A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors — Adaptation Excerpts
Adapted by Bob Italia
Transcribed by Rob Nimmo
Later that night, Joey was lying in a coma in the intensive care unit. He was hooked up to monitoring devices and a respirator. Technicians and neurosurgeons surrounded his bed. Gordon and Thompson stood in the doorway, sick with worry. Doctor Carver, the supervising physician of Westin Hills, was stewing in controlled anger beside them. Simms was there as well, wearing a self-righteous expression. Finally a neurosurgeon exited the room and shook his head. “He’s in a deep coma. There’s nothing we can do for him.” Then he walked away. Carver turned to Gordon. “This is inexcusable.” “The session was unauthorized,” Simms said. “It was purposely conducted without my knowledge.” “Unusual steps were called for,” Gordon stated. “Is that what I should tell this young man’s parents?” Carver snapped. “I understand you prescribed a highly experimental drug?” “Dr. Carver,” Nancy said, “he’s not in a coma because of the Hypnocyl.” Carver glared at Nancy. “Young lady, your opinion is of no interest to me. Furthermore, according to Dr. Simms, you’ve been creating panic among the patients.” “That’s not true,” Gordon said. “Dr. Gordon,” Carver said, “in the last four days we’ve had two suicides. Now a boy is in a coma. I think it’s safe to say that your approach has failed—entirely! You’re both relieved of your duties. I want you out of here. Today.” Carver departed. “I’m sorry, Neil,” Simms said. “You brought this on yourself.” “Elizabeth, please,” Gordon said softly, “just try to help the kids, will you? Listen to them.” “Of course,” Simms said. Then she walked away. “What are we going to do?” Nancy said. “There’s nothing we can do. It’s out of our hands.”
That same night, Gordon stood outside the hospital packing boxes of personal files into the trunk of his car. He spotted a picture of a Group picnic featuring himself with Jennifer and Philip and stared sadly at it for a moment. Then he slammed the trunk and gazed momentarily at the unused wing of the hospital. The wing was old, unattended, and crumbling. A shrouded white figure stood in an upper floor window. Gordon gasped. It was the nun from the funeral. Before he could call out to her, she turned away and disappeared from view. Gordon paused for a moment, then approached the building. He grabbed a set of double doors and rattled them, but they were sealed with a rusty chain and padlock. Gordon moved to a broken window and peered through the boards nailed across it. He could see into the long main hallway. Then he caught a glimpse of the nun at the far end as she came down the stairs. She turned on the landing and headed downstairs to the basement.
“Sister! Sister!” Gordon cried, knocking on the boards. He pried one loose and entered the building. Gordon found himself in a forgotten, dusty corridor with peeled paint on water-stained walls. The only feature in the dead end hallway was a partially opened rusty iron door with a small barred window. A faint buzzing rose and fell from within. Gordon approached. “Excuse me. Sister?” No answer. Just another swell of faint buzzing. Gordon pushed open the door. It squealed loudly on its hinges. He entered a huge, shadowy, dungeon-like room. Flaking cement pillars stood draped with cobwebs. Rusted remains of bedframes and scraps of wood littered the floor. The buzzing grew louder, then fell away. “Hello?” Gordon called out. A wooden match ignited near him, sounding like a shotgun in the stillness. Suddenly, the nun appeared. Gordon gasped. “This is where it began,” the nun said ominously. She turned and lit a candle in a tiny alcove before a statue of the Virgin Mary. Dim light sputtered up. “This wing’s been closed for years,” Gordon said, looking around. “What was this place?” “Purgatory,” the nun replied. “Fashioned by the hands of men. Twisted, lost souls—the worst of the criminally insane were locked away in here like animals.” “The whole facility was shut down in the Forties, wasn’t it? Some kind of scandal…” The nun nodded. “A young girl on the staff was accidentally locked in here over the holidays. The inmates managed to keep her hidden for days. She was raped—hundreds of times. When they found her, she was barely alive…and with child. That girl was Amanda Krueger. Her child—”
“Was Freddy!” Gordon stated.
