Chapter Thirty-Seven: Freddy Arrives

“All of them are just ordinary users? Not a single dealer?!” Guda roared at his team, flinging the investigation files onto the table. They had spent an entire afternoon searching and still hadn’t found a single useful clue. All of these people had gotten their goods from dealers in other cities, with no connection to this town at all.

Kadar, who had been quietly sitting to the side, let out a small sigh of relief. After all, they weren’t in the retail business; they dealt in bulk. Who would distribute small quantities in their own stronghold? This wasn’t Mexico, where dealers could not only operate openly but even run for the highest office in the country.

Still, the current situation wasn’t looking good for Kadar. The two teams searching the town were clearly prepared to stay until they found something, and with such a large-scale operation, it was only a matter of time before they discovered the basement.

Now, Kadar had two urgent problems to solve. The first was to get rid of the stockpile of goods. The second was to silence all those who were in the know. If he could manage both, it would be very hard for the case to lead back to him.

But thinking was one thing—Kadar had no idea how to actually solve either problem. Ever since these people had taken him in, he had never been left alone; there was always at least one officer watching him, making it impossible to get any word out.

An even more pressing worry weighed on Kadar’s mind: the investigation was so loud and disruptive that probably even the infants in town knew about it by now. Amanda, hidden in the basement, must have realized something was wrong. If he couldn’t contact her for a long time, Kadar had no idea what she might do.

If Amanda was exposed, things would spiral completely out of control. Just thinking about what might happen to him after that made fear surge through Kadar’s heart like relentless waves crashing over the sea, one after another.

“One, two, Freddy’s coming for you...”

A chilling nursery rhyme suddenly whispered in Kadar’s ear. He jerked his head up, but there was no one singing. The office was very quiet—nobody was chatting, nobody was speaking.

“Three, four, better lock your door...”

The rhyme continued, and Kadar felt his heartbeat synchronizing with its rhythm. He clutched his clothes tightly, terrified but afraid to cry out.

“Five, six, grab your crucifix...”

With a sudden movement, Kadar shot up from his chair. His abrupt action drew the attention of everyone around him.

“Seven, eight, better stay up late...”

Kadar took a deep breath and raised his hand. “Sorry, I’m a bit tired. Could I take a short rest?”

Guda frowned, eyeing the man with suspicion. He hadn’t done anything all day, so why was he suddenly tired? Planning to slack off again? No, something about this wasn’t right—this guy had been nervous all day...

“You, take him to the lounge to rest,” Guda said, pointing to a random team member.

Once Kadar had left, Guda pulled his trusted subordinate close and whispered, “Look into this Kadar for me. Keep it quiet, don’t let anyone else know—especially not the police or those bastards.”

The subordinate nodded in understanding.

Guda tapped his knuckles thoughtfully. He had a hunch that Kadar might be the key to his comeback. In times like these, caution was paramount. If any information leaked, he was sure those bastards would storm in to snatch Kadar away. But for now, the man was in his hands—there was no escape. He could take his time investigating.

In the lounge, Kadar hid himself under the blanket, too frightened to face Guda any longer. Curling deeper under the covers, he became like an ostrich—if he didn’t look, then no one was watching him. Besides, since leaving the office, the singing had stopped, which made him feel reassured about his choice.

After a few minutes, as his nerves slowly calmed, Kadar began to feel drowsy. He’d been tense all day and could barely keep his eyes open. The pillow was right there—might as well get some sleep...

He told himself this, closed his eyes, and soon his breathing grew long and even. He was asleep.

From a godlike vantage, Yang Qiu observed that his chosen target had fallen asleep. With a gentle snap of his fingers, Script Seven began to unfold. Sleep well, Kadar—Freddy is coming for you!

Drip, drip—Kadar’s brow furrowed. After a few seconds, irritation woke him. What was that noise, right as he’d drifted off?

He was about to look for the source of the sound when he realized, with a jolt, that he was no longer in the lounge. He was in a dim underground structure, strange pipes crisscrossing overhead, water dripping from their seams to the floor, creating the sound echoing in his ears.

Where was this place?

Kadar climbed off the bed, noting how out of place it looked amid the bleak surroundings. It was jarringly incongruous.

Am I dreaming?

He stamped his foot on the ground. He felt oddly weightless, unlike reality.

Click, clack, clack—the sound of leather shoes echoed, approaching. Kadar looked toward the darkness, glimpsing the shadow of a figure. When the person stepped into the light, Kadar’s heart leaped and then slowly settled.

“So even in dreams, I see you. Seems I should’ve told him to wait a bit before killing you,” Kadar said.

Indeed, standing before him were the three couriers Amanda had killed.

The first man smiled at Kadar, reached up, and removed his head, holding it before his chest. The face was eerily calm. The mouth slowly opened, and in the voice of a child singing a nursery rhyme, it intoned, “One, two, Freddy’s coming for you...”

Snap—the second man’s head came off. “Three, four, better lock your door...”

The third followed. “Five, six, grab your crucifix...”

Kadar was petrified. Even in a dream, such a scene was horrifying.

He instinctively began to retreat until his calves bumped against the bed and he collapsed onto it. The three headless figures pressed in, step by step.

“Don’t come any closer... stay away...” Kadar pleaded weakly.

At that moment, he felt a face appear beside his shoulder. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it with chilling clarity—the face was grotesquely scarred, as if seared by flames.

As Kadar tried to flee, a metal claw snaked from behind and pinned him in place. Then, from beside his shoulder, the burned head sang in a rasping, dreadful voice, “Seven, eight, better stay up late...”