mark withdrew his face from the book and turned around, an old bitch in a shirt too small with long wrinkly tits ...He knew this from how low they were sagging, right out from under her shirt ... The sight sickened him beyond description, was poking at the back of his head, he swiped her hand away from him with a shove and a "Don't fucking touch me."
"Your haaaair..." They said again.
"Yeah, I have hair. What about it?" Mark snapped back.
"Heh it's funnnnnny."
"..What's funny about my hair?"
"uhhhhhhhhhhhh..... it's.... dark...but... then there's a white spot... haaahah..."
What the.. fuck? Mark didn't know what the hell this old and obviously demented chick was trying to say, but he pushed his way through the line to get up close to the mirror. At first he saw nothing. Just another dumbass patient seeing shit. But then he turned to the left, seeing a good chunk of hair on the backside of his right, completely white.
"What is this?" He asked himself out loud, pulling at the hair. It had lost its pigment, when the fuck did this happen??
"It's a mirror" The fatass from behind him said. Mark didn't know if he was being sarcastic, or honestly thought he was being helpful ...
"Welcome... You can pay me now." The guy held out his hand.
Mark oddly set the book in the man's hand, who stared at him confused.
"What this." The man asked. Yep, the question of a man with one or more screws loose.
"It's a boo--...." Mark stopped. Time to test just how crazy this fuck was. "Toast. It's toast. You can eat it."
"WOOOOOOOOO!!!" The fatass began to dance, wiggle sorts. The image would leave Mark disturbed for days to come, and give him something else, to have less life-threatening nightmares about.
There had to be someone in this place who wasn't out of their fucking mind. Mark waited three hours until his apparent roommate arrived, this William Rollins guy the Nurse had told him about. Maybe perhaps this guy would be just as crazed as the other nuts here. Maybe not. Mark returned to his room, 323, to find a lonely, sad looking boy sitting on the other bed.
"Uh... Hey, man." Mark said, he entered the room cautiously, not knowing if Will was sane, or not. "I'm Mark..." He said, unsure if he should extend his hand to the kid or not. "Me-Mark.. You're... William?" He asked, but felt really stupid saying as much. "Are you crazy like the rest of these fuckers?" He just decided to ask out right.