“The son of a hundred maniacs. Some say he was murdered, though no body was ever found.”
Gordon was distracted by another swell of buzzing. A fly brushed past his face in the darkness. “You said something before… about laying him to rest?” “You must find the remains,” the nun said, “and bury them in hallowed ground.” She turned and climbed the stairs. “Hallowed ground?” Gordon asked. The nun paused at the top of the stairs. “If your only faith is science, Doctor, it may be you that’s laid to rest.” The nun departed and the door began to close behind her, plunging the room into darkness. Gordon scrambled up the stairs and grabbed the door before it could close. Pushing through, he entered the corridor and looked around. The nun had disappeared.
Nancy sat at Joey’s bedside, gazing at him. He was so still, so frail. She spoke in a whisper, but her voice was fierce. “Let him go, you creep,” she said. Suddenly, short slashes began crisscrossing his nightshirt. Terror seized Nancy. Then Gordon entered the room and stood at her side. The slashes spelled out a message in crude letters: COME AND GET HIM. Nancy and Gordon stared at each other in horror. Then Gordon grabbed Nancy by the hand and took her to his car. They sped away from the hospital.
“You’re not going in,” Gordon said. “That’s exactly what he wants. As long as you’re on Hypnocyl, he can’t get to you.” “Don’t you think I know that?” Nancy said. “I don’t have any choice.” “Getting yourself killed won’t do the kids any good. Besides, we do have a choice.” “Assuming your mysterious nun is right.” “I’ve heard crazier things this week,” Gordon stated. “All right. Whoever she is, I’ll admit she seems to know more about Krueger than I do.” “The question is,” Gordon said, “what happened to Freddy’s body?” “They burned him to death in his boiler room,” Nancy said, “but they were smart enough to hide his remains.” “Who would know where they were hidden?” Nancy paused. “There’s only one man left…and it’s time for him to talk.” Gordon drove to the worst side of town and pulled up to Little Nemo’s Tavern. Gordon and Nancy got out of the car and entered the building. They spotted a dark, grubby figure at the bar, staring at nothing. His unshaven face was hard and bitter, haunted by old sorrows. He wore a sodden, rumpled night-watchman’s uniform.
“Hello, father,” Nancy said. Donald Thompson looked up slowly from his beer. He smiled wanly. “Well, if it isn’t my little girl…come to visit her Daddy.” “It’s been a long time.” “Yeah, but here you are. How’d I get so lucky? I thought you were trying to forget I was alive.” Nancy hesitated. “I need your help.” Her father chuckled. “Fred Krueger’s dead. You always had a little trouble understanding that, Princess.” “You know what he did,” Nancy said. “He’s doing it again.” “She’s telling the truth,” Gordon said. Mr. Thompson’s eyes flicked up at Gordon. “I don’t recall as we ever met, friend,” he said in a low dangerous tone. “And I don’t believe this is any of your business.” “I think we can stop him this time,” Nancy interrupted. “Stop him for good. But we need to know where his bones were hidden.” “I lost too much over this already,” Mr. Thompson said. “I’m through with it.” “People are still dying,” Nancy said. “After all this time. Stop running away from it. Daddy, please… don’t make me beg. You owe me.”
Mr. Thompson met his daughter’s gaze, then looked away. “It’s been nice seeing you, baby. Don’t stay away so long next time.” Nancy bolted from the table, tears in her eyes. Gordon glared at Mr. Thompson, then hurried after her. They stopped at the restroom alcove. “Nancy…” Gordon said. “I’ll be okay,” Nancy said. “Just give me a minute.” Suddenly, Gordon’s beeper went off. He checked the number and stepped to a payphone to make the call. “Doctor Gordon?” the disturbed voice answered. “Taryn, is that you?” Gordon said as Thompson listened. “What’s the matter?” “You gotta come right away. It’s Kristen. She had a total fit when Simms told us you and Nancy got fired. Simms put Kristen in the Quiet Room for the night. They sedated her. She’s too doped up to stay awake for long. She’s alone in there—alone! Freddy’s gonna get her!” Gordon’s face turned white. “Okay, none of you panic. Just stay cool. Help’s on the way.” He hung up. “We’ve got to get over there now,” Nancy said.
