Robert Englund slips back into the glove with sandpaper silk, his laugh corrugating the dark while Jenna Ortega steps in as a lucid‑dream tactician who treats fear like choreography. The cut melts bedrooms into boiler cathedrals: a mattress turns to a throat of pipes, a classroom clock coughs blood into seconds that won’t end, and a hallway lengthens until the exit forgets you.

Sleep‑lab metronomes tick backward; ceilings sag with fingerprints; bathwater cools to ash as blades sketch jokes on phone glass. Ortega knots red thread between fingers to anchor wakefulness, baiting micro‑naps like tripwires as Freddy edits the world—lockers breathing, stairs tilting, wallpaper blistering into scripture.

Sound design weaponizes memory: nursery hums sour, steam hisses, then that wet hinge—run. Final sting: glove taps the lens in a patient rhythm, lights choose to die, and the voice purrs, “See you between heartbeats.”