A Nightmare Unleashed Ch. 02

And then there was that time vortex thing...

"You got somewhere to be handsome?"

Ash turned and saw Renee Alexander standing beside the pots and pans display. She was as attractive as they came, her short stature compensated by an hourglass figure and the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. She smiled at him and he had to stop himself. She was only eighteen years old, and though she was everything his lonely heart and sexually frustrated body needed, she was also as vulnerable as they came. Her sister, a cop in Springwood, had died a few months back. This was no time to rob the cradle, not that Ash would have done anything like that anyway.

"Hi Renee," he smiled, "Just anxious to get home."

"Me too," she leaned against the counter, her conservative white blouse opened just enough to reveal the crevasse of her cleavage. Ash glanced down her shirt with one eye, his eyebrows cocked casually. God, even her tits were evenly tanned. He took a deep breath and stood back from her. She said, "Any plans tonight?"

'Aside from grilled cheese sandwiches and a porn flick?' he thought.

"Not really," he replied and then heard himself ask, "Want to join me?"

"Are you hitting on me?" she asked coyly and touched his arm.

"As badly as a one handed man can," he smiled. He knew that doing this was wrong on every level. They worked together, she was so much younger and she was probably looking for a quick fix to deal with her sister's death. Of course, Ash knew all about dealing with the death of a loved one badly.

"Hey," came a nasally voice from behind him. Ted stood at the counter, chewing on his gum and looking just as bored as Ash had been a minute ago, "So if they all wanted you to be king, why did you come back here again?"

"Oh look," Ash rolled his eyes, "It's been how many years now, Ted? Can we let it go?"

"But it's such a great story," Ted said petulantly, "I mean, in seven years more people have heard that story than about the time you and Linda got caught in the stock room-"

"Leave Linda out of it," Ash said, feeling that familiar emptiness inside his chest again at the mention of her name, "Let her rest in peace."

"Seriously Ash," Ted leaned over the counter, nudging Renee out of the way, "You don't really expect anyone to believe all that bullshit about books that resurrect the dead and time travel do you?"

"Look into my eye," Ash turned and pulled the bottom lid of his left eye down, glaring at Ted, "Do you see anything in there that says I give a shit what you think?"

"Personally, I think you lost your hand and your girlfriend and now you're trying to deal with it by making up stories," Ted said, "That's all."

"Do yourself a favor, pal. Scram," Ash said.

"I think it might have been a stupid accident," Ted ventured, his goal not only to demean his coworker but to also look slick in front of Renee, "Something only a goof like you could pull off."

"Ted," Ash shook his head, "Why-"

"Did you slam your hand too hard in the car door? The doors on those 'classic' Oldsmobile's are real heavy, you know."

"Want to know what I think?" Ash stepped closer to him, one eye on the clock as it ticked closer to five in the evening.

"What's that?" Ted asked smugly, thoroughly enjoying the taunting.

"I think you need to get that off your nose," Ash motioned to his face.

"What-" Ted's eyes crossed as he looked down at his nose but he never finished the thought. A hard fist smashed into his face quickly and brutally, knocking Ted to the floor with a solid thump as his glasses spun away across the checkered tiling. He clasped his face as blood ran from between his cupped fingers. Renee jumped back, her eyes wide but a shocked smile gracing her full, rosy lips. Ted looked to her and then to Ash with eyes that glistened with pain and anger.

"Never mind, I got it," Ash said evenly.

Through a clogged, nasally choke Ted said, "That's it Ashff. You ah so gonna get fired- *sniff*- ouch... my fucking nose! What's wong with you?"

The clock struck five and Ash pulled off his light blue work vest. Running his good hand through his thick head of black hair, he walked past his coworker and said, "Nothing's 'wong' with me, Ted. What's 'wong' with you?"

"I'm gonna get oo fo dis..."

"Two wongs don't make a wight, Ted," Ash said over his shoulder.

It took only five minutes for the store manager, Mr. Pegg to find Ash by the punch clock near the back of the stock room. The resident Englishman of Dark Hollow was flushed almost as red as his short cropped hair. The barrage of questions hit Ash in a hot wave even before Pegg opened his mouth. Ash rolled his eyes and leaned against the wooden post to which the punch was mounted. Pegg shouted, "Williams! Williams what have you done?"

