Elm Street: The Coroner's Examinations

What happens when the messy happenings of Elm Street land on the Coroner's desk? How will these brutal murders be interpreted? Can anyone make sense of Krueger's maniacal slicing and dicing? (one shot)

Read on...

The Coroner's Office: 22:20PM.

Fred sat with his head in his hands, the dim fluorescent light flickering on and off throwing shadows down the long corridor. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn the night Cops were hazing him. Though, from his three days on shift, he knew that the Cops in Springwood possessed no sense of humour at all.

They did, however, like a drink once in a while.

He had found himself training with the Springfield Coroner, Dr Jenks, for just over two weeks now. Fred had a promising future ahead of him and a smart head on his shoulders. A total of four bodies had found their way to them in that time and each death had gotten increasingly bizarre. The buzzing from the flickering light began to grate on his already raw nerves. Details from that week's report swam round in his head. How could it possibly be?

The first body to be brought in belonged to a Caucasian female aged 16-20 named Tina Gray. Her hysterical Mother had been called in to identify the body, having to be escorted out of the premises by Lieutenant Thompson, presumably to Springwood Hospital for a sedative and a comfortable bed for the night. This case was classed as murder, the suspect thought to be the young woman's boyfriend. A 'fuck and shut' case as the victim and the suspect had performed sexual intercourse not long before the victim had met her untimely end. The suspect's semen having being found during a routine swab post mortem.

Caught bang to rights?

There had been accusations that the suspect had been at the scene, but how could the go on heresy by two teens?

It was no surprise when yet another lifeless cadaver was wheeled in the following evening. Caucasian male aged 16-20. Rod Lane. The only suspect in the Tina Gray murder case. This was an open and shut case, hung himself using the bed sheets from his cell and he suffered a broken neck as the noose strung him up.

How did he manage to hang himself with no foothold? There was no way he could hoist himself up there...

Then came the third body. Well, technically it was parts of a body. The SPD had wheeled in a trolley consisting of several chunks of flesh, a lot of sinew and a few teeth; it was these teeth that were used to identify the corpse. Caucasian, male, aged 16-20. Glen Lantz. From what he could gather from the officers present and Mr Lantz's Parents, there had been a lot of blood, body chunks and a "huge hole" in the middle of the deceased's bed.

What did a 'huge hole' have to do with anything? Why was this boy in pieces, did someone have access to a giant blender? Why the hell were the police so accepting of these strange events?

Then a charred cadaver had been brought to their attention. Again, this one was identified by her dental records, despite the protests of her ex-Husband, one Lieutenant Donald Thompson. He was right, as the remains of the deceased were indeed that of his ex-wife, Marge Thompson.

Fred was disturbed with the calm ease with which the Lieutenant accepted his ex-wives fate; and even more disturbed with the rest of the parents and their acceptance of the strange circumstances surrounding their children's deaths.

This town wasn't right.

A buzzing from the intercom indicated his shift was now over. Fred intended to go to the Intern's quarters and throw himself under his quilt and into sleep.


Coroner's Office; 07:20am

What was it with the hours before 9am being less than friendly?

Fred pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before once again diving into the 'Elm Street' files. He would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to his next placement in his studies, hell anywhere would be better than here. Whilst turning the pages he winced as a sharp paper cut sliced his forefinger open.


He sucked absent minded at the small wound on his finger and continued to flick through the pages, a few now stained with his own blood.

The charred cadaver or 'Ole Smokey' as she had been so sensitively named by the staff, was still resting in room A84. A closed coffin case if there ever was one. Fred thought that it was touching that Lieutenant Thompson sat outside that same room whenever he got the chance, as if in silent vigil.

Hell, maybe the poor bastard was trying to catch a few Z's. Looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.

Fred had heard whisperings amongst the Officers that the Lieutenant's daughter had been committed to the local mental hospital as a result of the murders. By the sounds of things the kid had a lucky escape. Looking at her relationship to the victims she would most definitely have been next on the Killer's list.

Or what if she was the killer?

