112. CLOSE ON NANCY on TV MONITOR, asleep like the child she is. 112.
Innocent.
MARGE lights a cigarette, angry at her helplessness.
MARGE
What the hell are dreams, anyway?
DR KING
Mysteries. Incredible body
hookus pokus. Truth is we
still don’t know what they
are or where they come from.
As for nightmares…
(leans closer)
Did you know that in the last
three years twenty Philipino
refugees in California died
in the middle of nightmares?
Not from heart attacks, either.
They just died.
He gives a “Ah don’ know” shrug. MARGE looks out into the
sleeping room. NANCY is a motionless bundle in the middle of the
bed.
113. ANGLE ON A NEEDLE on an EKG dipping to a lower reading. 113.
114. WIDER ANGLE — the mother and DOCTOR watching. 114.
MARGE
What happened? That needle
sank like a rock.
DR KING
(quietly)
She’s entering deep sleep now.
Heart rate’s a little high due
to anxiety, but otherwise she’s
nicely relaxed. All normal.
She could dream at any time now.
(beat)
Right now she’s like a diver
on the bottom of an ocean no
one’s mapped yet. Waiting to
see what shows up.
115. INT. THE SLEEPING ROOM. 115.
We can see NANCY drift from the initial stage, over the
brink into deep sleep. Her hair falls into her eyes; her face
relaxes; her shoulders curl round her like comforters. THE MUSIC
DEEPENS, and begins to hint at the tones of the NIGHTMARE THEME.
116. INT. CONTROL ROOM. DAY. 116.
DR KING and MARGE watch the instruments’ every move.
One of the machines begins a slight CHIRPING. KING scans it,
liking what he sees.
DR KING
Okay, she’s started to dream.
He leans forward in his chair, like a pilot starting an
instrument approach. MARGE THOMPSON licks her dry lips, fighting
a turn of nausea.
MARGE
How can you tell?
DR KING
R.E.M.’s. Rapid eye movements.
The eyes follow the
dream — their movement picks
up on this —
He prods a dial with his pencil and scribbles the time on a note
pad.
DR KING (CONTD)
Beta Waves are slowing, too.
She’s dreaming, all right.
A good one, too.
MARGE watches the TV MONITOR. It’s in extra-close on NANCY’s
eyes — and they’re darting beneath the lids, reacting to events
lost behind a skein of flesh and neurons.
KING points to a moving graph. A needle’s begun waving lazily
between plus and minus three. The DOCTOR nods, assured.
DR KING (CONTD)
Typical dream parameter. A
nightmare, now, would be plus or
minus five or six; she’s just
around three point —
He stops. Outside, visible through the glass, NANCY twists
around. Eyes still closed, she’s nevertheless holding her head
in the attitude of prey listening to the first faint sound of the
predator’s approach.
MARGE looks from her daughter to the DOCTOR, color draining from
her face.
MARGE
What the hell’s this? She
awake or asleep?
The needle of the graph gives a jagged pitch up, plunges, then
surges well above the eight mark. A strange MUSIC CUE —
disonant and threatening, creeps in — the NIGHTMARE THEME
slurred into awful minors and weird disonance. KING stares at
the gauge in disbelief, rapping his finger on its glass.
DR KING
Can’t be. It never gets
this high…
The needle swings even higher, benind.
DR KING (CONTD)
Jesus H. Christ.
He’s cut off by the high-pitched KEENING of the girl, the SOUND
cutting through the double thickness of the glass like a lasar.
A warning BEEPER has begun, the instruments light up like a
Christmas tree — and outside in the sleeping room, NANCY is
contorting as if shot through with a thousand volts. KING knocks
over his chair in his sprint for the door.
117. INT. SLEEPING ROOM. 117.
The DOCTOR and MARGE come in on the run — NANCY’s flailing and
screaming as if the devil himself were after her. KING grabs her
to shake her awake;
ANGLE ON NANCY (eyes open) — looking in terror — SOUND ECHOED
STRANGELY.
IN HER POV — dressed in KING’S clothes — the horribly scarred
MAN reaches out.
WIDER — (NANCY’S eyes closed in sleep) as the girl’s fist shoots
out with incredible force and knocks DR KING flying!
The NURSE and MARGE both descend on her —
and again in her SLEEPING POV we see the MAN stagger for her.
WIDER ON NANCY — (still in her nightmare) — fighting like a
tiger with both MARGE and the NURSE — sending the NURSE
sprawling — leaving MARGE hanging on for dear life.
