Living in Deaddolfhin, Illinois had its advantages some said. Founded, according to accepted local legend, on the site of an early settler’s fish-market, why the “f” instead of the traditional “p” no one knew. It had come though to be a rather well-loved little urban idiosynchrasy – something to engage visitors over conversationally, if nothing else.

Jenny Cornwall, by whatever yardstick one were to use, was a cutie. Just seventeen, she was in her last year of high-school. Having her mind set on a career in journalism, she was determined to follow in the footsteps of her illustrious father who was now a financial analyst for no less a tabloid than the New York Times.

Undeniably aiding her in whatever vocational path she may have chosen, was Jenny’s physical appearance. “Cutie” actually downplays the situation here. “Ventricularly arresting” might be nearer the mark. Five-two in bare-feet (should you be so lucky) the most attractive little heart-shaped face looked out at her world through clear hazel eyes highlighted by sleek dark eyelashes that no street-artist could have pencilled in. Unblemished skin complemented the prettiest of natural expressions that drew one to those lips – delicate and so full of promise, one could only thank God to have been born male – and in Deaddolfhin. Her exquisitely cut and layered mass of brunette hair which trailed off her lovely shoulders even in the most gentle of winds, didn’t detract much either.

The good news didn’t stop there. The aforementioned five-foot two inches of smalltown, middle-American desirability was packaged into a body that did everything right. Her small but beautiful breasts were off-set by an equally restrained but spankable little bottom that sadly had last seen such action when she was but maybe four or five years old. Her legs it seemed, had been sculptured by a professional who one can only suppose, was stretchered off the field comatose, when he reached the top.

Jenny Cornwall was to put it succinctly, one of the most beautiful young girls on the planet.

Late October and circumstances found her hunched-up rather daintily on the floor of her outrageously expansive bedroom, with her four best-friends from school. It hadn’t been a particularly cold evening for the sleep-over, despite the meteorological expectations that might be ascribed the “Cute Kitties of the World” calender that hung marginally askew over her computer desk. ‘October’ had as its main picture, a rather magnificent study of a white tiger trekking through deep snow, carrying her solitary cub by the scruff of it’s neck. To the left of the calender and partly obscured by her carved table-lamp was a sign which read “A home without a cat is just a house” which adequately summed-up Jenny’s views on the subject.

Cyndi Andersson wasn’t far behind in the “Girls I’d like to kidnap for a month” stakes. Of Nordic parentage as might be guessed from her surname, she was slightly taller than Jenny – around five-four. Long deep-blonde hair and quite exquisite features. One of those girls that whatever the occasion, she handled it with style. She didn’t suffer fools readily and as a result, was accorded the status by the other boys at San Carlita High as a seminal-tease as it were. She could so live with that!

Bronwyn Lanchard was the serious one among them. The third daughter of Conrad Lanchard, a prominent local attorney, her grades were legendary, her future (in the legal profession) indisputable. Bronwyn, whilst not classically beautiful was just simply pretty. Maybe it was the way she was constantly brushing her long brown hair out of her eyes as she talked. Perhaps, her little habit of giggling between comments. Certainly her stylish glasses sporting their neat little rectangular lenses by “Jeunique,” lent her an air of extreme vulnerability. More than likely though it was just her breasts did it for her. To die for in any clothing you care to mention, tonight as she sat on the floor with her friends in those silky little PJ’s, no man could have shifted his gaze from her arousingly prominent cleavage. One might understandably be reminded of the Marianas trench.

Lucy Vandenholm could best be described as ‘trippy.’ Had she been around in the late sixties she would have slotted into life in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco like a born natural. An effusive little blonde, she had an interest in all things outre! Could have been a high-ranking Goth except for the fact she didn’t like black! Ear-studs and accessories ran riot up into her hairline. A rather creative little tattooed scarab sat but centimeters below the rear naughty upper line of her knickers. To complete the picture, her belly button played host to a simple gold ring that her father had once threatened to tear-out without anaesthetic should she ever be thus pierced. It had not been without difficulty trying to hide this particular mutilation from his line of vision. She was though a real sweetie. Cuddly if not a little hypertense, she wasn’t short of male followers let’s say!

Completing the quintet was Jacqui Melville. Tallest of the group, she was not far off five-eight, courtesy of those wonderful thigh-dominating legs that were born for show and tell on the catwalk. Decidedly catlike herself, with those piercing green eyes, mane of tawny hair and a propensity to purr when you found the right spot, Jacqui was the group’s balancing influence. Blessed with a truck-load of common sense, she could slink her way through any situation. For her, fear had never been an option.

