beauty from ashes

by bloody_dishes

Summary:

While camping in a secluded forest with your boyfriend, literal hell breaks loose, sending you into a whirlwind of demonic possession, reanimated corpses, and bending of reality itself.

Amidst this living nightmare, you have one solace: your newfound friend and partner in fighting evil, Ash Williams.

Notes:

Key:

Y/N: your name
L/N: last name

Chapter 1: something wicked

“This place looks haunted.” You mean it with every serious bone in your body, yet your boyfriend, Jake, lets out a sharp bark of laughter at your words. 

“Babe,” he says, and you grimace— his pet name for you has gotten so old, but he’s not nearly creative or invested enough to come up with something new, “it’s called peaceful. You should be glad for the quiet after the noise of the city.” 

“Maybe I like the noise of the city,” you counter, only half-meaning it. Normally you would actually enjoy a trip to the woods like this, camping used to be a favorite pastime of yours as a child anyway, but something feels… off about this whole place. 

“I’m serious, can we go back?” you say, turning to frown at him, worry creeping along your spine. 

He scoffs, “You’re joking, right? We just drove six hours to get here. And look— there’s the bridge! We’re almost to the campsite.” 

“We couldn’t even get a cabin?” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. 

“Nah, there’s one out in the woods back here, but I heard some old guy is staying there.” Jake glances at you with a wary look. “Conducting some sort of research, I think.” 

“He’s probably a pervert,” you grumble, curling into yourself and glaring out the window as trees continue to whip by. 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” your boyfriend exclaims, an ugly sneer crawling into his face. “He’s probably just summoning demons.” 

“Shut up!” you shriek, shoving him hard, making him jerk the wheel. The bridge beneath your car makes a concerning low creak followed by a wavering shake within its structure, but you’re too worked up to even notice. “That’s not funny, you know I get freaked out by that shit.” 

“Sorry,” he shrugs, not sounding apologetic in the least. 

“Whatever,” you sigh. “Let’s just get there, get the tent set up and get a fire going.” 

“I brought s’more stuff!” Jake announces, trying to win back your affection. 

You don’t answer, not in the mood to forgive him for his antics. It’s gonna be a long night. 

 

…

 

The forest stretches out in every direction, branches clawing the sky like infected limbs jutting from the dark earth below. You shiver as an icy wind buffets the trees around you, and tighten your scarf around your throat. 

Glancing behind you, you realize how dark it is already, and the fire is hardly a flicker. Jake repeatedly tosses lit matches into the pile of logs only to watch them burn up and fizzle out in the same second. 

“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath, digging for another matchbook while you duck inside the tent to unroll the sleeping bags.

“Is it going yet?” you call after another minute, trying hard to keep the annoyance out of your voice. 

Jake, however, is audibly pissed. “No! Damn things won’t light! This is such bullshit—” 

“Stop yelling, would you?” you snap, emerging from the tent. “I thought you came here to ‘appreciate the serenity of the forest’,” you say in a teasing tone, but Jake bristles defensively. 

“Hey, I would never use the word ‘serenity’,” he argues, “and the peace and quiet is actually starting to drive me crazy.” 

“Well you are starting to drive me crazy,” you retort, brushing past him to walk into the woods. You add over your shoulder, “Don’t wait up.” 

“Wha— where’re you going?” Jake calls confusedly, breaking momentarily from his job at the fire pit. 

“Just gonna get some air,” you reply without looking back. 

“It’s almost dark.” Jake sounds less concerned and more condescending. 

You shrug, lifting your hands in exasperation. “I’ll be back in a minute! Leave me alone.” 

Although the idea of wandering through a dark forest at night sends an unsettled thrill down your spine, your desperate need for space from this jerk overpowers any fear or common sense you may have about treading into the brush. 