ANGLE on the stunned DOCTOR fumbling with a hyperdermic needle,
spilling most of the stuff on himself with his shaking hands —
the SCREAMS AND CURSES of NANCY are deafening and worthy of a
stevador fighting off his worst enemy. Stranger still, her hair
is electrified, standing on end and greying before their very
eyes!
MARGE screams at the top of her lungs.
MARGE
NANCY!!! IT’S MOM — NANCY!!!!
Some deep bolt of psychic power smacks through the girl, and her
eyes flap open — they’re glazed with terror and fury, but open.
NANCY’s awake.
She stares around like a cornered animal in the middle of the
bed, her purple face gasping out gut-wrenching SOBS. The NURSE
and MARGE dare to go back in and hold the sweat-drenched girl as
DR KING comes for her with the needle.
DR KING
Now, this is just going to let
you relax and sleep, Nan —
With incredible swiftness, NANCY backhands the hypodermic into a
far wall, shattering it into a million pieces.
NANCY
No. That’s enough sleep.
Her eyes are windows straight into white fire as she locks into
KING’S face. He dabs his split lip, swallowing painfully.
DR KING
Okay, kid. Okay. Fair enough.
He holds out his hand. NANCY at last takes it, and sags back
into her pillow, exhausted. Then KING comes up with blood on his
hand.
He stares at it, dumbfounded, then at the girl. Across her left
forearm, a deep gash is bleeding freely, as if made by a very
sharp instrument.
MARGE
Oh my god, oh my god…
DR KING
(to the NURSE)
Get the kit!
The NURSE scrambles away as the DOCTOR claps his hand over the
wounds. He looks into NANCY’s face. What he sees frightens him
even more: NANCY’S haunted, ghost-like eyes turn from him to her
mother, and a terrible, chilling smile opens across NANCY’s white
lips.
NANCY
You believe this?
She pulls her free arm from beneath the sheets and reveals a
strange hat, filthy and worn — the KILLER’S hat. The sight of
it frightens MARGE more than anything that’s come before.
MARGE
(deathly pale)
Where the hell did you get that?
NANCY fixes her with Xray eyes.
NANCY
I grabbed it off his head.
MARGE stares at the hat as if it held her whole future, and her
future was a horror.
FADE TO BLACK
118. EXT. NANCY’S HOUSE. DAY. 118.
BURN ON
THE SIXTH DAY
FADE UP ON NANCY’S HOUSE, early morning.
119. INT. NANCY’S KITCHEN. DAY. 119.
MARGE is on the telephone, the dirty hat in her hand. Nearby is
a nearly empty bottle of gin.
MARGE
She said she snatched it off
his head in a dream.
(listens)
No, I’m not crazy, I’ve got
the damn thing in my hand!
(listens)
I know we did, we all…
(hears NANCY
approaching)
Gotta go.
She hangs up and stuffs the hat and bottle into a drawer,
screening the action with her body. NANCY enters.
By now the girl has an extraordinary look. Her hair is ashen,
her skin transluscent, and eyes dark-ringed. Her right forearm
is heavily bandaged over the slashes. In short, instead of the
girl next door, we now could be looking at the lunatic from the
next cell. MARGE, though she does her best to hide it, is
downright frightened of her.
MARGE (CONTD)
You didn’t sleep, did you?
The doctor says you have to
sleep or you’ll —
NANCY pours herself a cup of black coffee.
NANCY
Go even crazier?
MARGE
I don’t think you’re going
crazy — and stop drinking
that damn coffee!
NANCY
Did you ask Daddy to have the
hat examined?
MARGE
I threw that filthy thing away —
I don’t know what you’re trying
to prove with it, but —
NANCY comes closer, her eyes shining with a new sureness.
NANCY
What I learned at the dream
clinic, that’s what I’m trying
to prove. Rod didn’t kill Tina,
and he didn’t hang himself.
It’s this guy — he’s after
us in our dreams.
MARGE
But that’s just not reality,
Nancy!
120. Furious, NANCY janks open the drawer before MARGE can stop her 120.
and spills the bottle and hat onto the counter.
MARGE grabs away the bottle protectively — but it’s the hat
NANCY goes for. She waves it triumphantly — demonically.
NANCY
It’s real, Mamma. Feel it.
MARGE
(horrified)
Put that damned thing down!
MARGE lunges for it — NANCY leaps out of reach —
NANCY
His name is even in it — written
right in here — Fred Krueger —
Fred Krueger! You know who that
is, Mamma? You better tell me,
cause now he’s after me!
MARGE swallows, then persists in the lie.
MARGE
Nancy, trust your mother for
once — you’ll feel better as
soon as you sleep!
