Springwood Police Station, Springwood Ohio, June 17th 1966

It's all a game, you know that, don't you?

Sure you do.

You're no fool. Not like those cops.

Do I say the word with distaste? Oh well, pardon me...

They think they've caught me. They think that they're clever little spiders, with a homicidal but dim witted fly stuck in their web.

I've evaded capture for close to two years, killed dozens, twenty six that they know of, and they think they've got me dead to rights.

Never mind the fact that they only found me because of my daughter.

A five year old is the savior of an entire town from a child murdering menace...a little girl has succeeded where an entire task force has failed. They think it was great detective work that lead them to my doorstep, when it was really just dumb luck.

The irony of that isn't lost on me...but it's lost on them.

Of course, these are the same kind of men who couldn't find their own asses with both hands and a team of specially trained experts...still, I find myself wishing there was some kind of challenge in it...some effort to be had on my part...

This is all an elaborate chess game, with me a million moves ahead of the competition.

It's like playing chess with a chimp. A really, really stupid chimp.

They stand here and grill me like a common criminal, using the same good cop/bad cop garbage...one of them pretending to be on my side, wanting me to do what's best for myself...

After all, the court will give me a reduced sentence if I just admit to it and let those poor parents know where the remains of their children are.

Like I don't know that the second I open my mouth I'm looking at lethal injection.

What do they take me for, an amateur?

I'm insulted.

If it wouldn't give away the game, I'd laugh at them.

They just don't get it. I don't answer to them. They're beneath me.

Lower than the dirt caked in the soles of my shoes.

They send in the psychiatrists and the psychologists to try and figure me out, try and peg if I had Oedipal issues as a kid...

"Why do you do it, Fred? Why would you kill children?"

Why? Why? You want to know why?

Why do birds fly? Why do fish swim? Why do any of them do the things that they do?

If these idiots are the best they've got, they sure as hell don't deserve to know why. If you want to know those delectable details, you'll just have to earn it...knowing what I do and why I do it is a privilege, not a right. A privilege I doubt anyone will ever deserve.

Besides...they haven't got me. Not really. There's something bigger going on here than just me and the cops...something more powerful brewing just beneath the surface of this perfect little piece of suburbia.

It's that same something that tells me they'll never catch me. Ever.

I've got my claws too deep in the flesh of this little city for them to ever flush me out completely, and I've been too meticulous in my methods for them to ever put me away.

They think they've got evidence...

It's all circumstantial, at best. None of those things in my work room prove anything...none of them are stained with blood...those are just my prototypes, never have any of them ripped into tender skin before.

As for the scrapbook...that can be explained away by my extremely macabre interest in true crime stories.

Besides...I don't seem to recall being read my Miranda rights when they arrested me.

Like I said...there's something bigger than them and me going on here.

And that something will make certain that I'm never caught.


A/N: It was requested by She-Elf4 that I write something in first person from Freddy's POV, and this is the first thing that came to me. I'm just not sure if it's Freddy enough. I like writing arrogant characters, but I'm not sure if I went far enough.

Or maybe I went too far...I dunno. I'm always antsy about writing a new canon character.

God I hope this is my last NOES fic...this universe is trying to take over my life.