A/N: This was a idea I had for a horror-themed "Anniversary" story line since at least the end of Suburban Knights when Critic thought about getting the Necronomicon to resurrect Ma-Ti and naturally since I am a huge of the horror-movie/Paranormal genre I definitely wanted to write this out.

Note: The characters portrayed here don't belong to me with the exception of two OCs reviewers Alexa and Angelfox, that were created when another friend of mine rp this story out on Skype to create the basic story structure of what will entail for our internet heroes. I mean no disrespect to any of the characters depicted here and own no rights to them, they belong to their RL counterparts and TGWTG.

Warning:Contains dark disturbing themes of supernatural/horror elements even within the context of a homage/parody/satire. Violence, gore, profanity, and awful things happening to some of your favorite characters. You have been warned.

Feedback, reviews, constructive criticism, and suggestions are very welcomed at the moment.

Thank you

Prologue

It had been seven months since the battle against Malachite and the quest for his gauntlet. After Ma-Ti's funeral, a handful select went out to scour the battlefield and try to find any sign of the gauntlet. Or the stone for that matter. But so far nothing. The Critic, deep down, thought it was probably better off that way and lead them back to his house so they could rest up, refresh themselves, and go on back to what they were doing before.

Reviewing on the internet.

That is until he heard of it...The Book of the Dead.

The Necronomicon. Suffice to say, it would be correct to intrude that he had heard the stories, but mostly he had watched the Evil Dead movies and only to have Linkara bring it up again, it was risky, the mistakes would damn everyone. But his guilt could not be held off any longer, and Critic knew that if he could bring back Ma-Ti, he could start things over, they could start over and he would treat Ma-Ti better. Respectfully; push him around no more, and take advantage of his giving nature.

Things would change finally!

After everyone went home and things had settled, Critic sent Chester A Bum to every haunted house across the United States, in hopes that the cause of the reported haunting may have had something to do with outside forces of darkness reputedly incurred when the book was used. He checked out everything from the famous Winchester House, the Wolf Manor in Fresno California to the Villesca Axe Murder House in Iowa. But to his disappointment, no such book had been found. Well, there was one they thought could be the Necronomicon, but it only turned out to be an Evil Dead 2 DVD with a special cover to look like the book from the movie, with an sound-chip that made the scream when you pressed one of the eyes.

Well, at least now Critic didn't have to worry about what gift to give Lupa for a birthday present that year.

But, the realization was slowly dawning on him that the quest was in vain...

Or so he had thought.

Far away, in his grand study room, a man writes in his journal.

"In the years that I have studied this book, only for it to fall from my hands, how could I have been so stupid to let it get away. Would they know? Would anyone suspect?

Before that occurrence, I have uncovered three truths that have been revealed to me hidden behind its words and allegorical meanings within its pages. But have never manifested themselves until now. To that, I am referring to what I have dubbed the "Trifecta of Horror" as it is known, it is the terrible link that wraps around and adhere to the teachings of The Book of the Dead. These "horrors" have been around for centuries but have never been given a full identity within the confines of book's pages. Until people put it upon themselves to categorize them as such. Even if they have become corrupted, its origins altered, and its existence overbearing. They still are the universal mindsets that awaken our deepest fears of the unknown, ourselves, and what we can't comprehend.

In obtaining the book and discovering this Trifecta of Horror, one has to embrace the darkness itself to walk among its shadows and not be afraid. And there. They will unlock and control the Trifecta of Horror to its desires."

The man paused at his desk, his hand shaking before he could write in the blank pages of his journal again.

"Having 'knowledge' myself, of one of these... Trifecta...i can safely say for without a doubt, they are real. And failure to realize that having this book in the wrong hands could be catastrophic ."

Chapter One

Chicago, Illinois

Critic was doing some laundry, while The Other Guy was in the living room watching television, when a news report came up of a family murdered in St. Paul, Minnesota by one of their own children, the murderer had written occult symbols on the walls of the bedrooms he murdered his family members in, before killing himself with a knife. The thing that got Critic's attention however, was that it was said the kid had in his possession a mysterious book that claimed to order him to do this deed.

"Hey, The Other Guy! Turn up the volume will you!" he asked with hyperactivity.

The Other Guy rolled his eyes, but obeyed regardless.

"- people we have interviewed within the community said that the boy had no earlier juvenile criminal records or instances of causing any trouble at school. Described as a bright, community-driven upstanding student with good to average grades and popular with kids and teachers. One student said he was like a social butterfly. Which was why it came as a shock when neighbors heard the sound of screaming and rants coming from the house and the boy came out covered in blood."

The camera cuts to a video of the house's exterior with police officers and paramedics walking around putting up a yellow "Do Not Cross" ribbon. Cameras patrolled inside the house where strange markings in dried blood and swarming flies painted on a backdrop of pretty flowery wall paper. Along with disturbing words written in haste. And crooked with uneven lower and upper cases.

"- according to witnesses, he said that "the book of the dead is hungry for flesh" before taking his own life. Police are investigating the crime scene and any trace of this so-called 'book of the dead." to piece together what kind of answers they can get from this horrific event. When emergency medical personal where dispatched on the scene, they had found the family: a husband, wife, and two daughters dead in their beds with multiple knife wounds laying on their sides. So far, there was no trace of guns, video games, violent movies, or even a computer within the kid's room so naturally making moral rights advocates confused and frustrated to find a scapegoat to pin this one on. But the search within the house for this so-called 'book of the dead' is ongoing. This is Anita Madison with Channel 3 News-"

"Did you hear that, quick give me the phone!"

"Critic, this is stupid, what makes you honestly think the boy had the Necronomicon in this possession, if he was really a 'Sweet kind goody two-shoes Jesus kid' what was he doing with it and how would he have come across it in the first place?"