NANCY shoots a hard humorless laugh, holding up her slashed arm.
NANCY
You call this feeling better?
Or should I grab a bottle and
veg out with you — avoid
everything happening to me
by just getting good and loaded —
MARGE slaps her hard.
MARGE
(losing it)
Fred Krueger can’t be after you,
Nancy — he’s dead!
The room falls silent, both women staring at the other.
MARGE (CONTD)
(low, raw)
Fred Krueger is dead. Dead and
gone. Believe me, I know. Now
go to bed. I order you, go to
bed.
MARGE snatches the hat away. NANCY is furious, betrayed.
NANCY
You knew about him all
this time, and you’ve been acting
like he was someone I made up!
MARGE pulls away.
MARGE
You’re sick, Nancy. Imagining
things. You need to sleep,
it’s as simple as that.
NANCY wheels and smashes MARGE’S bottle of gin in the sink.
NANCY
Screw sleep!
MARGE (CONTD)
Nancy!
But NANCY runs past her mother for the front door.
MARGE (CONTD)
Nancy — it’s only a nightmare!
NANCY turns in the doorway.
NANCY
That’s enough!
On the door SLAM, we
CUT TO
121. EXT. SHAKESPEARE BRIDGE. DAY. 121.
ANGLE ON A NEIGHBORHOOD STREET. We hear GLEN’s VOICE and PAN UP
to REVEAL NANCY and GLEN high above, two tiny figures walking
across this strange white bridge in old Los Angeles. CAMERA
BEGINS A SLOW ZOOM.
GLEN
Whenever I get nervous I eat.
NANCY
And if you can’t do that, you
sleep.
GLEN
Used to. Not anymore.
GLEN jams more Big Mack into his face. By now our ZOOM reveals
he’s attacking a huge bag of Big Macks, and furtively eyeing
NANCY. The girl’s hair is startlingly white in the sunlight.
She’s reading a book, hardly paying attention.
GLEN (CONTD)
You ever read about the Balinese
way of dreaming?
NANCY
No.
GLEN
They got a whole system they
call ‘dream skills’. So, if
you have a nightmare, for
instance like falling, right?
NANCY
Yeah.
GLEN
Instead of screaming and getting
nuts, you say, okay, I’m gonna
make up my mind that I fall
into a magic world where I can
get something special, like a
poem or song.
(grins hopefully)
They get all their art literature
from dreams. Just wake up and
write it down. Dreamskills.
He stops, seeing the look on NANCY’s face. Our ZOOM is much
closer now, a wide medium, and still coming in on the kids.
NANCY
And what if they meet a monster
in their dream? Then what?
GLEN
They turn their back on it.
(grins hopefully)
Takes away its energy, and
it disappears.
NANCY
What happens if they don’t do
that?
GLEN
(shrugs)
I guess those people don’t
wake up to tell what happens.
NANCY
Great.
She leans over the railing, poking her face back into her book.
GLEN tips its cover and reads its title. OUR ZOOM IS STILL
MOVING CLOSER, a MEDIUM CLOSE UP NOW.
GLEN
‘Booby Traps and Improvised
Anti-personel Devices’!
NANCY
I found it at this neat
survivalist bookstore on
Ventura.
GLEN
(shocked)
Well what you reading it for?
OUR ZOOM LOCKS IN ON A TIGHT TWO ON THEIR FACES, NANCY’s grimly
determined.
NANCY
I’m into survival.
She walks away, OUT OF FRAME, leaving GLEN watching after her in
astonishment.
GLEN
She’s starting to scare the
living shit out of me.
122. EXT. ELM STREET/NANCY’S HOME/EVENING 122.
ANGLE ACROSS NANCY’S “TREE LAWN”, the grass between
the sidewalk and the street, in the general direction
of GLEN’s home. This ANGLE doesn’t quite reveal
Nancy’s house.
FOREGROUND is a utility truck in which a half dozen
Hispanic WORKERS are loading tools, extension cords
and hardware. They
look like they’ve put in one hell of a hard day’s work.
MARGE appears and hands a check to the FOREMAN of the crew, a
white guy in clean coveralls and a gold chain. He scrutinizes
it.
FOREMAN
And the other…
MARGE forks over a wad of cash, hands trembling in her
half-drunk, helpless rage.
MARGE
Where’s your mask and gun?
The FOREMAN counts the money swiftly.
FOREMAN
Don’t bust my chops, lady.
If the city found out I put
’em in without inside releases
I’d loose my license.
He shoves the money in his pocket and climbs in his truck. MARGE
EXITS FRAME for her house.