"I don't follow you, sir," Ash slipped his time card into the clock and pulled the lever. There was a familiar ratcheting and a final click followed by the complimentary bell signaling his day was done.

"Ted!" Pegg put his hands on his hips, "You punched him."

"Yeah," Ash said, "But I did it with my good hand."

"There's a difference?" Pegg shouted. Ash supposed that the prosthetic hand he had bought a few years back would have probably hurt more, but not as much as the steel hand he had made for himself in the blacksmith's shop. Oh, that would have left a real good mark. Part of Ash was giddily curious to see what would have happened had he been wearing his metal hand.

"Ted was going on about me being king again," Ash said, trying to think of a defense.

"Ash," Pegg put a hand on his shoulder, "You tell people stories like that they're going to react. Believe me, no one more than I wants to believe that you traveled back in time to thirteenth century England and defeated an army of zombies with the help of knights in shining armor and a book of the dead... what was it, the Negronamican?"

"The Necronomicon," Ash corrected.

"It could be called the Superfragacalalisticexpeali-fucking-dotious for all I care," Pegg said, "But living in the past, real or not, is not helping you any here. And punching out Mr. Raimi's brother in the middle of the store is not acceptable."

Ash looked at the short manager, wanting to find something he could say to make him understand that he wasn't crazy. He really had been sucked into a vortex and sent back in time. He really had fought an army of darkness and he really had lost his hand to evil spirits. The primates living in that castle had asked him to stay and lead them, but he had been so determined to return to his own time. He had even left Sheila behind to come back, and she was the only woman he had ever given a damn about besides Linda.

"Mr. Pegg," Ash began, but the short man cut him off.

"Ashley," he said, "No more stories, okay? I know Ted can be a little prick, I know this Ash, okay? But please. For the sake of my sanity and Ted's physical well being, no more stories. Mr. Raimi owns these stores, and all you do when you beat up his brother is make things harder for you and me."

Ash glanced down at his fake hand. He had been called a coward, a murderer and even a loud-mouthed braggart. He supposed all those things were true. But to be called a liar? Oh, Mr. Pegg wasn't coming out and saying it but he was implying it. Was it really the case that no one believed him? Not even after the deadite woman had attacked him in the store just after his return?

"Okay Ash?" Pegg asked, "You have to be flexible here."

"But..."

"A flexible frame of mind," Pegg drew a square in the air in front of him with his index fingers, "Yes?"

"Yes, Mr. Pegg," Ash said finally.

"Good," the manager smiled, relieved and clearly tired, "I'd hate to fire you, Ash. You're the best we got. You could run this store single handedly..."

Pegg stopped and realized his folly.

Ash waved him a reassurance.

"I am so sorry, Ash," he stuttered.

"No worries," Ash said and looked down at the prosthesis attached to his right arm, "Really."

Pegg cleared his throat, "In any event, please, no more foolishness, okay? I don't want to lose you."

"Thank you," Ash said and then stopped in his tracks as something loud crashed in the store. He and Pegg ran out of the storeroom and back onto the sales floor. There were people scattering everywhere from the sports department, flooding into Housewares like war-torn refugees. There was something big raising hell just beyond the display fixture separating the two departments.

Ash felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle and rise up as he watched one of the huge, metal work display racks lean precariously and then tip over. Basketballs, footballs and an assortment of other sports wares rolled and bounced furiously across the store. Several bowling balls sped away and smashed through walls and boxes stacked on the floor, spilling dishes, silverware and cups from Housewares.

His Housewares division.

"What the hell is that?" Pegg screamed, standing behind Ash and shaking like a weak tree in a bad windstorm, "My God!"

A register toppled through the air and hit a customer square in the back, knocking him out cold atop a pile of shattered porcelain and broken glass.

"Trouble," Ash said grimly and ducked into the aisle that ran along the edge of the sporting goods section. He could hear heavy footsteps on the other side of the display partition, as more of the store's floor inventory became nothing but so much junk. Ash ducked through the fish and game goods kiosk. It was apart from the sporting goods department enough to allow him not be seen by the intruder but close enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of something huge. Ash wasted no time gawking and made for the gun displays.

"What kind of trouble?" Pegg yelled, following close behind.