“Hey…” Your boyfriend crosses the clearing to grab at your hand in what you assume is supposed to be a loving gesture, but comes across as needy. You pull away and sigh through your nose. “Babe, I brought you out here so we could spend time together. You know… alone.” He grins sideways, his gaze glinting lustfully, and you roll your eyes. That was one thing you hated yourself for loving about him: his inexplicable (and unwavering) ability to grin like a sleaze and make your heart skip beats. 

Yet, lately, it doesn’t seem to have such a drastic effect on you anymore. Maybe that means you’re drifting apart. You shake your head to dislodge the thought and back up, out of his reach. You can’t think about that right now. He’s all you have. 

“I just need a minute, Jake— please.” You cross your arms and back up again, out of reach. 

“Fine,” Jake finally snorts, turning away. “Bring back some firewood while you’re at it.” 

You wave over your shoulder and press on, into the pitch black forest beyond. 

 

…

 

Twigs snap under your feet as you walk beneath the dying trees, illuminated only by eerily dim moonlight. 

The further you get from the campsite, the clearer your mind becomes, yet the air is growing chillier, the wind picking up speed as it buffets your hair around your shoulders. 

After almost twenty minutes of wandering, something bizarre happens that sends your blood freezing over like a lake in December. 

 A horrible ripping sound fills the air, like lightning cracking through the glass firmament to shake the earth far below. The trees begin to shake and shudder as if sentient— pained, the forest releases a low howling sound that stops you cold in your tracks. Something primal tells you to run, run, and get out of there. You have no choice but to obey, hoping— praying it is enough to keep you alive. 

You begin to run, feet pounding the ground as you struggle to remember which turns took you so far from the campsite. 

Eventually, you catch sight of a recognizable tree in the distance and know that the tent must be near. But strangely, as you near the site, you realize that the fire has gone completely out. Jake wouldn’t have let that happen, surely. 

Warily, and growing more terrified with every step, you continue towards the tent at a slow but urgent pace, hands clenched at your sides. 

“Jake?” you call desperately, fear rattling your bones. You have no concrete reason to be so afraid right now, yet you can’t bring yourself to calm down. Something is horribly wrong, you’re sure of it. 

The fire pit emits a soft plume of smoke into the dark sky, and you creep around the pile of discarded s’mores supplies on shaky legs. “Jake, baby?” Your voice wavers embarrassingly as you speak, but you keep going for the tent, silently hoping he’s safe inside. 

You catch sight of his feet poking from inside the tent as you approach, and let out a sigh of relief. “Jake! I thought you were gone, or— or hurt,” you start, pressing your hands to your chest. 

As you break off your sentence, Jake turns and pokes his face out from the tent, stopping the words in your throat. Fear grips your heart in a vice at the sight: his face is gaunt and pale, eyes bleached white like the moonlight above, his skin peeling from his bones in places. Blackish blood trickles down his chin as he grins sickeningly, rotting teeth jutting from his face. 

Your stomach turns, and you stop moving closer, shocked into stillness. 

“J-Jake?” you whisper, horrified and disgusted, wishing you understood what on earth was happening. 

Your boyfriend takes a wobbly step toward you and speaks in a voice so different from his own, grating and slimy, “I’m gonna suck out your soul!” Jake— or the creature that has seemed to possess him, cackles, starting  after you in an unbalanced gallop. 

Without hesitating, you retreat— right back in the direction you came from, and deeper into the woods. Your legs ache from running all the way back just a minute before, but your body refuses to acknowledge your need for rest, instead pushing you faster and harder to escape Jake’s chase. 

The monster in your boyfriend’s body scrambles over fallen logs and around trees with less grace than you— which is saying something— his clothes ripping on stray branches. Each time you glance back at him, he looks more awful; dark blood seeping from wounds on his torso and limbs as he races after you, a wicked smile still plastered on his cartoonish face. 

A scream works up your throat, a desperate plea, “HELP! Someone! Help me!” 

Jake squeals with laughter at your unheard cries. 

“I’m gonna drag your soul down to hell, girl!” he taunts, gaining on you. 

