by A. Eggleston
"Oh yeah?" Ash said, nonchalantly. "Tell him I said this."
He pulled the trigger, blasting the demon in the head.
BOOM!
Her head exploded into little bits, spraying blood and brains all across the dirt. Her eyeballs and chunks of her brains scattered everywhere, like pieces of popcorn strewn across the bloody ground. Ash was surprised.
Huh...I didn't think those Deadites had brains. She was just a body without a head now. Her neck gushed a wave of black blood across the ground. Her spine was partially exposed above the cut-off point in her neck. The rest of her body just laid there. Her legs were bent opposite directions, and her gray, decrepit arms were permanently locked upwards.
Ash placed his shotgun back in the car. He started up the engine, and left the abandoned power plant, his red tail lights shrank in the distance. He escaped the rusted tomb, leaving nothing but a trail of dust and a Deadite corpse behind.
Chapter Five
The darkness of earthly Hell surrounded him. He was trapped between two worlds. Between our own, and one much darker, much more sinister and destructive. Enveloped by the malign fires, with black smoke under his feet, Freddy Krueger stood tortured as he was being forever pulled between the spaces of the living and the dead.
This was the fine print in the part of the deal he made when he sold his soul to the Dream Demons. Shedding innocent blood and feeding off their young souls would keep him strong. But when the killing stopped, and he was banished back to the evil realms beyond, he was weakened. Freddy was back into the eternal darkness. The everlasting pain.
After what seemed like a hundred lifetimes caught inside the evil abyss, Freddy had an epiphany. No longer was he going to follow the law of the demons. Countless times, he had been defeated and stripped of his power. Freddy set his sights on a new target, the source of his power. The ultimate source of demonic evil.
The Necronomicon Ex-Mortis. Natorum Demonto. The Book of the Dead.
Whatever they called it, it is the foundation of supernatural evil. The evil that has spawned countless others to do its bidding. With it, Freddy would never be defeated again. He would be immortal. Eternal. Forever.
All he needed now was someone to get it for him.
He had the Necronomicon. After all these years. After all the torment and deaths he had suffered through, Ash had finally claimed the bane of his existence. And he finally did it the right way this time. It was his to destroy.
Then, why didn't it feel like a victory for him? Why did he feel this overwhelming sense of dread clouding his mind?
Ash pulled into the driveway, turned his key, and stepped out of his banged up,
yellow, Oldsmobile. He slowly walked past the front of the car, and grazed his hand across the hood, feeling all of the dents. Every bump and scratch he felt brought back a different memory of adventures past. Most of those memories were grueling terror mixed in with a little medieval torture.
He opened the passenger door and took his Remington out of the car. Finally, he walked over to the trunk and popped it open. There it was, still in the same place. Right in the middle, just waiting for him.
There was a full moon out that night. The pearly light glimmered against the dark blue sky. The light of the moon spotlighted on the Book of the Dead.
Ash picked it up, and absorbed it for a moment.
“Alright, now what?“ he wondered. He'd never made it this far without royally screwing something up. He looked down at his watch. It was getting pretty late. “I guess this can wait until tomorrow.“ He decided to put it back for now and slammed the trunk down, and walked over across the lawn and stood in front of the house. He stood and looked at the house for a long time.
He'd seen the front of that house every day for a while, but Ash had never really seen it for what it was until now. They were right, it was indeed a murder house. It was once the home of Freddy Krueger. A sick...perverted...bastard. All of the weird dreams, the nightmares, what did it all mean to him? He listened to what Buck and Anthony had to say, but Ash didn't believe in urban legends. He only believed in what he could see, touch, feel, and what was trying to kill him. And the foul things that lived in the book made no trouble making their presence known. For all he knew, Freddy Krueger was dead and rotting in the earth.
Ash walked up the front steps, and opened the front door. The door opened wide and made a low, creaking noise.
Every bone in his body ached in pain. His head was swimming, making Ash walk a little unbalanced. He took slow steps and tripped on himself a few times as he walked past the staircase in the front of the room, and on to the door that led to the basement. The door was adjacent to the living room. He opened it and was immediately met with a thin, closet size entry leading downstairs.
He made his way to the basement, which was lit by a single light bulb hanging from the wall. He grew accustomed to this particular setting. He walked across the spacious room to his workbench. He laid his double-barreled Remington next to his chainsaw in top left corner of the bench. Two other weapons of his were on the bench. A pump shotgun and a 9mm pistol. Both were taken apart to be cleaned at a later time. He just kept thinking about the rotten, leathery face of that book.
Calling...
Beckoning...
All Ash could think about was how to destroy the damned thing. The Book of the Dead had survived thousands of years, hundreds of natural disasters, dozens of plagues, and one average, everyday excuse for a Chosen One.
How would tonight be any different?
He'd accomplished enough in the last seven hours, so Ash decided to call it a night. He grabbed a rag off the side of the bench, and used it to wipe the sweat and the droplets of
blood off his face. He could work on destroying the book tomorrow. Right now, he was tired.
Ash was so exhausted, he didn't even want to bother going upstairs to the bedroom. The couch’ll do just fine for now. He planted a seat in the middle, grabbed the remote, and turned on the local news. That would usually put him out for the night.