"This kind," Ash stood in front of the wall mounted display case holding the S-Mart's selection of shotguns and rifles. He smashed the glass and the burglar alarm sounded off throughout the store. He thought it was funny it hadn't gone off sooner considering the mess that had already been made. He cleared the jagged glass away with his prosthetic hand and grabbed the first shotgun he could find, pulling it from its display of red velvet and brass.

"What are you doing?" Pegg gasped as Ash shoved the gun into his hand. The frightened little man pushed it back to Ash.

"Load it," he shoved it back.

"You can't be serious," Pegg gave the gun back.

Ash tossed a box of shells to Pegg and shouted, "Load it!"

"Load it?" he stared at the shells.

He once again shoved the gun into Pegg's hands, "Load the damn gun!"

The manager was scared out of his wits, but he finally did as he was told.

Ash looked down at the pathetic plastic hand attached to his wrist. He grabbed the prosthesis and tossed it away, leaving only his healed over stump. Pegg brought him the gun, loaded and ready to go. Ash held the single barrel weapon in his hand and took a deep breath. It wasn't like his much-cherished boomstick, the double-barreled Remington that had seen him safe through his many misadventures, but it would do the job.

"Don't kill anyone!" Pegg shrieked.

"Only if I have to, baby," Ash said grimly.

The manager dove behind the counter and watched with eyes could not blink as Ash approached the mayhem ensuing in the sporting goods department. He walked with a purpose and confident stride that came naturally, as though he had been programmed to deal with the madness just around the corner. The power flickered on and off for a moment creating crazy shadows as desperate people flooded past Ash, making their way wildly out of the S-Mart. They swarmed past him, but he cut through their panic like a knife through butter.

"I knew it," he mumbled to himself and pumped the gun, "I knew it wasn't over."

Ted came running by, still holding his broken nose and screaming.

"You seen that, Ted?" Ash yelled as the bespectacled cashier went wailing by, "Does that look like bullshit? You tell me? Huh?"

One of the overhead lights blew out in a shower sparks as Ash turned the corner to where the entire cashier's counter had been thrown over. Standing in the epileptic lights was a huge man, maybe seven feet tall and hulking like some freakish cartoon character drawn out of proportion and out of any sane person's reality. His clothes were ratted and tattered, smeared with mud and what Ash knew could only be blood. A battered hockey mask covered the man's face, a horrible stench wafting from him as though he had been dead and decomposing for years.

"Excuse me sir," Ash called out and brought the gun to bear, "Can I help you find anything?"

Jason Voorhees looked at Ash with eyes that were bloodshot, yellowed and filled with hate. The giant man's chest heaved up and down as he stood off against the S-Mart clerk, glass crunching under his heavy boots. Jason slowly reached one hand to the sheath attached to his belt and withdrew a long, wicked looking machete. It was covered with grit and rust, but still looked dangerous enough to cut a telephone pole in half. Jason held the weapon high and ready to strike.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to put down the sword," Ash said firmly and raised his shotgun, his finger resting on the hair trigger. There was a rush of exhilaration he hadn't felt since, well, since the crazy bitch deadite had tried to kill him just after he got back from England. He was a little scared, but he felt more than brave. He felt alive again.

Jason took a step forward and Ash pulled the trigger. The blast took Jason in the chest, shredding his shirt and jacket in a spray of blackened red bile blood that spattered the displays and wall around him in a fat faux rain drops. Jason looked down at the wound and then back at Ash again.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Jason stared him down with eyes that began to glow a feral yellow.

"Creepy," Ash gritted his teeth and fired again, the shock of the recoil vibrating through his arm. The round took Jason in the chest again, this time up and to the right. Again, flesh and cloth shredded to pieces and blood splattered but the behemoth did not waiver.

Ash frowned.

He'd never seen a deadite take two hits from a shotgun and then keep standing there like nothing had happened. They usually bounced around and screamed and floated in the air shouting at him in that freaky-ass voice they get. Of course, that was assuming this guy was a deadite. Ash considered this for only a moment and then pulled the trigger again, this time blasting the machete out of Jason's left hand. The blade sparked and then flew from the killer's hand into the wall where it stuck, embedded deeply into the wood.

"Shit," Ash breathed, "Not bad, huh?"

Jason regarded the machete for a moment and then began walking towards him as casually as a priest out for a Sunday afternoon stroll. The killer inhaled deeply and brought his right hand to bear, the knives he had been compelled to drive into his fingers still anchored into his flesh by wicked wire.