You shriek again, terror suffocating you as you duck into a clearing and catch sight of lights in the distance. A cabin! So what if it’s occupied by an old pervert researcher— anything is better than being murdered by your possessed boyfriend in the woods. 

But before you can reach the hill and make it to safety, Jake’s icy hand grabs your neck and drags you back. You scream, flying backwards and down as he pins you to the ground and howls in glee. Your head immediately begins to ache from smacking the earth so hard, pain shooting through your neck as Jake wraps his hands around your throat and squeezes. A choking sound makes its way out your mouth and your hands fly up to grapple with the beast attacking you. He laughs at your poor attempt, licking his teeth and smiling widely down at you. 

“This’ll only hurt for a minute,” he growls, readying himself to bite into your flesh, his rotten lips grazing near your ear as he leans down to hiss at you. 

Rearing back, he lifts his hands and replaces them on your arms, claws digging painfully into your skin. 

The stinging prompts you to wail, your feet kicking helplessly as he rakes his fingers down your arms repeatedly, drawing fresh blood with every stroke. 

Your hands scrabble around you, finding something hard and heavy in the fallen leaves. You grab it and swing, reveling in the loud crack as the object connects with Jake’s skull, sending him flipping and barreling into the forest. 

You scramble up from the earth, drawing in raspy breaths, starting back toward the cabin, a deep need to reach in filling your chest. Jake is hot on your trail as you hurry over the hill, but not quick enough as you make it to the front door and begin banging loudly on the wood.

“Help, help! Let me in, please!” you cry, ignoring the burning in your arms as blood drips down them in rivulets. 

You let out one last helpless scream as Jake catches you in his horrible grasp from behind and slams you down to the ground. You cry out, tears leaking from your eyes as he grabs your hair in his pus-leaking hands and slams your face into the wooden steps of the cabin. 

Instantly, pain rockets through your face, ripping through one eye socket and causing you to shriek deafeningly. Even with the aching in your skull, fire flashing behind your eyes and blood trailing from every exposed limb, you refuse to let this thing kill you. You have a little more fight left in you, you’re certain. 

Searching for something to hit him with, your wandering fingers wrap around a loose nail jutting from the wood in front of you. Jake’s icy hands paw for purchase in your hair, readying another onslaught, but before he can knock you out completely, you yank the nail out, gouging your palm in the process, and slam it into his face over your shoulder. The being laughs loud and long, pained cries intermingling confusedly as blood shoots out in a macabre spray from his forehead, mimicking the steady trickle dripping from your own wound between the eyes. 

You don’t wait to see him tip over backwards before standing on legs of jelly and bolting around the side of the cabin. You drag yourself up a tiny slope towards a leaning makeshift cross and grab the weapon you spotted– a bloodied shovel. 

No time to wonder whose fresh, dark blood littered this tool, you spin back around and charge back down the hill like a maniac, heading for the front door. Of course it can’t be that easy, Jake is already clamoring up the front steps, trying to block your path. Tears of pain and heartache stream down your cheeks as you rear back like a baseball player with your shovel– whispering gently, “I’m sorry, Jake,” and swinging hard. 

In a display of utter impossibility and grotesquery, Jake’s head pops off like a cork from a champagne bottle and flies into the air, higher than you can squint to see. You can taste the bitter bile rising in your throat at the insanity of your own actions, and the fact that Jake’s head still hasn’t fallen back to earth, but you can’t get distracted. 

You’re so close. 

Thinking it better to drag your shovel at a slightly slower pace up the steps to the cabin than drop it and risk his body reanimating while you have no means of fending him off, you commit to the former and clutch your weapon against you, rushing to the door. 

You slam your fist against it with another cry of desperation before resorting to vandalization and busting the door down with your shovel. Blood spatters in every direction– some of it from the stranger who came before, most of it Jake’s. Your own arms drip profusely with quickly cooling crimson as you reach inside the hole you made and begin prying the boards apart until there’s enough of a tiny space to squeeze through. 