The television turned on to channel 6, KRGR, the local news station. Ash fluttered his eyes, drifting in and out of consciousness as he listened to the soothing narration of the attractive, brunette, anchor woman.
"...the police have no further details on the disappearance of Audrey Hamilton, a teacher at Springwood High, and a mother of two."
The anchor woman was sitting behind a desk. In the far corner, was a reference picture of the missing woman. She was smiling, her hand on her cheek with her elbow propped on her desk. Her hair covered most of her face. Her hair was long, and...red.
Red hair...
Ash sat up straight and became more alert. It was her. It was the same woman who attacked him earlier--except her skin wasn't decayed and her jaw line wasn't deformed, making her look like some kind of gargoyle. She was just a normal woman in that picture. Happy, smiling, and full of life.
Oh, how things change so quickly.
The newscaster continued. "...on a related, more disturbing note: the bodies of other missing persons have been found, mostly outside of town, their limbs severed and--"
Ash turned the TV off. He didn't want to hear any more. He set the remote on the coffee table. He buried his head in his hands and took a long, deep breath. This was one of the more depressing parts of the job. Realizing that he'd just taken the life of what was once an innocent human being. Someone who never did anything at all to deserve this. Seeing their faces on the news and watching their friends and family mourn for them. Sometimes it was just too much for him. He rubbed his eyelids, trying to somehow wipe away the sadness from his face.
Click.
The TV turned back on. But how? Ash had put the remote away. His eyes went wide as he jerked his head up to look at the television.
"...their heads decapitated in some of our findings." There was the newscaster again. Her demeanor was somewhat different. Her serious face and genuinely caring tone was replaced with a coy smile, she sound
ed like she relished every word. "Their skin had been decayed far past their presumed time of death." When she began her next sentence, her voice changed. With each word, it had slowly gotten lower, like a man's. Although, even a normal man's voice wouldn't sound this guttural and wretched.
What's going on here?
"All of the bodies had what appeared to be fatal wounds with a type of saw, and shotgun blasts to the head." Her voice by now had gotten just downright evil.
Freddy.
"The police suspect that bastard, Ash Williams! We'll hunt that rotten son of a bitch down like a no-good, dirty, dog!"
Ash turned away from the television screen and locked his eyes on the remote. He had
no idea what was going on, but he didn't want to suffer through anymore of this. The back round noise still echoed as Ash quickly grabbed the remote and searched for the power button.
"Yeah, you're 'Chosen', all right. Chosen to have your fuckin' skin ripped off! Aha-hahahahahahahahahaha!"
Ash turned the TV off again, and threw the remote to the edge of the living room.
"...What the...?" Ash mumbled. His eyes went in every direction, searching, waiting for something else to freak him out.
Nothing.
Ash exhaled deeply and leaned back on the couch cushion, trying to relax for a moment. He stared at the ceiling and watched the propellers on the fan slowly spin.
He watched him intensely. Sitting just on the edge of the couch next to Ash, Freddy stared at him with a foreboding gaze. He took pleasure in this part of the game. Ash was getting weaker. Debilitated.
Freddy watched his bloodshot eyes flutter, his skin had gotten paler, like he'd just seen a ghost. That part never got old. Poor Ash had tried to stay awake, but it was already too late.
Freddy cocked his head to the side, and wriggled his finger blades in anticipation.
Now, the torture could begin.
"Whoa!" Ash yelled. He jumped in his seat and whipped his head to the right. He could have sworn he heard the sound of knives clinking next to his ear. But, there was nothing there.
Ash breathed heavily. Whatever he saw, it sent shivers down his spine. The goose bumps on his arms reappeared. He had no clue what was going on, but he knew one thing: there was someone in the room, with him.
He looked around him, but there was no one there.
He figured it must have just been his imagination. Nothing more. He looked at the wall clock across the room. It was past 2:00 AM, he'd been awake more than seventeen hours, of course he'd be hallucinating. Seeing and hearing things that were not and should not have been there. Becoming nervous, and a little paranoid, from it all. He'd had a rough night and he was very fatigued. He needed rest.
Of course. he thought. Everything's fine, all I have to do is relax.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Ash heard a noise coming from upstairs. "Huh--Wha--?" What was that? he thought. It sounded like footsteps. Slow, creeping, footsteps. Is there someone upstairs? All of the windows were locked, there was no way someone could have broken in without him hearing something.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeer.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeer.
It was a different noise this time. It came from different parts of the house. It was a very loud, creaking noise, like the foundation settling. Ash turned in all different directions, trying to locate where the sound was coming from. But it came from everywhere. It was a multitude of various creaks and other kinds of racket.
Ash leapt from his seat and stood in the middle of the living room. He was alert and ready for whatever was going to happen next.
Without pause, the doorknobs on the front and back entrances started to rattle and shake violently. The doors themselves produced loud banging noises, like someone was beating on them from outside.
THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!