Gordon dug out his car keys and handed them to her. “You go.” Nancy frowned as she stared at him. “I’m gonna get the remains,” Gordon said. “Neil, it’s no use. You saw how he is.” “I’ll talk to him. Just get to the hospital. Make Simms understand.” “She’ll never understand. I’ve got to get to Kristen somehow.” “Be careful,” Gordon said. Their eyes locked for a long, intense moment. Then they shared a spontaneous, passionate kiss. Nancy turned and left without another word.
Gordon approached Mr. Thompson at the bar. Mr. Thompson ignored him. “I’m Neil Gordon. Pleased to meet you. There, now we’ve met.” Suddenly, Gordon grabbed Mr. Thompson by the collar and slammed him against the wall. Gordon and Mr. Thompson stood nose to nose. “Listen up,” Gordon said, barely containing his rage. “I don’t know if you care whether Nancy lives or dies, but I do.” Gordon thumped Mr. Thompson against the wall. “Now, you and I are going on a little scavenger hunt.
Kristen wandered in aimless circles in the confinement of the small padded room, weeping with despair as she desperately tried to stay awake. “Please… please…” she whimpered. She stumbled and lurched into the wall, held up by sheer luck alone. She pushed herself away, staggering—her movements jerky and uncoordinated. “Don’t make…me…sleep…”
Mr. Thompson’s battered old Nissan pick-up truck grounded to a stop in front of a small church in a poor neighborhood. “What are we doing here?” Mr. Thompson said. Gordon shut off the ignition and took the keys. Then he saw a small bottle of whiskey jutting from Mr. Thompson’s jacket. Gordon snatched the bottle before Mr. Thompson could react. “I won’t be long,” Gordon said. He emptied the bottle on the pavement and rushed into the church. Three worshippers were seated in pews, seeking comfort in silent prayer. Gordon spotted a small basin of holy water attached to the wall. He submerged the bottle, filling it with holy water. Capping the bottle, Gordon walked up the aisle to a candle shrine. A foot-high crucifix was attached to the wall above it. Gordon grabbed the cross and tried to lift it off its mount. It came loose with a loud clang. Feeling conspicuous, Gordon turned to find himself facing a priest. “Oh, hello,” Gordon said. “What do you think you’re doing?” the priest said. “Look, I’m sorry, but I need this.” He dug out his wallet, but it was empty. “I swear I’ll reimburse you. Really. Here, keep my driver’s license. I’ll be right back.” Gordon hurried out, leaving the baffled priest behind.
Nancy entered the hospital and hurried toward the Quiet Room. Max appeared, blocking her from the hallway. “Max,” she said, “I have to see Kristen!” Max shook his head. “You don’t understand,” Nancy cried. The big man held up his hand for silence. “Save your breath, Ms. Thompson. Dr. Simms gave me specific instructions. Nobody gets to see Kristen—especially you. She made that real clear.” “But Max, she needs me. It could mean life or death.” Max paused. “Look, I think you really mean well. But my kids been dyin’ off. Even if I didn’t have orders from Simms, I wouldn’t let you near her. No way.” “Okay, Max, I understand. Can I say goodbye to the others?” He hesitated. “I don’t know.” “It’ll be my last chance. Please?” Max finally nodded. “You got five minutes.” Nancy headed for the dorms. As she came around the corner, Taryn, Will, and Kincaid were frantically waiting for her. “What’d you do, take the scenic route?” Taryn said. “No time for that,” Nancy whispered. “Come on.” “Where?” asked Will. “Our last Group,” Nancy replied.