That thought entered Fred's head for the millionth time that week. What if she had gone nuts and butchered her friends, and then her own Mother? Stranger things had happened, and this town had the creepy vibe straight out of a Stephen King novel.

Seriously though, what if the girl had gone bat shit? Teenage hormones, bad TV or too many chemicals in the soda. Decided to go on a killing spree and relying on the fact she was the Lieutenant's daughter to get off lightly, plead insanity? It was the most logical thought swirling through his head at the moment. From the snippets of information he had harvested from the interviews with the remaining survivor, Miss Nancy Thompson, and from her father, it was clear that Miss Thompson was insistent that the murders had been carried out by an un-dead serial killer named 'Fred Krueger'.

Fred Krueger?

He had noted that particular name down for further research in the Springwood library when his shift ended.

With a sigh, he stood up to continue his work on the blackened remains of Marjorie Thompson.


Stepping out into the bright sunshine, Fred shook himself, almost like a dog trying to dry itself off after a dip in the sea. Only Fred was trying to rid himself of the stench one collected when surrounded by cadavers and medical solutions. He continued south towards the red brick building that was the Springwood Library, a huge three story building which housed all the records from Springwood from as far back as anyone could remember, then they stretched even further than that.

On entering the building he was greeted by a small, white-haired woman who ushered him towards the staircase which led to the main floor. On the short journey up the flight of stairs it was ascertained that this woman's name was a Mrs Napier, the head librarian who had been there since the Second World War had ended. She indicated to Fred the main areas of interest and left him to get on with his business. He did notice, however, that she kept a sharp eye on him whilst pretending to read the Springfield Gazette at the reception desk in the front foyer. Her keen eye continued to bore into him as he sat down in front of the microform reader and proceeded to scan through Springwood's past. The black and white images and words blurred past as he scanned through the events considered important enough to be listed as Springwood's history; he didn't know whether it was right to feel sorry for a town who considered a county-wide apple pie bake off to be a historical event.

Apart from the other mundane happenings, there was something of note. All records and documents from 1967 to 1970 had been completely blocked out.

What the fuck?

What happened in this town that was so bad it had to be wiped out completely? There were no recorded deaths, or even births for that matter. And nowhere could he find any evidence of a man named Fred Krueger.

As he stood to leave he felt the eyes of Mrs Napier follow him all the way out of the building. Yep, he thought, looks like a psychotic teenager trying to pin the blame on a dead guy.

Or bogeyman, if you will.


That night, Fred found it hard to shake off the name that had been rattling around in his head all day. Fred Krueger. The registered births in Springwood had listed the death of an Amanda Krueger, but no Fred. Not even a Frederick.

He absent mindedly flicked through the latest issue of Playboy but found there was nothing like working with dead bodies all day to cool off your libido. Instead he turned to flicking through late night TV channels, pausing when he found MTV showing a re-run of Madonna writhing on the floor performing 'Like A Virgin'.

That'll do.

He then flumped back onto the bed and watched Madonna give her fake wedding dress a proper working over.

Within minutes he jumped up in surprise as he found himself standing centre stage, the spotlight shining hot on his face, blinding him. He looked round for Madonna only to find that both she and the audience had left the building. A steady beat came from back stage, growing until Fred was forced to his knees, covering his ears.

Then it stopped.

As Fred looked up, a figure emerged from one of the wings off stage. As the shape got closer, Fred was just able to make out it was wearing a hat and had some sort of weapon in his hand. It, no he, was also cackling softly.

"I believe introductions are in order," the man rasped in a voice which sounded like it came from a throat made of splintered glass, "Fred Krueger, at your service."

Fred Krueger bowed in an exaggerated manner, taking his dirty brown fedora off and making a sweeping gesture with the hand that held the weapon. Weapons? The light still shone bright in Fred's eyes, making it hard to see the man who now stood not six feet from him. Fred made to walk towards the bowed figure.

