"Evil Dead: The Series" Episode 16

"Oh What Fun It Is To Sing A Slaying Song Tonight"

By: OmarSnake

'Twas the night before Christmas, at the local S-Mart,

A jam-packed madhouse with a full parking lot;

In housewares, Ash Williams was doing his best,

Despite having had just a few hours rest;

Last-minute shoppers swarmed through the store,

Buying the presents they neglected before;

By the toy department, kids stood in a line,

Waiting for a moment of Santa Claus's time;

He wasn't really Santa, as you probably know,

Just a fat guy who knew how to say "Ho Ho Ho";

He'd been dressed in a suit and taught what to say,

To make believe he was Santa, fresh off the sleigh.

Ash thought this funny, that this drunk old slob,

Could make fooling children a good-paying job;

Truth be known, Ash was in the wrong line of work,

His true-born duties he tried hard to shirk;

Ash was a slayer, born to kill ghouls,

Something rarely taught in our schools;

He could be dense, but his skills were reknowned,

And smart demons knew not to come to his town;

Now, if all ghouls were cautious there'd be nothing to say,

Because Ash would just work in housewares all day;

Fortunately for us, those in search of a tale,

From the parking lot there came a demon's wail.

Customers looked up from their shopping spree,

To find out what happened, but there was nothing to see;

The front doors had opened, all on their own,

And a cold wind blew in, chilling Ash to the bone;

Gut instinct told him the Deadites were near,

But there was no proof to go with his fear;

He went back to his chores, keeping a careful eye,

On customers and employees who would pass by;

"Maybe it was just the wind," he said to himself,

And resumed his job trying to straighten a shelf.

Unseen to humans, a spirit did soar,

Down the aisles of that S-Mart Store;

Searching for a target, one to possess,

So it could cause Ash Williams duress;

Its vaporous trail went unnoticed by all,

And they could not hear its banshee-like call,

For it was a spectre, without bodily host,

I guess that you'd call it an evil old ghost.

It went up high, above the crowds below

And its target it finally did know,

It swooped down to Toys,

Past girls and boys,

It screamed with delight, its movements were quick

As this creature possessed good old Saint Nick.

Santa's eyes went wide, his grin went mad,

It was easy to tell that he had gone bad;

He threw back his head and let forth a yell

That echoed in the store like thunder from Hell;

Somewhere in housewares, Ashley did groan

The nature of this noise was easily known;

(To him at least, for the Deadites he'd fought

Let out such noises as havoc they wrought)

Ash raced that direction, against his own will,

He hated the job, but there was a monster to kill;

And over in toys, Santa stood tall

Causing the child on his lap to fall

And Santa did snarl, did howl and sneer,

And waved a gloved hand at some plastic reindeer

The reindeer had been propped there all day,

With lightbulbs inside to make them seem bright and

gay;

Made of hollow cheap plastic, with minimal paint,

Beside the seat of old Nicholas the saint;

As demonized Santa waved his hand toward those deer,

They rippled and twisted, and became things to fear;

Their plastic was gone, replaced with coarse hair

They eyes glowed like fire, and wickedly did stare;

Flesh and muscle formed, muscular and tough,

Along with spikes, antlers, and other jagged stuff;

Where harmless toy reindeers stood seconds before,

Were now demon beasts in the midst of the store.

Evil St. Nick stood up on his chair

Threw out his arms and said with some flair,

"Now Thrasher, now Cancer, now Danger and Nixon,

On Vomit, on Stupid, on Goner and Blitzkrieg,

To the front of the store, and all through the mall

Now kill them, yes kill them, let's kill them all!"

Two shotgun blasts did rend the air

The smoke cleared to reveal Ash standing there

Shotgun in hand, scowl on his face,

Ready to put Santa Claus in his place

Ash studied that Santa, as if to comment on his clothes

And said, "Hey, Saint Nick - how about I scratch your nose?"

Santa stared at Ash and widely did grin

"You've been naughty," he chanted again and again

As the demon-deer circled around and around

Eerily quiet, not making a sound

Ash aimed his shotgun, blew off one's head

It kept walking 'round, since it was undead

(if a plastic deer could said to have been alive at all

Which is a matter for debate I'd like to forestall)

Ash eyed Santa, and Santa scowled and groaned

"Now that was EXTRA naughty," he gutterally moaned

He leapt through the air, this not-so-jolly elf

And Ash was scared in spite of himself

A big plastic candy cane St. Nick grabbed then

And swung it like a club, to bash his head in

Ash rolled backwards, to dodge the blows

And brought the shotgun up under Santa's nose.

"Now that's not something a nice boy would do,"

Santa stammered, before his head blew to goo

Ash shrugged, knowing his work was not done,

And said "Naughty, nice, I'm the guy with the gun"

Sure enough, the demon Santa stood up

His blood-spattered face reduced to pulp

Ash tackled Santa, they wrestled there on the floor,

While customers continued to race out the door.

