Chapter 1
June 1992:
Ash was holding Molly close to him and staring as though into a movie camera. "Hail to the king baby." He said to no one in particular. For the first time in a very long time, despite the deadite invasion of his sacred S-Mart, he felt safe. While he was posing for the cameras he half heard foot-steps approaching him very quickly. On instinct he whirled, pushed Molly to "safety" off the cart, and leveled his Winchester at whatever was running at him. Thankfully, he didn't fire. The noise was made by a perfectly "normal", if out of breath, woman who had her face painted up in the style of a clown. "OH MY GOD! THE ICP ARE HERE!"
Forgetting all about Ash and the deadite, fully half of the gathered crown, mostly older teens, including Molly dashed full tilt out the door to see the spectacle. Ash gawked as his "fans" and his "admirers" rush out and, jumping off the cart, he hangs his head. "The ICP. Greeeaaat. More 'dead' clowns looking for a little lead methadone." He walked out to the S-Mart parking lot and to his new (kinda) '94 Chrysler Le Baron and opened the trunk.
He ejected his annoying ass metal hand with a sigh of "finally". He reached in, picked up the trunk covering and exhumed his old beaten chainsaw. He hooked it onto his stump, grinned, did a few test cuts in the air, and pulled the chord. The familiar rrrr-hehehheheheheh made his grin even bigger. He shut it off and replaced the chord in the holder that would allow a quick start-up. Going back into his trunk he rummaged around until he found his well-worn leather back holster. Strapping it on he made sure it was nice and tight and the clasp would hold. When he was satisfied he gave a quick rap on the side of the trunk and a flap popped out. He reached into the hidden compartment and pulled out his prized possession. The 12-guage double barreled Remington. With cobalt blue steel and a walnut stock, despite its well-worn appearance it was still a thing of beauty. He spun it a few times around his finger and deposited it cleanly in it's holster "Hey hero!" came a nasally voice with a Brooklyn accent from behind him. A sense of extreme annoyance filled Ash. "Damnit Runt! I thought you and I parted ways!"
When he turned to the voice he saw a 3ft tall midget in gray pants and a white t-shirt with Mr. T style ring and necklace. He also had half his skin missing. This was Sam Raimy, Ash's half-deadite "pall" and all around pain in the ass.
"Well hello to you too. What kind of greeting is that? Anyway I came in for the Gathering of the Juggalos and I saw S-Mart and figured I'd see if you were here so I could come and say watsup…So…Watsup?" A long silence followed where ash cocked his eyebrow and just stared at the midget.
"Alllriiight. I'm sensing some hostility. Now I was in the-" Sam was cut off when Ash, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to put up with this pest again, punted him into a nearby '72 Velari which burst into flames effectively incinerating Sam's body. Ash smiled thinking, 'that never gets old'. He started to walk to the Gathering when a voice behind him said, "Ash, you sir…are an ass-hole." Ash stopped pulled out his shotgun, rested it on his shoulder, and shot Sam in the face. A few seconds later… "Ash, every time you do that I get dirt in my teeth."
Ash clenched his fist and shouted "Why don't you ever stay dead!"
"Just to piss you off." Came the nasally reply.