PAN WITH THE TRUCK as it pulls away, THEN PICK UP NANCY, walking
across the street from the corner. Alone. Dispirited. She
lifts her eyes to her home and stops in her tracks.
NANCY
Oh gross…
123. WIDENING TO REVEAL THE HOUSE as NANCY walks across her front 123.
yard. Every single window has been covered with brand-new
ornamental iron bars, bolted deeply into their frames.
CLOSER, AT A WINDOW. NANCY gives a set of bars a powerful
shake. They don’t budge. Then girl looks up and sees even the
window to her second floor bedroom is barred. And the rose
trellis has been ripped down and heaped at the foundation in a
tangle of wood, thorns and broken flowers.
124. INT. MARGE’S ROOM. EVENING. 124.
ANGLE ON THE DOORWAY INTO THE HALL. Easy listening MUSIC wafts
through the air. NANCY appears in the doorway.
NANCY (OS)
Mom, what’s with the bars!?
125. REVERSE to MARGE, propped against the headboard of her bed, a 125.
crooked shadow in the gloom. A fresh bottle of Gin glints in her
hand.
NANCY
Oh, Mom…
The girl crosses and reaches gently for the bottle. MARGE
snatches it away.
MARGE
‘S’mine…
She rocks the bottle in her arms.
NANCY
What’s with the bars?
MARGE
S’curity.
NANCY sits on the bed, a surprising compassion entering her
voice.
NANCY
Mom, I want to know what you
know about Fred Krueger.
MARGE
Dead and gone.
NANCY
I want to know how, where —
if you don’t tell me, I’m going
to call daddy.
MARGE gives a laugh — a rasping chachination from deep in her
chest.
MARGE (CONTD)
Your father the cop. That’s a
good one.
(colder)
Forget Fred Krueger. You don’t
want to know, believe me.
NANCY
I do want to know. He’s not
dead and gone — he’s after me
and if I sleep he’ll get me!
I’ve got to know!
MARGE blinks at her a moment, then cracks a terrible, crooked
grin.
MARGE
All right.
126. INT. NANCY’S CELLAR/NIGHT 126.
MARGE drags NANCY headlong down the cellar stairs and across the
room with a crazy fury, twisting her down near the foundation.
And she thrusts her face so close to her daughter’s that NANCY
reels from the alcohol.
MARGE
You want to know who Fred
Krueger was? He was a filthy
child killer who got at least
twenty kids, kids from our
area, kids we all knew. It
drove us all crazy when we
didn’t know who was doing it —
but it was even worse when
they caught him.
MARGE draws herself up with a shake.
MARGE (CONTD)
Oh lawyers got fat and the judge
got famous, but someone forgot to
sign the search warrant in the
right place, and Fred Krueger
was free, just like that.
NANCY
So he’s alive?
MARGE smiles grimly.
MARGE
He wouldn’ve stopped. The
bastard would’ve got more
kids first chance he got —
they found nearly ten bodies
in his boiler room as it
was. But the law couldn’t
touch him.
At the mention of “boiler room”, NANCY gives a shake. MARGE
misses this, too busy taking a pull on the bottle that’s never
left her hand.
MARGE (CONTD)
What was needed were some private
citizens willing to do what had
to be done.
She reels slowly, looking at NANCY is defiance.
NANCY
(hushed)
What did you do, mother?
MARGE cradles the bottle.
MARGE
Bunch of us parents tracked him
down after they let him go. Found
him in an old boiler room, just
like before. Saw him lying there
in that caked red and yellow sweater
he always wore, drunk an’ asleep
with his weird knives by his side…
NANCY
(dreading it)
Go on…
MARGE reaches over and taps a dusty two-gallon jug of gasoline
near the lawn mower.
MARGE
We poured gasoline all around
the place, left a trail out the
door, locked the door, then…
She mimes striking a match —
MARGE (CONTD)
WHOOSH!!!
Her arms shoot up and her eyes go wide with the light of that
fire. There’s awe in her voice. Then she drops her arms.
MARGE (CONTD)
(hushed, remembering)
But just when it seemed not
even the devil could live
in there any more — he crashed
out like a banshee, all on fire
— swinging those fingerknives
every which direction and
screaming he… he was going
to get us by killing all our
kids…
She stops with a sudden quake and drinks for a long moment. But
the intake doesn’t hide the image. Her face bathed in tears, she
looks at her daughter and shakes her head.
MARGE (CONTD)
There were all those men, Nancy,
even your father, oh yes, even
him. But none could do what
had to be done — Krueger rolling
and screaming so loud the whole
state could hear — no one could
take your father’s gun and kill
him good and proper except me.
