Disclaimer - I don't own Ash. But if I did, I'd make sure he was well
fed and taken for regular walks.
Title - Evil Dead Vs. Scream.
Summary - My way of lashing out against trendy horror. Ash gets a rude
phone call, responds in kind.. Please review. Your opinion matters.
*plastic smile*
The bedside phone rang, jolting Ash out of an uncharacteristicly
peaceful slumber.
His hand fumbled out from under the blankets to grab it and drag it
back to his head.
"Yo," Ash said, his voice thick with sleep. The person on the other
end paused for a moment, then spoke up.
"Hello," the caller purred. It was a male voice. Sounded young. "What
number is this?"
Ash grunted into the phone, then tossed it back onto the hook.
Ash's phone shrieked again, like a Banshee that portends annoyance
instead of death.
Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the phone again.
Before Ash could answer, the voice was already talking. A nasty snarl
sharpened his words, saying "You hang up again and I'll-"
"You'll what, chickenshit?" Ash interrupted. " Don't let your mouth
get your ass kicked. I gotta get up early tomorrow. I ain't in the mood
for this phone-tag crap. Go play with someone your own age."
With that, he hung up on his mystery pal for the second time that
night.
Ash was annoyed. In the last year, he'd become a bit of a light
sleeper, and for obvious reasons his dreams were seldom peaceful.
He figures he might as well get something to drink as long as he's
awake, so Ash staps on his prosthetic hand and makes his way to the
kitchen of his apartment. His bare feet making no noise on the carpet,
Ash trudges sleepily up to the sink.
A cold draft moves across his bare shoulder, causing him to turn
around. A window must be open. Ash -never- opens windows. Then it hits
him.
He's not alone in his apartment.
Ash pauses in the doorway, listening.
A noise comes from deeper inside the main room.
Silently, Ash moves toward it. Whatever it is, it's in the broom
closet.
Nearing the source of the noise, Ash's paranoia sets in. It could be
anything. Knowing his luck, it's probably a slavering Hellhound with
eight heads and a rotten disposition.
Adrenaline coursed through his body, honing his senses, giving him an
edge.
Getting closer to the door; Ash sucks in a breath, holds it.
Ash steps on a loose floorboard. It creaks, giving away his position.
"Shit," Ash said as the door flew open. Letting out a brief, wordless
exclamation of surprise, he reared back and kicked the door as it came
at him. It slammed back down, hit something solid. Someone cried out in
the dark. Ash slammed his foot back down onto the door. It had the
intruder's arm pinned by the elbow. He could see the knife in his
would-be assailant's hand. Grinding his foot ruthlessly into the door,
Ash persuaded his young attacker to drop the blade.
"Promise not to come at me when I let go of this thing?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever!"
Ash stomped the door again.
"AAAHHHHH!!!"
"Once more, with -feeling-!"
"Okay, okay! I promise!"
"Good boy."
Ash eased up on the door, kicking the knife out of the way when he was
done.
Immediatly, the kid in the costume reneged on the deal. He came at Ash
low, trying to tackle him around the waist and throw him to the floor.
Ash simply waited for him to get within range, and lunged forward,
slamming the hard knob of his knee into the breastbone of his assailant,
then swatted him in the temple with his gauntlet hand for good measure.
The kid in the mask dropped like a sack of dirt.
Ash dragged the limp form of the knife-weilding 'ghost' to his nook
of a dining room, and proceeded to duct-tape him to a chair. Nodding,
satisfied with his work, he grabbed a fistful of the mask and unveiled
the face of his new pal. I was right; Ash thought. He -is- young.
He threw a glass of water in the blonde's face, who sputtered and
coughed back to life.
"Sleep well, young prince?"
To that, the now battered young man replied, "Fuck you."
Ash pursed his lips, scowling with disdain. "I know you'd say that.
What's the matter with you, breakin' into people's houses and trying to
kill them. Oughtta be ashamed. So why would you wanna kill me, eh?"
"Fuck *-YOU-*" was the acid-tongued reply.
Ash sighed, and kicked the young man square in the chest. With an
amusing gaggish noise, he fell flat on his back. Ash stood over him,
smiling. "Now. Answer my question."
The teen was irate, red-faced and spitting as he talked. "I'll kill
you, slash you open and..and..."
Ash had left the room, whistling a tune. When he returned, he had a
chainsaw strapped to his arm where the gauntlet should be. He started
it with his teeth, and let the chugging blade hover an inch from the
kid's eyes.
"You're in no position to make threats," Ash reminded him.
With that in mind, the kid spilled his guts. Turns out, Ash had thrown
him out of the store a few months ago for shoplifting, and he had taken
it upon himself to take revenge.
Ash listened with a mingled amusement and anger. When the story was
over, he went to the phone, called the cops and put his chainsaw away.
Outside his apartment, Ash waved goodbye to the little bastard as he
watched through the rear window of a squad car.