“I wish we could go trick or treating again,” said Jenny to no-one in particular. “It’s Halloween tomorrow night guys – don’t you remember all the fun we used to have?” she added wistfully.

“I certainly remember Rick Mancuso in eighth grade,” laughed Jacqui, “Always looking to give one of the girls a real “treat” – behind the boy’s locker-room.” They all laughed.

“Well why don’t we then?” said Bronwyn. “Who says you have to be ten years old to go out Halloween?”

“Hello Bron,” muttered Lucy. “Look at us! We’d look like braindead co-eds fronting up to someone’s house in designer jeans and stuff.” The other girls stared at her. “Besides, what are we gonna say?... ‘Evening sir, Halloween sluts on call – just $100 the group and we take most credit cards!”

Jenny and Bronwyn cracked up.

“Hang on people,” Cyndi was getting to her feet. She clasped her bathrobe to her. “Why don’t we just dress-up young? I mean, we’re all pretty short – well except for Miss Vogue magazine over there.” Jacqui stuck her tongue out at her.

“You mean like little-girl dresses and pigtails type stuff?” asked Jenny. “You’re kidding!”

“It’s mega-simple,” replied Cyndi. “Just take off your make-up and nail polish ... hmm,” she hesitated, “and well, just giggle a lot!”

“You’re serious aren’t you Cyndi?” enquired Lucy, hugging her knees and looking up at her friend.

“Hey, it would be such fun guys wouldn’t it ... really? put in Bronwyn, pleased that she had been the instigator of the idea.

Put to a quick vote, the concept scored big-time. Only Jacqui had held back a little saying “Not so sure this is such a good idea girls.” Nevertheless she had gone with the numbers.

Halloween, and Deaddolfhin was host to more candle-lit pumpkins than you’d find at fruiterers’ convention in Hell. At the Cornwall residence it was a veritable hive of retrogressive girlish activity. Jenny, Cyndi and Jacqui had dug out their old year-eight school uniforms which still fitted them to any curve you care to mention. Bronwyn had tugged on a pair of Levis with a floppy top that hid “the trench’ while Lucy had squeezed herself effortlessly into a little party dress that made her look fourteen tops! Jenny and Cyndi had gone the pigtail route, Bronwyn a pony while Jacqui and Lucy had simply brushed their hair back and employed a couple of strategically-placed clasps. To the casual observer, a more normal group of bubbly young schoolkids didn’t exist.

The air was crisp to say the least, as the group, having overlaid themselves with warm coats, crossed Chadstone Road heading for Donners Ridge, an older established estate, comprising many desirable cedar-built homes on large blocks. The streets were tree-lined, the front yards for the most part – immaculate and the general aura – one of wealthy, if not staid indifference. Lucy herself lived in Greenline Avenue just up on their left.

“Hey, lets try this house,” Cyndi called out to her friends. Giggling, they climbed the half dozen steps to the small covered verandah. Even as Jenny raised her hand to knock, the front door swung open, giving them and the emerging figure the shock of their joint lives.

“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” muttered the man, pulling up abruptly.

“Well, it is Halloween sir,” replied Jenny, recovering her own composure.

He looked the small group over – clearly undismayed by such redoubtable a feminine presence.

“Aren’t you schoolkids just a little bit old for this?” he asked, addressing Bronwyn now.

“No way,” she replied, “We’re just getting better at it each year,” Everyone laughed.

“Well then,” he muttered, “What can I say? S’pose I’d better go find you girls some “treats.” He disappeared back inside, leaving the door ajar.

“Did you see the way he looked at us?” squeaked Lucy.

“Yeah, more like we were some early Christmas present than Halloween,” chipped in Jacqui. “Told you kids this wasn’t such a great idea.”

“C’mon Jacqui, lighten up,” said Bronwyn, “It’s just a bit of fun is all.”

Right then, the man returned and handed them all various candies. They thanked him and scurried down the steps, leaving him with little more than an empty verandah to talk to.

“This is cool,” cooed Cyndi, “Let’s try the next house.”

By the end of the street all five girls had their pockets overflowing with enough confectionery to ensure the need of regular dental treatment for years.

“Come on girls, lets go back,” said Jacqui. “I think we’ve gotten more than enough and its getting a bit late.”

“Just a couple more houses then,” insisted Cyndi. “Hey, lets try that street opposite.” She pointed across the road.

“Noooo,” whispered Lucy looking genuinely concerned. “Not up there – it’s got a bad reputation.”

“As in scary? “ asked Jenny. “Whoa! We gotta give it a whirl.”

“No really,” insisted Lucy. Kids have always been told to stay clear of that place. Just lots of stories about bad things happening there.”