She sweeps her hand across the air in a terrific slash, then
stops, her hand shaking, her voice hoarse and terrified. She
looks at her daughter, begging.
MARGE (CONTD)
So he’s dead Nan. He can’t
get you. Mommy killed him.
For someone who started this film at a very young seventeen,
NANCY’s now the battle-tempered veteran as she takes her mother
in her arms and rocks her.
NANCY
Who was there? Were Tina’s
parents there? Were Rod’s?
MARGE sags back.
MARGE
Sure, and Glen’s. All of us.
But that’s in the past now,
baby. Really. It’s over.
(slyly)
We even took his knives.
The woman twists around and opens the door on an old furnace — a
furnace unused since the newer gas one nearby was put in. She
fishes inside the cavity — as then we hear a touch of the
familiar ‘SCRRIITCH’. Next moment she pulls out an object
wrapped in rags, opens it and displays the long, rusted blades
and their glove-like apparatus.
MARGE (CONTD)
See?
NANCY stares at the damn things, chilled.
NANCY
All these years you’ve kept those
things buried down here? In our
own house?
MARGE (CONTD)
Proof he’s declawed. As for him,
we buried him good and deep.
MARGE shoves the knives into their hiding place, closes the
little iron door.
MARGE (CONTD)
So’s okay, you can sleep.
She lurches up and staggers upstairs.
NANCY shivers and looks down at her arm. The cut beneath her
bandage has begun to bleed again. And from inside the furnace,
as if from deep below, the PULSING of the boundless
nightmare-boiler room can be faintly heard.
127. EXT. ELM STREET. NIGHT. 127.
WIDE ON THE STREET AND BOTH HOUSES, GLEN’s on the right, NANCY’s
on the left. A TELEPHONE RINGS. ZOOM IN ON GLEN’S UPSTAIRS
BEDROOM WINDOW.
128. INT. GLEN’S & NANCY’S BEDROOMS – INTERCUT. NIGHT. 128.
129. GLEN, yawning, crosses and picks up his telephone. 129.
GLEN
Hello?
NANCY (telephone)
Hi.
GLEN
Oh. Hi, how y’doing?
NANCY looks out the window and touches her hair.
NANCY (CONTD)
Fine. Stand by your window
so I can see you. You sound
a million miles away.
In the lighted window across the way, she can SEE GLEN move into
sight. In his shot, we can SEE NANCY step into her window behind
the bars.
NANCY (CONTD)
Much better.
GLEN
I heard your ma went ape at the
security store today. You look
like the Prisoner of Zenda or
something. How long’s it been
since you slept?
NANCY
Coming up on the seventh day. It’s
okay, I checked Guiness. The
record’s eleven, and I’ll beat
that if I have to.
(beat)
Listen, I… I know who he is.
GLEN
Who?
NANCY
The killer.
GLEN
You do?
NANCY
Yeah, and if he gets me, I’m
pretty sure you’re next.
GLEN is appalled.
GLEN
Me!? Why would anyone want to
kill me?!
NANCY
Don’t ask — just give me some
help nailing this guy when I
bring him out.
GLEN pales.
GLEN
Bring him out of what?
NANCY
My dream.
GLEN
How you plan to do that?
NANCY
Just like I did the hat. Have
a hold of the sucker when you
wake me up.
GLEN
Me?
(switching back to a more
comfortable reality)
Wait a minute, you can’t bring
someone out of a dream!
NANCY
If I can’t, then you all can
relax, because it’ll just be a
simple case of me being nuts.
GLEN
I can save you the trouble.
You’re nutty as a fruitcake.
I love you anyway.
NANCY
Good, then you won’t mind cold-cocking
this guy when I bring him out.
GLEN
What!?
NANCY
(simplicity itself)
You heard me. I grab him in the
dream — you see me struggling
so you wake me up. We both come
out, you cold cock the fucker,
and we got him. Clever, huh?
GLEN
You crazy? Hit him with what?
NANCY
You’re a jock. You must have
a baseball bat or something.
Come to my window at midnight.
And meanwhile…
GLEN
(weakly)
Meanwhile..?
NANCY
Meanwhile whatever you do
don’t fall asleep. Midnight.
She hangs up. GLEN’s eyes bug out.
GLEN
Holy shit! Midnight. Baseball
bats and boogemen. Unfucking
real.
130. OMIT OMIT 130.
131. EXT. THE VALLEY AND HILLS. NIGHT. 131.
HIGH, WIDE SHOT. The moon is above the horizon. A cool wind
slides a bank of white fog inland. The valley and its lights
stretch forever, an endless net of illumination and darkness. A
coyote HOWLS on the dark hill.