Something bad was going on, and Ash knew it. He remembered that he had put away all of his gear in the basement. "Boomstick..." He leapt over the couch and raced towards the basement door. When he put his hand on the doorknob, he instantly felt a white-hot, stabbing pain across his palm. "Aaah!" Ash yelped. His left hand had been burnt, he quickly withdrew it. He looked at the doorknob.
It was glowing red from the heat. Ash figured he didn't have a lot of time, so he quickly used his metal hand to open the door and flung it open. He stepped forward to go down the stairs and felt as if he was going to fall. "Whoa!" He looked down and there were no stairs, just empty blackness. He re-adjusted his balance and stared down the bottomless chasm of darkness.
What was going on here? First there was a basement and now there wasn't. "What? Am I in "The Twilight Zone? What's going on here?"
Before Ash could begin to absorb the fact that his basement had just completely disappeared, the entry to what used to be the basement was immediately engulfed with flames. They rose from the bottom, up. Before Ash was about to become...well, ash...he quickly slammed the door shut. He needed a weapon. That much was certain.
He hastily scoured the living room for something he could use. Then he found it: the metal poker from the fireplace. He ran back to the living room and grabbed it. When he turned around, he noticed that all of the noise had ceased. It was completely quiet now. But still, Ash stood hunched over, ready to attack, his back to the fireplace, looking over the whole room. His eyes were wild, and he had sweat dripping from his forehead. What was going to happen next?
But still, Ash appeared confident on the outside, grinning and cocking his eyebrows, challenging whoever or whatever was pulling the strings here. "C'mon! C’mon, just try me!" he said, still catching his breath.
This poor bastard isn't giving up without a fight. Freddy thought. He had to admit, it was a little more fun messing with someone who had a little bit of personality. Someone who didn't just stand there, expressionless, like an idiot. And at least he fought back. Well, if one could call that "fighting". It was different than just some doe-eyed bitch in her nightgown, running and screaming for help. But still, this still bugged the living hell out of Freddy. Why did it always have to be so difficult coming back from the dead? he thought.
He watched him, huddled up and shaking like the poor sap that he was. He delighted
in his torment. Freddy cracked an evil smile. He stood to Ash's left, though Ash couldn't see him. He wanted to kill him right then and there, slice his throat open maybe, but he was powerless without the Necronomicon. "Soon enough..." he said, while Ash was oblivious to his presence. "I'll have that book, and your soul along with it. But, I'll have to wait until you're weak enough to finish the job." He needed to weaken Ash, completely remove his strength and his will to survive. Then it would be the perfect time for Freddy to strike. "But until then..."
Freddy inched a little closer and reached out his glove hand, slowly. He flicked his index finger forward and tapped Ash on the shoulder.
(tap) (tap)
Ash felt a tap on his left shoulder. It felt sharp and pointed, like a knife. He whipped his head around, but there was nothing there. He felt like he was going insane. All of these strange and horrible things were happening to him at once, and there was no one in sight. What bothered Ash most, was not knowing who was doing these things to him. Things that didn't make sense. The banging on all the doors. The basement just disappearing. The roaring fire.
Feeling like there was someone standing right next to him the whole time...
His mind snapped. He gripped the fire poker until his knuckles ran white. His chest puffed in and out from breathing so heavily. If whoever wasn't going to show their ugly face, Ash was going to try to at least coax them out.
"C'mon! Show yourself!" his tone was infused with rage and desperation. "Come down here! I'll poke your goddamn eyes out!" he shouted. His eyes went everywhere. Looking up the stairs where he heard the footsteps. To the front and back doors where all of that noise started. To the basement door where he was met with a wall
of flames. "Don't think I won't..." he muttered, fearfully. He took a few steps to his right, moving to the corner of the living room, his back still to the wall. His senses were raw and anticipating anything to happen at this point. He was ready to strike at any second.
The light bulb inside the floor lamp in the corner of the room flickered off and back on again. It was just for a split second.
Ash saw something out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't going to take any chances. In just a fraction of a second, Ash struck in the direction of the corner to his right. "Hyah!" Ash yelled as he swung the fire poker like a baseball bat at the floor lamp. It fell and knocked over to the wall shelf next to it, and the sweat from his hands caused him to lose grip of the poker. Ash felt like a total idiot. He bent over and reached for the poker.
When the lamp fell over and hit the shelf, it hit with such brute force that it dislocated one of the brackets propping it up. The shelf was bent at an angle, and the lantern that was on the corner of the shelf was now wobbling. It fell right off and landed on the top of Ash's head. He was knocked flat to the ground. He groaned in pain. He felt a knot in the back of his head throbbing as he slowly got back up, and put the fire poker back in his hands.
Ash heard a strange noise coming from the kitchen. He was still recuperating from his head injury, but decided to check it out anyway. The closer he walked towards the kitchen, the sound became clearer. It was like a low, hissing noise. Ash braced himself,
and gripped the fire poker like a bat once again. He was now in the kitchen, following the noise. It lead him towards the refrigerator, where the cause of the sound was just a simple hiss. Ash lowered the metal poker and loosened his grip. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned back around to the living room. "It's alright. Relax, relax." he assured himself. He put the fire poker away and propped it on the corner, so he could wipe the sweat from his brow.
