Disclaimer: Okay, so I don't say all the beginning lines - exactly. And
obviously I am not Sam Raimi or Bruce Campbell or Rob Tapert, so don't sue
me if YOU are, since I gave you credit for the production of three of the
greatest horror/comedies of all time. (As a matter of fact, if you are,
call me, let's discuss the screenplay of this.)
This isn't my usual genre, and it's a lot shorter in chapters than usual, just a fun thing I'm writing.
CHAPTER ONE - SURVIVORS
"You know that story about how you almost became king?"
I look up at the broad before me - long, white legs, huge tits barely covered by her too-small sweater, inquisitive blue eyes under short red hair - and my mouth hangs open in awe.
"Well, I think it's kinda cute," she adds with a come-hither smile.
And then it starts - again. The lights in the S-Mart flicker and a scream rends the air. I turn, and the shopper in the aisle behind us has stopped, frozen, and is slowly turning.
Another damn Deadite. I guess my work is never done. She tosses me like a sack of potatoes, then rips the cash register from the outdoor department readying to slam in atop my red-head's cranium.
The S-Mart is like millions of S-Marts around the country, a huge superstore with aisles upon aisles of goods ranging from furniture, to sporting goods, to house wares - that's me.
It's the Sporting Goods section I want to hit now, to go after good old Mr. Double-barrel, who has always been my friend things when like this go on. I break open the gun case and grab the shotgun and some ammo. I leap onto a cart and start firing at the Deadite, over and over again. But the bullets have no effect.
Wait a minute, I think. Déja vu.
And it didn't happen this way.
That's the last thing I remember thinking before she leaps, claws bared, screaming, "I'll swallow your soul."
He jerked awake, his eyes wide open. A few concerned faces looked back down at him. He understood immediately what the cause of their concern was and lowered the walnut-stocked shotgun he had raised in their direction.
"Sorry," he said, chuckling.
"It's okay, Ash," the redhead chuckled back. Her nametag, barely showing from around one ample breast, said "Alicia." "I think I'd be pointing that thing everywhere, too."
The rest of the motley assortment didn't look quite as convinced as Alicia did. A tall, skinny guy with glasses, light brown hair, and a membership card to the Pocket Protector Club looked dumbfounded. A huge hulk of a man, dressed in the jeans, tee-shirt, and flannel of the grunge persuasion, was looking at Ash with an eyebrow raised, his intense blue eyes boring into Ash in a very discomforting way. A small girl sat in the back corner, filing her nails, keeping to herself. She was wearing a black mini-skirt and a black sleeveless shirt, and her dark tangle of curls was tucked over her left shoulder. She was ignoring the whole thing.
Ash put the gun aside and rose, his S-Mart smock falling to the floor from its previous vocation as a blanket. He dusted off his typical blue button- down and jeans. He looked at his surroundings - a huge room, columns of boxes on loading pads all over, each carton displaying some name brand or another.
"Why am I in the storeroom?" he asked cocking an eyebrow over a dark brown eye.
"Oh," Alicia giggled nervously. "Herb asked us to bring you back here after you passed out. So he could evacuate the customers."
Ash shook his head, disbelieving. "I passed out?"
Finally finding his voice, Pocket Protector stuttered, "Wow, man! That story about becoming king. that was for real?"
He cringed when Ash met his gaze. "Do you think I would lie to you, Bill?"
"I - I guess not," Bill shrank back, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Ash turned to the tall guy.
"What about you, Shawn?" he demanded. "Any questions?"
Shawn just held up his hands and took a step back. All of this was very calm. He was twice Ash's size, and could easily take him down in a fight. Even the gun didn't seem to make him nervous.
Ash ignored this, even though he felt a little intimidated. The gun was comforting to have, not just because of the undead. He headed over to the girl in the corner. She didn't look up as he approached.
"So what happened to the book when you went back in time?" she asked before Ash had a chance to say anything.
Ash stopped. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Was the book destroyed?" Now she looked up, her eyes shifting colors, from green to gold and back. It was even more discomforting than Shawn's nonchalance. "Obviously not, if the Deadites are back."
Since she was so obviously right, Ash reacted the only way he knew how in this situation - meaningless anger. Especially since he'd left out part of the story.
I'm all right, Ashley. It's your sis-ter Cher-yl.
"Well hello Miss Smarty Pants!" he exclaimed. "You know, I think I know a little more about this than you do!" He looked her up and down. "Hey, I don't know you!"
The girl in the black dress held up her hand. "Don't bother with the gun, Ash," she said. "I'm just a shopper who got caught in this shit, and decided to help out."
"Well, didn't you see the sign on the door?" Ash strode over to open the door, turned back to her, and pointed to the sign on the door's face. "It says 'Employees Only.' That means you - " he pointed first at her, then out the door. "-out."
"I'm not going out there," she retorted, sounding amused and going back to her nails.
"Why the hell not?" Ash demanded, not noticing the panicked looks of the other three as they backed far away from him.
"Because I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, your boss is at the door."
"And the bad news is?" Ash asked aloud, turning to look.