"Maybe he came across it the same way the teenagers in Evil Dead did, who knows, but we have to get it before the police and detectives there do!" Critic took the phone ripping it out of hand and was about to call up Chester A Bum when he realized something.

"Hey wait a second...this is nuts, what am I doing-?"

"Yes?" TOG leaned in, hoping what he said earlier to his brother was finally sinking in.

"-Chester doesn't even have a phone, he lives on the streets, oh what a mistake I made. Thanks for warning me big brother, here you go," he gave the phone right back to The Other Guy, "I will just go visit Chester's place by foot."

He grabbed his coat and ran to the dumpster behind his house where he always knew Chester would occupy.

"Chester!" Critic screamed, "Chester are you in there!?"

Chester crawled out from behind the dumpster, stretching and yawning from the lovely sleep he had until some loud internet guy came out and banged on the side of the dumpster.

"Oh great, you're already awake, okay, now I know you don't want to do this, but I know where it is! We can get it!"

Chester stopped and stared at him with a mixture of fear and annoyance.

"Excuse me we!? If you were to recall I nearly FREAKING SHAT my brain out from all the fucked up spooky ma-things that wanted to use me as a half-eaten chew toy!"

"Yeah but at least you got some new psychosomatic drugs out of it right?"

"Yeah, that is true."

"Look, I will even drive you out there, you don't have to hitchhike with creepy fat hairy truck drivers, but please! Just this once!"

"..." Chester was apprehensive.

"I will give you a promotion..."

"A promotion?" he glared, "A PROMOTION-after all the crap I had to go through and weeks of psychological theuram-pateutic counseling from my HMO provider-which turned out to be nothing but a duck that flew in through the window of the counselor's office-WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I GO BACK AND GET THAT STUPID BOOK!"

Critic put his hands on the pocket of his coat and fumbled around pulling out not a penny, not a nickel, and most certainly not a dime. But an honest to god quarter. The KING of all loose change.

"YIPPEE!" Chester shouted throwing his hands up in the air.

"Now...will you do it?"

"Lead the way!"

St. Paul, Minnesota

Critic waited in the car as Chester went in, almost tumbling over the yellow police tape surrounding the entire outside of the house. Which, looked dark and intimidating in the night, with its twisted gnarled black trees and blackened windows creating the eyes for which the house could be starred into, telling you it had no soul. It was nothing but hallow, empty and lifeless now that most of its inhabitants had died at the hands of one of their own children.

Even the way it looked seemed unnatural, hunched over like the weight of death, madness, and pain was burdened upon its architectural shoulders

It's just a damn house...stop creeping yourself out. He kept telling himself over and over.

They had arrived around the afternoon, it was a two-day drive so they hoped that someone on that police force or investigation unit was slow enough to find anything incriminating. For once, he wanted the incompetency of the law to work in his favor. By the time they arrived, it was dark, most everyone had gone home and only one cop had been told to watch the scene in case anyone arrived to ruin the crime scene. Luckily, fatigue look to take its toll on the man and Chester sneakily crawled in through the back of the house by use of the kitchen window. While Critic was now alone in the cold, dull, boring car listening to the sounds of the night. Instead of in his safe, warm, happy reviewer room where it was full of bright lights.

Nearby, the sound of dogs howling with none visible to be seen startled him from his thoughts, a ghastly pale-white barn owl sat on a tree branch overhanging above the car hooting two to three times until it flew off.

Maybe I should go in there...

Before he could put his hand on the door handle, he heard the faint sound of shoes scuffling against the dry ground; crackling, snapping, brushing against shrubs and branches. He paused, no one knew they were here, and he had dimmed the headlights so the cop standing guard wouldn't see them. Critic tuned his ears to the sound of the footsteps and they were coming straight for him. Towards the car.

"Shit," he whispered, "who is that?"

Great, just great. There was some creepy weirdo out there, he bet. Hiding in the shadows with a faceless mask and a rusty meat cleaver ready to break in and skin him alive like a fish. And no one would go out to find him because he had to leave and take the car without telling his brother anything, so if something did happen he would be shit out of luck and if That Other Guy actually did find him there would be nothing left, nothing left but a skinned, decapitated, bleeding corpse with a cut open stomach and all his guts removed and replaced with-

"MR. MA-CRITIC!"

"AAAhhh!" Critic turned to see a light shine underneath someone's unkempt face.

It was only Chester A Bum.

Without the book.

"Can I get in, I am freezing my balls off!"

"Get in!" He opened the door on the passenger side and let Chester inside the car turning on the heater.

"Well, did you get it?"

"Did I get what?"

"The book, did you get the book?"

"No I can't say that I did," Chester said cheerfully that he was getting warmed up,"but I did happen to get, frostbitten fingers, an infected bite from a rat, claw scratches from a raccoon that decided to make a nest for her mini-coons in one of the bedrooms who might be diseased judging from the color surrounding my scratches, and a wasp stung me on the nose."

"DAMMIT!" Critic hit the dashboard in anger.

"Oh don't worry, Mr. Ma-Critic, I am sure he will take very good care of it."

"Huh?" He looked over,"who will?"

"I don't know, funny thing though I was inside and I saw one of my bum pals Spencer, nice guy you will like him, anyway, he said that someone else was already here and had found the book and taken it back to their place to keep it safe and sound."

"Really, who was it, what was his name, what did the guy look like!?"

"Didn't have a name," Chester said, then added,"but he did say he had a very pretty hat and claimed his gun was magic-kimal...I wonder where he would have purchased something like that?"

"Wait..."

"Now where is my quarter?"

LINKARA!

Critic turned on the car and drove off ignoring Chester's request.

There was a certain magical know-it-all comic book reviewer he had to go see.

TO BE CONTINUED