A security camera caught this display

And beamed it many, many miles away

To a dark room in New York, in a tall tower

Where Lajos Szabo watched a screen and did glower

"These Deadites are becoming too hard to sway,"

He said, low and menacing, as was his way.

"They used to obey my every command

But this is getting well out of hand."

"This one's not so tough," Fisk pointed out,

"All it does is flail, scream and shout,

Why look, Ash has already killed another deer

Before long the battle's end will be here."

Oracle watched too, keeping her thoughts to herself

As on the screen, Ash fought with the nefarious elf

Back at the store, Ash slugged St. Nick's jaw,

Which came off, leaving a huge gaping maw

What was left of Santa's face started to twitch

And he clawed at his head as if fighting an itch

He flailed and he cried, though not losing his cap

Blood vessels burst and muscles did snap,

As a demon head tore through the poor Santa's face

Growling and snarling and taking its place

It was right ugly, boney and vile

With glowing eyes and a wicked old smile

Bat wings ripped from its back through its clothes

Long claws tore through its gloves, through its boots razored toes

It was still clad in red, still wearing the hat

But it was nothing like Santa, I can tell you that

It flapped its wings, taking to air

And balefully at Ash Williams it did stare

"I'll crush you into a lump of coal," the demon did say

Ash fired a shot, blowing a bat wing away

Demon Santa hit the ground, howling in pain

And Ash fired at it, again and again

The end of the battle, do I even need tell?

It was Ash who stood, demon Santa who fell

But Ash knew the Deadites were a wiley old bunch

And he decided to chop it apart on a hunch

"Hey, kid," he called to a scared little tyke

Who had come to the store to gaze at bikes,

"Go grab a chainsaw, and an extension cord or two

I've got me some Christmas trimming to do."

"But that's Santa," the kid said, eyes brimming with tears

"No," said Ash, "it's a demon that feeds on your fears,

The real Santa wouldn't try to maim and destroy

Because he's a good guy, right, little boy?

Santa is cheerful, friendly and wise,

He has no bat wings with which he flies;

Sure, this thing was dressed like Santa, down to its gloves

But it knows nothing of Santa's kindness and love."

The boy turned and ran, not running away

But heading to hardwares to help Ash that day

He came back with a chainsaw, which Ashley did use

To chop Demon Santa into so much refuse

And using garbage baggies from Aisle Number Three

They separated the parts, which squirmed to get free

Bags flung over their backs, to the incinerator they ran

"Thanks for the help, kid," Ash said, "now you better scram."

Out of the stock room the little boy did run

While Ash stayed behind to make sure the demon was well-done

Once the parts were all burned, Ash combed his hair back

And headed out to put the shotgun back on its rack

The customers that remained in the store all did stare

Perhaps one or two of them even said a silent prayer

Ash wiped his brow which had in battle perspired

"Will it come back?" One woman inquired

"I roasted its chestnuts, it won't be back,"

Ash replied, "This is the end of the attack."

The people did cheer, happy they still did live

At this time of year, a season to give

Ash had saved their lives, wiping out the demonic foe

And he killed all the evil deers, be they buck or doe

Demon Santa had wanted to kill one and all

But he was the only one who did fall

Quick thinking by Ash, and of course a shotgun

Had cut short the Deadite's evil idea of fun.

Ash looked around and politely did nod

As the people continued to applaud

Ash saw the little boy who had helped him right then,

And said "Hey, Junior, good work, thanks once again.

To show you I'm grateful, tell ya what I'll do,

I'll buy a present for little old you.

Just tell me what you'd like, and it's practically yours

But don't be too greedy, 'cause I'm kinda poor."

And so the little boy (whose name was Mike)

Got what he wanted, a shiny new bike.

Ash got off early and went home from his job

Covered in blood and gore, he looked quite the slob

But he knew that tomorrow Christmas Day would be here

And it was a time for jolly old cheer

His family was gathering, out in the suburbs

A festive gathering Deadites best not not disturb

It had been a tough day, and he had presents to wrap

But first he needed a shower, and then a long nap.

He did not know that even there in his place

Was a hidden camera, in a smoke detector case;

Away in New York, Mr. Fisk did grin wide

"I told you he'd beat that Deadite," he cried

"Of course he can beat them," Szabo said, his tone low and cold

"That's why we need him, truth to be told.

The Deadites know this, and they want him dead

Before Y2K hits and things come to a head."

As Ash walked into the bathroom and threw his clothes on a rack

Szabo clicked a button, and the view screen went black.

And so ends our story, of that Christmas Eve

And this strained poem that I've tried to weave.