“Well it looks pretty normal,” Jenny replied. “Let’s not wimp out huh?”

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. “I guess,” she muttered. Jacqui looked doubtful but tagged along anyway.

Indeed, Mencole Street appeared entirely normal More of the same cedar-built homes lined both sides of the essentially straight road ahead. Perhaps the only noticeable difference was just how quiet the area was, the only sound in evidence being the girl’s footfalls.

Deciding by majority-vote to tackle initially the second house on the right, the five of them approached the front door, well-lit as it was by the overhanging porch light. On their left, two huge carved-out pumpkins placed either side of the entrance steps, glowed with candle-lit intrigue. Sounds of some group festivity were clearly audible inside.

Huddled together as they were for collective comfort, Jenny knocked twice.

Whatever sights they had been expecting to emerge from behind that opening door – Freddy Krueger definitely wasn’t one of them.

Touching the brim of his moth-eaten hat, he leered at them. Why, its Jenny Cornwall?” he exclaimed. Even the voice was uncannily like the late Wes Craven’s hellish creation. So professionally made was the mask they couldn’t even see where the facial join was.

“God, you scared me,” stammered Jenny. “Who are you and how come you know me?’

“Same way I recognise Bronny, Cyndi. Lucy and Jacqui.” the figure announced. “You’re not the only five at San Carlita’s y’know!”

The implication of this statement stunned them momentarily.

“You’re a student there?” muttered Lucy incredulously.

“Maybe ... maybe not.” The Freddy-figure had propped himself up against the doorway. “Anything goes on Halloween night girls,” he added, drawing a solitary knifed finger noisily along the top of the screen door.

“C’mon, who are you ... really?” Bronwyn was almost begging. “Is it you Wayne? This is just the kinda stunt you’d pull.”

“Wayne????” The figure looked wounded. “I’m Freddy Krueger ... doncha recognise me?”

“Really? said Jacqui, not even vaguely impressed with the charade. “Well Freddy, last thing I knew – you lost your head. I seem to remember Jason Voorhees striding out of Camp Crystal Lake holding it up for the audience. You winked, remember?”

“Yeah he can sure take punishment that one,” the figure cackled to himself. “Dear old Jason. He’s here too you know. Wanna come in and meet him? We’re having quite a party.”

“Tell us at least which grade you’re in then,” piped-up Cyndi.

“That’d give it away,” the figure retorted. “Come on, its Halloween - take a risk. Join us in some ghoulish excitement.” So saying, the grotty apparition turned on its heels and headed back inside, leaving the front door open.

“Look, let’s get out of here,” Jacqui urged them.

“Wait,” said Jenny, “I gotta find out which one of those San Carlita losers he is. I’m sure its not Wayne. I figure its Mark. Look, if we all stick together we’ll be Ok – don’t think anyone’s gonna try anything this close to home.”

Against her better judgment, Jacqui accompanied her friends as they trudged inside. The door closing behind them as they did so, did little to assuage her sense of danger.

“I can’t open it,” she said stepping back and trying to turn the handle.

“Probably dead-locked,” called out Lucy. “You need a key.”

Further along the hallway, the sounds of a party in progress were plainly obvious. Not only was the air hot and cloying, it appeared that someone had gone overboard with a fog machine ripped-off from some horror-movie set most likely. Whitish vapor swirled around them, in places almost to knee level.

“God, someone’s blown their entire monthly allowance on the costuming and special effects here,” muttered Bronwyn, though none too sure of herself.

An incredibly well lit room ran off to the left from the end of the hallway. Taking a few seconds to adjust, they could see several figures moving about. Many appeared to be girls, for the most part, barely into their teens. Some were dancing listlessly, others looking rather pale, as if they had tossed down one ecstasy tablet too many.

Over on the far wall and little more than swaying to the music, one arm around a tiny girl’s waist seemingly supporting her, could be seen another icon of cinematic pain. Pinhead in all his nailed glory stared at Jenny’s group as they moved through the room. The smile that spread slowly across his mutilated lips was highly disconcerting. Again, Lucy was thinking, just how realistic was that face-mask!

Cyndi was the first to be separated from the group. Trailing the others slightly, she felt her arm being tugged gently. Turning, she saw a young girl holding her wrist and motioning her towards a chair in the far corner of the room. Whether it was occupied or not she could not tell. Her question though was soon enough answered.

The Shape rose to meet her. She looked up in horror as the familiar blue-clad masked visage towered over her, the wicked knife grasped menacingly in his left hand. She would have screamed as he dragged her down in his lap but for the fact the hand across her mouth was fully immovable.