As he gazed deep into the eyes of a rotting corpse-creature that vaguely resembled his robust and red-faced boss, Herb, the girl finished, "He's dead."
This isn't my usual genre, and it's a lot shorter in chapters than usual, just a fun thing I'm writing.
CHAPTER ONE - SURVIVORS
"You know that story about how you almost became king?"
I look up at the broad before me - long, white legs, huge tits barely covered by her too-small sweater, inquisitive blue eyes under short red hair - and my mouth hangs open in awe.
"Well, I think it's kinda cute," she adds with a come-hither smile.
And then it starts - again. The lights in the S-Mart flicker and a scream rends the air. I turn, and the shopper in the aisle behind us has stopped, frozen, and is slowly turning.
Another damn Deadite. I guess my work is never done. She tosses me like a sack of potatoes, then rips the cash register from the outdoor department readying to slam in atop my red-head's cranium.
The S-Mart is like millions of S-Marts around the country, a huge superstore with aisles upon aisles of goods ranging from furniture, to sporting goods, to house wares - that's me.
It's the Sporting Goods section I want to hit now, to go after good old Mr. Double-barrel, who has always been my friend things when like this go on. I break open the gun case and grab the shotgun and some ammo. I leap onto a cart and start firing at the Deadite, over and over again. But the bullets have no effect.
Wait a minute, I think. Déja vu.
And it didn't happen this way.
That's the last thing I remember thinking before she leaps, claws bared, screaming, "I'll swallow your soul."
He jerked awake, his eyes wide open. A few concerned faces looked back down at him. He understood immediately what the cause of their concern was and lowered the walnut-stocked shotgun he had raised in their direction.
"Sorry," he said, chuckling.
"It's okay, Ash," the redhead chuckled back. Her nametag, barely showing from around one ample breast, said "Alicia." "I think I'd be pointing that thing everywhere, too."
The rest of the motley assortment didn't look quite as convinced as Alicia did. A tall, skinny guy with glasses, light brown hair, and a membership card to the Pocket Protector Club looked dumbfounded. A huge hulk of a man, dressed in the jeans, tee-shirt, and flannel of the grunge persuasion, was looking at Ash with an eyebrow raised, his intense blue eyes boring into Ash in a very discomforting way. A small girl sat in the back corner, filing her nails, keeping to herself. She was wearing a black mini-skirt and a black sleeveless shirt, and her dark tangle of curls was tucked over her left shoulder. She was ignoring the whole thing.
Ash put the gun aside and rose, his S-Mart smock falling to the floor from its previous vocation as a blanket. He dusted off his typical blue button- down and jeans. He looked at his surroundings - a huge room, columns of boxes on loading pads all over, each carton displaying some name brand or another.
"Why am I in the storeroom?" he asked cocking an eyebrow over a dark brown eye.
"Oh," Alicia giggled nervously. "Herb asked us to bring you back here after you passed out. So he could evacuate the customers."
Ash shook his head, disbelieving. "I passed out?"
Finally finding his voice, Pocket Protector stuttered, "Wow, man! That story about becoming king. that was for real?"
He cringed when Ash met his gaze. "Do you think I would lie to you, Bill?"
"I - I guess not," Bill shrank back, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Ash turned to the tall guy.
"What about you, Shawn?" he demanded. "Any questions?"
Shawn just held up his hands and took a step back. All of this was very calm. He was twice Ash's size, and could easily take him down in a fight. Even the gun didn't seem to make him nervous.
Ash ignored this, even though he felt a little intimidated. The gun was comforting to have, not just because of the undead. He headed over to the girl in the corner. She didn't look up as he approached.
"So what happened to the book when you went back in time?" she asked before Ash had a chance to say anything.
Ash stopped. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Was the book destroyed?" Now she looked up, her eyes shifting colors, from green to gold and back. It was even more discomforting than Shawn's nonchalance. "Obviously not, if the Deadites are back."
Since she was so obviously right, Ash reacted the only way he knew how in this situation - meaningless anger. Especially since he'd left out part of the story.
I'm all right, Ashley. It's your sis-ter Cher-yl.
"Well hello Miss Smarty Pants!" he exclaimed. "You know, I think I know a little more about this than you do!" He looked her up and down. "Hey, I don't know you!"
The girl in the black dress held up her hand. "Don't bother with the gun, Ash," she said. "I'm just a shopper who got caught in this shit, and decided to help out."
"Well, didn't you see the sign on the door?" Ash strode over to open the door, turned back to her, and pointed to the sign on the door's face. "It says 'Employees Only.' That means you - " he pointed first at her, then out the door. "-out."
"I'm not going out there," she retorted, sounding amused and going back to her nails.
"Why the hell not?" Ash demanded, not noticing the panicked looks of the other three as they backed far away from him.
"Because I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, your boss is at the door."
"And the bad news is?" Ash asked aloud, turning to look.
As he gazed deep into the eyes of a rotting corpse-creature that vaguely resembled his robust and red-faced boss, Herb, the girl finished, "He's dead."