132. EXT. POLICE STATION. NIGHT. 132.
A palm frond scuttles across the center of the parking lot. LT
THOMPSON arrives in an unmarked car.
COP (passing)
Lieutenant Thompson — what
you doing in at this time?
LT THOMPSON
Can’t sleep, thought I’d come
break up the poker game.
The COP laughs and goes his way. THOMPSON’s smile evaporates.
133. INT. POLICE STATION. NIGHT. 133.
THOMPSON enters and checks the log. Nearby, SGT GARCIA pours
coffee.
SERGEANT GARCIA
If it was any more quiet we
could hear owls farting.
LT THOMPSON
Is quiet, isn’t it?
SERGEANT GARCIA
(too casually)
How’s your girl?
THOMPSON looks at the Desk sergeant a moment, then tosses down
the log.
LT THOMPSON
She’s sensible. She’ll sleep
sooner or later.
134. EXT. ELM STREET. NIGHT. 134.
The neighborhood is utterly still, most of the homes already
dark. But not NANCY’s. Or GLEN’s.
ZOOM TO GLEN’S LIGHTED LIVING ROOM WINDOW.
135. INT. GLEN’S LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. 135.
GLEN’s father watches eleven o’clocks news, a dreary FILM CLIP
(STOCK) of war and refugees in a far-away land.
MR LANTZ takes a pull on his Bud.
MR LANTZ
You’d think they’d have some-
thing ’bout the Lane kid hanging
himself.
MRS LANTZ walks through the room, drying her hands on a
dishtowel.
MRS LANTZ
Maybe we’re all making more out
of it than we should.
She heads upstairs. MR LANTZ pops the automatic tuner. CARSON
blinks ON.
CARSON (TV)
I wouldn’t touch that line with
a ten foot pole.
ED MCMAHON and the AUDIENCE laugh in delight.
136. INT. GLEN’S HOUSE/UPSTAIRS CORRIDOR. NIGHT. 136.
MRS LANTZ comes along the upstairs hall and knocks gently at a
closed door.
MRS LANTZ
Glen? you all right?
She puts her ear to the door and listens.
MRS LANTZ (CONTD)
Glen honey?
No answer.
137. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 137.
GLEN lies sprawled across the bed, long legs flung over the end,
head not visible.
His mother enters. She looks at the boy, turns off the TV.
Looks at him again.
From this angle she can see his head, earphones crammed over it
rasping their tinny noise. But no movement from the kid at all.
MRS LANTZ crosses and pokes him in the ribs. GLEN lurches up,
arms windmilling.
GLEN
Whuu?
He refocuses his eyes, takes off his earphones.
MRS LANTZ
How can you listen to Carson and
a record at the same time?
GLEN swings his legs over the edge of the bed and shakes his head
to clear the cobwebs.
GLEN
Wasn’t listening to the tube,
just watching. Miss Nude
America’s supposed to be on
tonight.
MRS LANTZ
Well how you gonna hear what
she says?
GLEN
Who cares what she says?
The mother gives up.
MRS LANTZ
You should get to sleep soon,
Glen. It’s almost midnight.
Goodness knows we’ve all had
enough of a time the last few
days…
GLEN
I will, Mom…in a while.
You guys turning in?
MRS LANTZ
Pretty soon.
His MOTHER sighs and goes out, closing the door behind her. GLEN
flips the TV back on and glances at the clock.
138. INSERT OF CLOCK. It’s 11:42. 138.
139. TIGHT ON GLEN’s face. He clamps the earphones back on, and turns 139.
the volume up high. The MUSIC is so loud we can hear it
resonating inside his skull.
CAMERA MOVES PAST GLEN to his window, then ZOOMS through to:
140. EXT. ELM STREET / NANCY’S HOUSE. NIGHT. 140.
CONTINUE ZOOMING into the LIGHTED window of NANCY’s barred second
floor bedroom and
CUT TO:
141. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT 141.
CLOSE ON MARGE, weaving on the edge of NANCY’s bed, stroking
the girl’s hair. NANCY’s still something of a wreck, but less
than MARGE.
MARGE
We’ll go away, take a vacation.
Get your hair colored nice, the
way it was. No one will ever
know.
(sniffs)
This whole room smells of coffee,
y’know?
She gathers up NANCY’s coffee cups and empty NoDoz boxes, leans
down and kisses her.
MARGE (CONTD)
It’s all over now, baby. The
nightmare’s over. Please.
NANCY nods her head, half stubborn, half sadly. She can barely
keep her eyes open now.
NANCY
Okay.
