UNDONE
R E V E R S I O N E D
An Evil Dead Fan Fiction
By Nicholas Clark (Warriorsong)
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Things had been quiet for Ashley J Williams, well, for the past couple of months at least. Since he had burnt that accursed cabin to the ground.
The rogue deadites and other nasties had left him alone, he guessed, due to the fact that their most prominent place of origin was no more. He had rationalized that the cabin was some sort of interdimensional staging point. Most likely due to the fact it was where Knowby had said the resurrection passages (for the first time in seven hundred years no less) and allowed the hellish abominations purchase into the realm of mortal men.
He lazily contemplated this as he price gunned a new load of merchandise.
He had stayed at S-Mart. Not out of any loyalty to the place and a job he didn't like that much, but because it was a steady pay check and they accepted his eccentricities. He put this down to the fact that he had thwarted several deadite attacks over the six years between his return from the thirteenth century and torching the place his nightmares began.
And people tended to be nice if you had a metal hand and a happy trigger finger.
The usual explanation that was used was roving bands of psychotic bikers jumped up on bad acid and in the case of witches, their Valium driven and disillusioned mothers.
Ash wasn't sure how they, his bosses, explained away the exploding and liquefying deadites, but that's just conspiracy theory, baby. If something was unknown and frightening, rather than accepting it and its reality shattering presence, more logical explanations were given. Still, that saved Ash answering the questions he figured would follow, such as what was that and why did it come gunning for you.
Ash grinned.
It was a nice change of pace this. He didn't usually price things but some of the kids were away, most likely a party or something. Ash usually contented himself with wandering around the store looking menacing and serving the occasional customer who was surlier than the usual.
The menacing look was easy, what with the scars and the sawn off Remington at his side. He loved the silly law that allowed store security to pack heat; it saved him running off to sporting goods every so often. Of course the ominous whirring of his right hand, his gauntlet, flexing its fingers helped.
And tonight, aside from the whirring of said hand, things were quiet, the occasional ding of a price check and the scuffing of the flat shoes that belonged to the blue hairs.
Quietly whistling the theme from Battlestar Galactica, Ash carried on with his pricing.
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There was a guy named Murphy who once said something along the lines of 'Shit happens'.
He died, proving his point, but that's not the point I am trying to make.
My point is that despite the best-laid plans and most honourable intentions, something always goes wrong.
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Ash attributed most of the quiet to it being late, just before close by his count, the blue hairs going home to their assorted menageries of cats and their microwave TV dinners and the staff disregarding policy and smoking at their checkouts.
Ash placed his price gun down and looked about surreptitiously.
He was in the automotive section. Glancing about to make sure no cameras were trained on him, he picked up a can of CRC and popped the lid, his large hand muffling the rattle of the ball bearings as he shook the can.
He placed the nozzle against his knuckles and began to liberally spray the joints on his artificial hand.
It wasn't theft in his eyes, the price, however was. Plus they used his hand in the process of store protection so they could bloody well maintain it. The materials he had used to make it were out of stock, had been for centuries, so care was taken to make sure she purred.
The chime of the doors opening was engulfed in the background noise and elevator music that wafted throughout the cavernous depths of the store, effectively bypassing Ash's senses.
The cry of pain and the young store clerk named Danny smashing over and into the shelf of products at the end of the aisle Ash stood in, did gain his attention.
Danny worked at Checkout 2, all checkouts running at right angles to the first aisle of merchandise. That meant, in Ash's mind that he had sailed over four rows and crashed into the fifth.
Ash sighed and recapped the CRC, placing it back on the shelf. His good hand slipped to the holstered shotgun at his side, his gauntlet humming as he worked the CRC through its gears.
Only a deadite could throw someone that far, and as Danny usually worked in the deli, he wasn't exactly the lightest of S-Mart employees.
Ash tapped the blue gun metal of the shotgun barrel and pulled it from its leather home, the soft scraping music to his ears, a familiar tune. He spun the Remington on his finger before pointing it towards the end of the aisle.
True to form the grotesquely obese deadite, its rolls of greasy fat straining the seams of its leather outfit, stepped into view.