“Michael loves pretty blondes” whispered the girl who had drawn Cyndi to her fate. Several other young girls were now surrounding the chair and jostling together as if to secure a better view of proceedings. Her coat was pulled roughly from her shoulders before she felt her arms being seized on either side, forcing the realisation that whatever was planned for her, she had no viable options to hand.

The approaching black and red striped jumper meanwhile, indicated to the rest of the group, their host’s return.

“Curiosity get the better of you did it Jenny?” The Krueger-figure smirked. “Follow me girls, someone here you might like to meet.”

Threading their way through the smoky room they found themselves in another short hallway. A door to the right lay partly open and it was through here that they were being shepherded.

Contrasting with the dazzling lounge, this room was sombrely lit. Bright enough though for the four girls to take in the features of the tall shabby figure standing near the window. Not that they noticed much beyond the battered hockey-mask and the dark pupils glaring back at them from the hellish depths of those eye sockets.

“We have visitors Jason,” said Freddy, closing the door behind him.

The hand across Cyndi’s mouth relaxed its grip, but only long enough to be replaced with duct-tape. She struggled uselessly. Whoever this was she was sitting on, was way too strong to argue with. She was thinking Hank, the school quarter-back but it just didn’t ‘feel’ like him. Speaking of feeling, fear turned to outright revulsion as one outsize hand suddenly clamped itself around her right breast and mauled her through her thin top. She shook her head in denial of what was happening to her, tears welling in her eyes. The hand crossed to her other breast now ... fondling, rubbing. She could but stare downwards.

With her arms held tightly, Cyndi had to tolerate the demeaning behavior. The cordon of girls observing her discomfort merely added to the humiliation. Fumbling at the top buttons unsuccessfully, her tormentor evidently was losing patience. She realised at that point that he had not uttered a word either to her or anyone else present. Ripping her flimsy cotton shirt now, she gasped inaudibly as her entire bra was exposed and she wriggled in embarrassment as the Shape thrust his hand roughly inside the flimsy material feeling her nipple and pulling it hard. Quite without warning the great knife inched up beneath the skerrick of material that held the two cups together. The ice-cold metal against her cleavage caused her to shudder uncontrollably. As the tip of the blade effortlessly severed the elastic, her bra fell open, exposing both breasts in their entirety. A collective gasp – whether of surprise or escalating female arousal, she couldn’t tell – encircled her. Blushing in spite of her fear, Cyndi awaited the next phase of her undeserved fate.

“None of the kids in our grade are that big,” Lucy whispered to Jenny. The figure was approaching the four girls. They noticed lying atop a nearby bookcase a huge machete. Seemed to Jenny they had gone to great lengths to spare no detail in emulating their screen-horror originals. The outrageous hockey-masked stranger towered over them. Whether her imagination or not, Jenny was sure she caught a whiff of foetid breath.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Jacqui, propelling herself to the front of the group. “You don’t scare us whoever the hell you are.” She turned to Freddy. “As for you fuck-face, you’re just pathetic. A total loser who gets his kicks dressing up. Now, if you don’t wanna take that mask off and show us who you really are, you can just piss off and let us go home.”

Before she had time to move, Jason had her around the throat and lifting her like a rag-doll, tossed her clean across the room on to a long sofa where she lay unconscious. The other three cowered in horror, unable or unwilling even to check the condition of their fallen comrade.

“You don’t want to upset Jason,” said Freddy smiling, “He really has an anger-management problem.” He had moved now alongside Bronwyn and was obscenely running his finger knives across the top of her breasts.

Shrinking from the unwanted contact, she found her retreat blocked by a large wooden cabinet.

“Come into my world Bronwyn,” he hissed at her and then to Lucy and Jenny’s total incomprehension, both figures completely disappeared. Not that they had exactly much time to ponder this enigma. Jason had seized Lucy by the arm and was dragging her to the sofa. Her screaming was cut cruelly short by a backhander that buckled her knees and all but caused her to pass out. Tossing Jacqui’s inert form on to the carpet he pulled Lucy into a sitting position and having shucked off her coat, had begun to systematically abuse her. Initially just fondling her breasts, Jenny could hear him making retarded noises of pleasure as he progressed to full-scale groping of her helpless body. Pushing her dress up, he seemed mesmerised by the view up between her legs and began experimentally prodding the front of her knickers with his fingers, grunting as he did so. Lucy was sobbing now and pleading with him to stop. She may as well have tried ordering an iced coffee.

Jenny had backed herself up to the door but to her horror, she found it was either locked or bolted in some fashion. It would not budge. All she could do was stare at her friend’s desperate predicament. It was only then that she became aware of Cyndi’s absence too, something that would have to take a back-seat to the current situation obviously.