She scrunches into her pillow. MARGE smiles haggardly and shuts
off the light, taking the coffee pot with her as she leaves.
NANCY (CONTD)
Night-night.
MARGE smiles, relieved. The girl pulls the blanket around her
shoulders. Her eyes flutter closed, her breathing becomes regular
and deep. Once again she’s the litle girl MARGE fantasizes she
is.
The mother tiptoes out of the room, closing the door behind her.
HOLD ON NANCY’s sleeping face as the DOOR CLOSES. Her eyes
remain closed another beat, then open wide.
She quietly jumps out of bed and shakes herself savagely to
scatter the sleep settling so quickly.
Still in the dark, she fishes a full electric coffepot from under
her bed and pours herself a fresh fix into a mug she digs from
beneath her pillow. The face illuminated by the neon light on the
pot is set in absolute determination.
NANCY drains the cup, then crosses to her closet, retrieves a
pitcher of ice water from behind a heap of clothes and splashes
her eyes and the back of her neck. That done she eases open her
window and presses her face to the bars, sucking in cool night
air until every shred of sleep is gone from her brain.
Then she starts pulling on clothes.
142. INT. NANCY’S HOUSE/DOWNSTAIRS. NIGHT. 142.
ANGLE ON MARGE as she checks the lock on the backdoor. Firm.
143. ANGLE IN THE LIVING ROOM as she pads through the darkened house, 143.
feels her way to a wall of shelves and takes down a book. Then
another, and a third. Then reaches in and fishes out a bottle of
gin.
144. EXT. NANCY’S HOUSE AND ELM STREET. NIGHT. 144.
The sky has gathered in greater darkness. LOW, DISTANT THUNDER
rolls around the horizon like a great drum.
ANGLE ON NANCY’S HOUSE from across the street. The moon glints
off the barred windows. CAMERA ZOOMS to NANCY’s window. The
imprisoned girl hovers in the darkness behind the grill like a
ghost, her eyes turned towards GLEN’s. Then she switches to
something much CLOSER TO CAMERA ANGLE, and she draws back.
145. REVERSE ON GLEN’s father, standing on the front porch of his 145.
home, also in the shadows, looking straight across and up at
NANCY. He draws on his cigarette; his face glows red.
146. NANCY pulls down the shade. 146.
147. GLEN’s father grinds the cigarette beneath his shoe. 147.
MRS LANTZ
Shouldn’t stare.
As the man turns our SHOT WIDENS TO REVEAL MRS LANTZ.
MR LANTZ
Know what I think? I think
that kid’s some kinda lunatic.
The woman spoons more sweetness into her mouth and rubs her
forehead.
MRS LANTZ
Shouldn’t say such a thing about
the poor child. If you mean the
bars, Marge’s just being cautious,
her being alone and Nancy acting
so nervous lately.
The woman rises and pulls him gently towards the living room. As
he goes inside he takes one last look.
MR LANTZ (CONTD)
Well, she ain’t gonna hang around
our boy no more.
Once the two are inside, the door is locked.
148. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT. 148.
CLOSE ON NANCY’s face. VERY CLOSE. Her eyes stare ahead,
red-rimmed, anxious. She picks absently at the thick bandage
covering her forearm. The long cuts from Fred Krueger’s fingers
are bleeding again, but she doesn’t even care anymore. Too late
to sweat the small stuff. She crosses the room.
On the bedside table with the nearly empty Pyrex coffee maker,
the empty cup and the empty box of No-Doz, is her old fashioned
alarm clock, and a phone.
NANCY pours herself the last of the coffee and drinks it to the
dregs, then looks to the clock.
INSERT CLOCK — ten minutes to midnight.
NANCY’S eyes go to the door.
WIDER. Fully clothed and in a jacket now, she creeps to the door
and cracks it, just to make sure. Then freezes.
149. INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE NANCY’S DOOR. 149.
IN NANCY’S POV through the door we see MARGE, rummaging around in
the linen closet not fifteen feet away. There’s no way NANCY can
get past her. The woman pulls out a full bottle of gin in
satisfaction and begins fumbling with its cap.
150. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT. 150.
NANCY eases the door closed again and sinks to the key hole,
watching through it with a sinking heart.
NANCY
(very quiet, very intense)
Hang on GLEN…
151. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 151.
GLEN, coat now on, goes to his window, checking.
152. INT. ELM STREET. NIGHT. 152.
GLEN’S POV — NANCY’S porch is deserted; front door closed,
lights out. No sign of NANCY.
153. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 153.
GLEN shrugs, takes off his jacket and plops back onto his bed.