Ash sighed. It would most likely make some comment about him never defeating them and his soul being swallowed, yadda yadda yadda.
Ash brought the gun up and took aim.
"We're closed fat man, come back for our midnight madness sale next week."
And with that the shell hit the creature in the chest throwing it backwards through the stack of paint on display behind it, the pyramid of cans exploding as the preternatural body fell onto them.
Several cans popped as the demon careened into them, bright neon tones splashing against the crisp white of the linoleum.
Ash pushed the button on his belt pack and spoke into the microphone on his collar.
"Clean up on Aisle 5."
The deadite stood, scattering more paint and looking rather festive with its new decoration.
"You shall never defeat us!" the deadite exalted in a bubbling nasal voice.
Ash looked towards the roof, a "why me" expression clearly written across his face, the sharp retort of his shotgun seeming to add the inevitable exclamation point.
The deadite grinned at Ash, its face almost falling off as its skin split up to its ears from the twisted corners of its rotted lips.
"You missed"
Ash's mouth curled in a half grin and he pointed at the ceiling.
The deadite turned and stared in shocked fascination as the overhead light groaned under its own weight, snapping the last piece of copper wire holding it suspended on one side, several chain links already falling around the deadites feet from the shattered roof mounting.
Mute and transfixed the turned biker watched as the light swung on its remaining cable.
Ash looked on as the light smashed into the deadite's face, snapping its mushy decayed head from the body and sending it out the plate glass window of the storefront to bounce across the empty carpark.
"Ya think?"
The decapitated deadite gurgled in reply and fell over.
Ash holstered his shotgun and looked at the surrounding devastation.
"So much for my Christmas bonus"
Kyle, one of the checkout workers, a young guy with longish black hair came around the corner, nearly bumping into Ash. He stopped and looked at the wreckage, his jaw dropping open. He had heard the stories but...
Ash turned to him and tapped him on the forehead with a metallic forefinger, disturbing the kid's reverie.
"Go get the wet/dry vac." Ash stated and turned back to the carnage filled aisle. He patted his shotgun and walked to the large broken storefront window.
Kyle just stood there. No wonder they had asked at the interview if he had life insurance. Kyle made a mental note to get some.
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The deadite head lay on the damp asphalt and rolled around, curses dropping from its mouth like the ichor from the ragged stump where its body had been.
It voice became slightly muffled as a foot landed on its cheek and a shotgun barrel found its way into its mouth.
"Nice night huh?" Ash asked.
The head swore at him and Ash pushed his foot down harder. The small talk hadn't worked so maybe he would go back to his old stalwart, extreme violence.
The head squealed and spat.
"KATORUM NOCTUNRE KTULU"
The heads mouth ripped open, octopus like tentacles entwining themselves around Ash's calves. Ash swore and stumbled back; the head firmly attached to his leg. The Remington went off on reflex, blasting chunks of demonic skull and possessed flesh over the parking lot.
"Great" Ash said, his backside seated on the damp ground and the blue smoke from his shotgun wafting into the starry sky.
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Disclaimers
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The Evil Dead is by Sam Raimi and is copyright MCMLXXXII by Renaissance Pictures LTD. Starring Bruce Campbell as Ash, produced by Robert Tapert and written and directed by Sam Raimi. Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn is copyright 1987 by Rosebud Releasing Corporation. All rights reserved. Army Of Darkness (Evil Dead III) by Sam Raimi and Ivan Raimi and copyright 1991. All rights reserved.
If any of this information is wrong, my most humble apologies. No copyright infringement is intended, this is merely a work of fan fiction. I am in no way affiliated to any of these companies and people and what not. Thanks for reading.
Written (finished) Mid December 2000 to 21st January 2001. Compiled 21st January 2001. By Nicholas Clark (Warriorsong). Reversioned 9th January 2008. Originally this was sparked by my finding of an online Necronomicon, based on HP Lovecraft and his works. The word "KTULU (CTHULU)" nags Ash, he searches the Internet, finds the site, goes to visit the guys, they say it was just a joke but someone has read it aloud and the demons catch to it, they manipulate the caster and alter words enabling themselves to come forth. Evil never dies baby.