---END---
fed and taken for regular walks.
Title - Evil Dead Vs. Scream.
Summary - My way of lashing out against trendy horror. Ash gets a rude
phone call, responds in kind.. Please review. Your opinion matters.
*plastic smile*
The bedside phone rang, jolting Ash out of an uncharacteristicly
peaceful slumber.
His hand fumbled out from under the blankets to grab it and drag it
back to his head.
"Yo," Ash said, his voice thick with sleep. The person on the other
end paused for a moment, then spoke up.
"Hello," the caller purred. It was a male voice. Sounded young. "What
number is this?"
Ash grunted into the phone, then tossed it back onto the hook.
Ash's phone shrieked again, like a Banshee that portends annoyance
instead of death.
Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the phone again.
Before Ash could answer, the voice was already talking. A nasty snarl
sharpened his words, saying "You hang up again and I'll-"
"You'll what, chickenshit?" Ash interrupted. " Don't let your mouth
get your ass kicked. I gotta get up early tomorrow. I ain't in the mood
for this phone-tag crap. Go play with someone your own age."
With that, he hung up on his mystery pal for the second time that
night.
Ash was annoyed. In the last year, he'd become a bit of a light
sleeper, and for obvious reasons his dreams were seldom peaceful.
He figures he might as well get something to drink as long as he's
awake, so Ash staps on his prosthetic hand and makes his way to the
kitchen of his apartment. His bare feet making no noise on the carpet,
Ash trudges sleepily up to the sink.
A cold draft moves across his bare shoulder, causing him to turn
around. A window must be open. Ash -never- opens windows. Then it hits
him.
He's not alone in his apartment.
Ash pauses in the doorway, listening.
A noise comes from deeper inside the main room.
Silently, Ash moves toward it. Whatever it is, it's in the broom
closet.
Nearing the source of the noise, Ash's paranoia sets in. It could be
anything. Knowing his luck, it's probably a slavering Hellhound with
eight heads and a rotten disposition.
Adrenaline coursed through his body, honing his senses, giving him an
edge.
Getting closer to the door; Ash sucks in a breath, holds it.
Ash steps on a loose floorboard. It creaks, giving away his position.
"Shit," Ash said as the door flew open. Letting out a brief, wordless
exclamation of surprise, he reared back and kicked the door as it came
at him. It slammed back down, hit something solid. Someone cried out in
the dark. Ash slammed his foot back down onto the door. It had the
intruder's arm pinned by the elbow. He could see the knife in his
would-be assailant's hand. Grinding his foot ruthlessly into the door,
Ash persuaded his young attacker to drop the blade.
"Promise not to come at me when I let go of this thing?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever!"
Ash stomped the door again.
"AAAHHHHH!!!"
"Once more, with -feeling-!"
"Okay, okay! I promise!"
"Good boy."
Ash eased up on the door, kicking the knife out of the way when he was
done.
Immediatly, the kid in the costume reneged on the deal. He came at Ash
low, trying to tackle him around the waist and throw him to the floor.
Ash simply waited for him to get within range, and lunged forward,
slamming the hard knob of his knee into the breastbone of his assailant,
then swatted him in the temple with his gauntlet hand for good measure.
The kid in the mask dropped like a sack of dirt.
Ash dragged the limp form of the knife-weilding 'ghost' to his nook
of a dining room, and proceeded to duct-tape him to a chair. Nodding,
satisfied with his work, he grabbed a fistful of the mask and unveiled
the face of his new pal. I was right; Ash thought. He -is- young.
He threw a glass of water in the blonde's face, who sputtered and
coughed back to life.
"Sleep well, young prince?"
To that, the now battered young man replied, "Fuck you."
Ash pursed his lips, scowling with disdain. "I know you'd say that.
What's the matter with you, breakin' into people's houses and trying to
kill them. Oughtta be ashamed. So why would you wanna kill me, eh?"
"Fuck *-YOU-*" was the acid-tongued reply.
Ash sighed, and kicked the young man square in the chest. With an
amusing gaggish noise, he fell flat on his back. Ash stood over him,
smiling. "Now. Answer my question."
The teen was irate, red-faced and spitting as he talked. "I'll kill
you, slash you open and..and..."
Ash had left the room, whistling a tune. When he returned, he had a
chainsaw strapped to his arm where the gauntlet should be. He started
it with his teeth, and let the chugging blade hover an inch from the
kid's eyes.
"You're in no position to make threats," Ash reminded him.
With that in mind, the kid spilled his guts. Turns out, Ash had thrown
him out of the store a few months ago for shoplifting, and he had taken
it upon himself to take revenge.
Ash listened with a mingled amusement and anger. When the story was
over, he went to the phone, called the cops and put his chainsaw away.
Outside his apartment, Ash waved goodbye to the little bastard as he
watched through the rear window of a squad car.
---END---