GLEN
Well, I’m not gonna risk
sneaking out until she does.
He puts the earphones back on.
154. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT. 154.
Absolutely frustrated, NANCY turns from the keyhole to the
window. She opens the blind and eases back the curtain.
155. EXT. ELM STREET. NIGHT.
IN NANCY’S POV THROUGH THE BARS we ZOOM directly across to GLEN’s
window.
156. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 156.
GLEN lies on his bed, fully clothed, earphones over his ears,
CARSON droning from the TV. And the boy’s eyes begin to droop.
157. INT. NANCY’S BEDROOM. NIGHT. 157.
NANCY picks up her phone, bites her lip, then begins dialing.
158. INT. GLEN’S ROOM. NIGHT. 158.
TIGHT ON PHONE as it begins RINGING loudly.
WIDER SHOT, revealing GLEN asleep BACKGROUND, the MUSIC still
LOUD in his earphones.
159. INT. GLEN’S LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. 159.
RINGING here, too, just as MR LANTZ is turning out the lights for
bed. He stops in the dark, scowling.
MR LANTZ
Who at this hour?
He refuses to turn the light back on. His wife picks her way to
the telephone.
MRS LANTZ
Hello?
(listens, frowns
slightly)
Oh… Hold on.
(covers the mouthpiece)
It’s her. She wants to talk to
Glen.
The father crosses to the telephone, suspicious.
MR LANTZ
(whispering)
About what?
MRS LANTZ
(into phone)
What’s this about, Nancy?
She listens, covers up again.
MRS LANTZ (CONTD)
She says it’s private. Very
private and very important.
MR LANTZ grabs the telephone from his wife and barks into it.
MR LANTZ
Glen’s asleep. Talk to him
tomorrow!
He SLAMS down the telephone with a grunt of satisfaction to his
wife.
MR LANTZ (CONTD)
Just got to be firm with kids,
is all.
Then as a refinement he takes the phone off the hook and lays it
on the table.
160. INT. NANCY’S ROOM. NIGHT. 160.
NANCY dials again. This time she gets a BUSY SIGNAL. She slams
the phone down in frustration and looks out the window.
NANCY
Glen. Don’t fall asleep…
She goes and sits on the bed, propping her chin on her fists.
161. Yawns. The TELEPHONE RINGS. 161.
NANCY snatches it up.
NANCY
Glen?
TIGHT ON HER, ZOOMING EVEN CLOSER ON HER EAR AND THE EARPIECE as
we HEAR the awful SCRITCHING SCRAPE of STEEL FINGERKNIVES.
NANCY slaps the phone down as if it were diseased — then, in
pure rage, rips the thing’s cord from the wall.
Spent instantly, she puts the receiver back on the cradle and
lays it on her bed, chiding herself.
NANCY
Brilliant. Now what if Glen
calls?
She wraps the phone cord around the useless machine and puts it
on her bed, then sneaks back to the door. This time she gives an
expression of relief, and opens the door. MARGE is gone.
Then the TELEPHONE RINGS again.
CAMERA MOVES IN ON NANCY as she turns slowly.
162. REVERSE IN HER POV. THE TELEPHONE RINGS again, despite the fact 162.
that the end of its janked-out cord is clearly visible. The
NIGHTMARE MUSIC THEME slips right up our spines.
BACK ON NANCY. She starts to shake. She goes to the telephone
as we WIDEN, unwraps it as it RINGS even louder. She’s shaking
so hard by now she can barely manage to lift the receiver. MOVE
IN CLOSE ON HER, so close we can HEAR her teeth chattering as she
brings the phone to her ear.
NANCY (CONTD)
Hello?
The unmistakeable VOICE of FRED KRUEGER comes over the phone,
garbled by time and unknown dimensions, but clear enough.
KRUEGER (FILTER)
(triumphant)
I’m your boyfriend now…
CLOSE ON THE MOUTHPIECE. It’s changed from a normal telephone
mouthpiece to an actual mouth — Fred Krueger’s mouth — and his
long, slick tongue flicks out and darts into the startled girl’s
mouth!
WIDER — as NANCY explodes from her micro-dream — absolutely
mad. She jerks the telephone away from her and smashes it
against her wall, then attacks it with her feet and hands,
smashing it to smithereens.
ANGLE ON THE TELEPHONE PIECES. Normal pieces of a normal
telephone.
She pinches herself hard — until tears come and her flesh is
nearly bleeding.
NANCY
I’m awake, I am awake. This is
not a dream! I am —
She stops, realizing what Krueger meant.
NANCY (CONTD)
My boyfriend…!