Ash leveled the gun and squeezed the trigger again. No shot sounded off, only the weak snap and click of an empty chamber. He looked at the gun and then back down the aisle at Pegg, who looked more like a 3-D Kilroy cartoon than anything else as he cowered behind the check stand.

"You only loaded three shells!?" Ash yelled.

"I panicked!" Pegg screamed.

"Three goddam shells!" Ash looked at him incredulously and then Jason was on him. Powerful hands gripped his shoulders and Ash was lifted off the floor. Jason jerked him upwards and Ash's head promptly broke through the tiled ceiling. A cloud of debris showered him as he was pulled back down, his eyes spinning and head lolling back and forth. He could almost hear the birds chirping and flying around his head.

"Okay," he grunted as the man in hockey mask spun him around and smashed him into another display rack. The edges of large cardboard boxes jabbed into his side as the rack fell over, the metal groaning and the screeching as it, the merchandise on it and Ash fell to the floor. Baseball bats and golf clubs showered Ash as the hanging display above came loose and fell.

"What we have here is a failure to communicate," Ash managed as the display battered his body.

Ash scrambled to get up but Jason grabbed his boot and yanked hard, pulling him out of the pile of wrecked sporting goods and spinning him around. Ash's screams filled the S-Mart as the big man spun him like he was a rag doll and then released him again. Ash sailed over one tall display end cap and then landed in the lawn and garden department. The summer display tables for lawn furniture gave way, their glass tops shattering and spraying across the entire department.

Ash lay there for a moment, catching his breath. His entire body felt like it was on fire, every muscle screaming out. It had been a long time since he had been this active. The mundane routine of the S-Mart had dulled him somewhat, but as he rose from the pile of broken aluminum piping and shattered glass, he suddenly felt like a phoenix rising from the ashes. He brushed off his shirt and pants, oblivious to the countless tears, cuts and bloody scratches he had accrued in the last few minutes.

"Son of a bitch must pay," he growled and grabbed one of the broken lawn chair legs.

***

"The ones that got away?" Lori repeated.

"Think about it," Doc explained, "Almost everyone who has gone up against him is dead now. We're the last of the opposition, so to speak."

"So what do you expect us to do?" Maggie asked, "I mean, even if Freddy is hitching a ride with Jason and using him like this, what can we do?"

"If you were right in your original hypothesis that Freddy's power, his evil spreads like a disease, then Jason is the carrier," Rowan said, "Springwood is gone. His original host, the city, is dead and buried. I think he's going to try and escape to a new city and start over again."

Maggie didn't want to admit it, but she could see where Rowan was going with her thoughts. Freddy himself had used her as a vessel to leave Springwood at one time. She had unwittingly brought him out to Elm Grove, to the children's half way home and he had almost escaped into the city. Almost. She and Doc had been lucky to stop him that time, and if she hadn't made him transform into a physical being then it's possible Freddy would have won.

"Then we have to kill the host," Doc said, "Before Freddy can enter anyone else's dreams or body. Obviously, the fight between he and Lori took a lot out of him, otherwise he'd be killing children in their sleep left and right."

Rowan said, "The police between Elm Grove, Ohio and Lansing, Michigan have been monitoring every emergency call with in 60 miles of Jason's path so far. No murder fitting Freddy's profile has come up yet outside of Jason's bizarre behavior."

"That you know of," Maggie interjected, "He could just be laying low and being careful."

"If we could contain Jason," Doc said, "Then maybe Lori here could take Freddy on before he's able to branch out, while he's still weak."

"I didn't fight him alone last time," Lori spoke up. Alice Johnson, the original Dream Master had gone in with her, and she had fought Freddy for her until- Lori stopped. She didn't like to remember what happened to Alice. Sometimes, she could almost forget what had happened, as though it had all been a bad dream. Sometimes, in the dark before she drifted off to sleep and had to relieve the nightmares anyway, she could almost convince herself that it hadn't happened. None of it had happened. Not to Alice, Sean, Tessa or Will.

"Still," Loomis said, "If there's anyone on this planet equipped to deal with Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees, I think we're the best shot there is. I don't like the idea of going up against either of them again, but if what Rowan is saying is true, then I don't see we have any choice. Clearly, we factor into his plans. I think it would behoove us to discover what part he would have us play."