Then the lights cut out, leaving a dim glow coming from the stage lights. It was then the full horror of Fred Krueger was revealed. The flesh on this man's body had burned so badly that tendons showed through in patches here and there. He wore a dirty green and red sweater with faded brown slacks and a pair of black work boots. The weapon in his hand was the most sinister thing of all. It was a glove, a glove with four long, razor sharp blades attached to it. The blades were caked with rust coloured filth and twitched in time with Fred Kruger's breathing.

"I think, Fred, that you've got something puzzling that big brain of yours? Let me help you with that." Krueger cackled as he lunged forward, tackling Fred to the floor. They landed on a soft carpet before Krueger made a sweeping motion with his arm, pinning Fred to the far wall of the room.

Fred looked frantically round at his new surroundings. The room was lit by the light coming through the windows, and he could see a young couple sleeping together on the double bed. With a sickening shudder he realised that he was looking upon the sleeping forms of Tina Gray and Rod Lane.

This placement is seriously fucking with my head.

"You wanted to see how they died Fred, so I'm giving you a front row seat to the show! Roll film!" Krueger almost collapsed into hysterics as the young woman began to twitch under the covers, her twitching turning more violent as it became clear she was fighting with Lane under the comforter. Wait, it wasn't Lane...who the fuck was she fighting with? He turned to look at Krueger, only to find him gone. Looking back at the screaming woman he found himself shouting out as her mystery assailant was revealed. It was Krueger, and he cast an evil glance at Fred before plunging his blades into Tina's abdomen. Fred's shouting rose in pitch as Tina Gray was thrown from the bed and dragged up the bedroom wall, eventually onto the ceiling, Krueger thrashing manically, cutting the girl to ribbons. With a final scream the young woman was released, landing in a pool of blood in the middle of the double bed.

Lane sprang up from the floor and began to scream hysterically, suddenly the bedroom door was flung open and Fred found the surroundings beginning to blur. They were now in a jail cell, with the now sleeping Lane stretched out on a cell cot. Fred found himself immobilised once more as he watched Krueger wind a sheet round the boy's neck before dragging him towards the barred window. From the small window, Fred could see a young woman slam her hands onto the glass over and over, screaming the young man's name.

Too late.

Krueger pulled the sheet taunt, hoisting the boy into the air and breaking his neck. As the same young woman and a police officer came rushing into the cell, the surroundings once again began to blur.

Fred found himself pinned to another bedroom wall, watching over a young man wearing a pair of headphones, balancing a small TV set on his abdomen. He watched, numb, as Kruger's arm sprang up from the mattress, pulling the screaming teen into the depths. There was a pause before chunks of flesh and a river of blood began to pour from the hole in the bed.

Fred was white now, all colour drained from his face as sweat poured from his brow. He was released from the wall and fell, not onto the carpet, but onto an industrial steel floor. A filthy black work boot kicked him onto his back. Looking up at Krueger hovering above him, Fred quickly scooted back and rose shakily to his feet. As Krueger slowly advanced towards him, Fred tried to make himself disappear into the steel wall behind him.

"So, you want to know all about Fred Krueger?" he hissed, "watch and learn fucker!" Krueger lunged forward, placing a hand on Fred's forehead and, with that, delivered his own sick, twisted memories of horror and depraved doings into Fred's frontal lobe. When he fell to the ground, Fred's eyes were vacant, his breathing shallow and his mouth agape.

This was exactly how they found him the next morning.


Westin Hills, 1984

Doctors Report:

Patient: Daniels, Fred

Patient No.: FK96

The patient displays signs of illusions, delusions and behavioural disturbances. All symptoms point to severe Schizophrenia.

Mr Daniels holds a firm belief that a male stalker is out to harm him and can penetrate his dreams with a maleficent force. It is recommended that the patient be sedated when approaching night fall and whenever necessary to carry out routine checks and medical examinations.

The patient's hands must be bound at all times due to repeated attempts by the patient to tear the eyes from the orbicular sockets.


Fred Daniels spent the remainder of his days locked in a padded room at Westin Hills, drooling from prescribed medication and bellowing about the bogeyman.


Thanks for reading this one shot. Please check out the rest of my stories .

Lara xx