You toss the shovel inside first and crawl, your torso hanging to the floor as you bend awkwardly and manage to slip in. Pulling your legs along with you, a scream breaks from your chest as something snatches your ankle and begins to drag you back outside. 

A man– you’re too invested in your current state of being attacked to even wonder who– barrels into the room, covered in wounds of his own, his brown eyes bugging from his skull in terror. 

“Help me!” you plead, nails clawing at the floor in an attempt to stay inside the cabin. 

The stranger doesn’t hesitate before leaping against the door, grabbing the shovel and bringing it down hard against the arms of the attacking creature. It juts its face inside the hole after you– or where its face should be, its hands extending toward you. You cry at the image of your boyfriend’s headless body wriggling wildly after you, his decapitated neck staring back at you, thankfully no longer spurting blood. 

The man above you slams the shovel head against Jake’s shoulder, nearly severing his left arm from the rest of his already decomposing body, and then kicks hard enough to send the monster barreling back down the front steps of the cabin. 

“Get in!” he yelps, pulling your wrists and helping you tug your legs through the hole and fully inside the house. You scramble backwards until your back hits a wall, lungs heaving with a shallow wheeze as you try and catch your breath. Thick blood coats your tongue, dripping down your face and into your eyes. You’re sure you look just as bad– if not worse– than the man in front of you, who is currently shoving a dresser in front of the hole and tossing stray boards onto the barricade. 

His legs shake with the exertion of staying upright, though he appears plenty strong enough to withstand the injuries he has sustained (most of them seem to be on his face anyway), he seems close to collapse, his eyes sunken in deep hollows in his face, lower lip trembling and tremors racking his body as he turns to face you. 

He doesn’t speak, simply stares at you, horror etched into every inch of his chiseled face as he runs one hand through his bloody hair and sets the shovel down next to him. 

“You alright?” he asks in a low tone. 

Pervert or not– and this guy looks fresh out of high school rather than an ancient researcher– you have no choice but to respond. 

“I think so,” you say in a hoarse whisper, checking yourself for any fatal injuries by running your palms over your torso, and then your legs. You grit your teeth in pain as you check your spine. You can bend, with some difficulty, of course, but no sudden blood gushes alert you to an unknown stab wound or the like. You sigh and lean back against the wall, reaching up to check your face. 

Sure enough, the blood coming from the gash on your forehead has slowed to a trickle, but still more than you’d like to see. The man watches you with wide eyes and notices your distaste at the amount of red liquid covering your face. 

He crosses the room, a mere few steps sideways, and snatches a dirty looking rag from a side table before hucking it in your direction. He seems just as wary of you as you are of him, and you both stare suspiciously at each other while you wipe away the streaks of blood from your vision. 

“Are you–” You start, and then wrinkle your nose, cutting yourself off. What is there to say to this guy? A terrifying thought grips you then: what if you were safer with the animated corpse of your boyfriend than you are with this possible maniac? You scoot further back against the wall and the man frowns in apparent confusion, doing the same– putting distance between you two. 

You start again, drawing in a breath and forcing your voice to remain steady. 

“Were you doing research here?” you try to keep the word ‘research’ even, with no chance for misinterpretation on its possible connotations. Also hoping that his answer will be no. 

The man looks almost baffled by your question, his eyes filling with glittery confusion before something seems to click in his brain, and he quickly shakes his head. 

“That’s– some guy was staying here,” he says, and his chest continues rising and falling at a rapid pace as he struggles to breathe evenly. “I think he was the reason this– all of this– is happening…” 

“All of what? What is happening?” you ask, fed up with the confused looks and explanations that explain nothing. Hoping for something, anything that makes a little bit more sense, you add, “Who are you?” 

The man takes a deep breath and frowns again. “Ashle--" He stops, then, as if considering something, then finishes, "Ash. Williams.” He swipes a trail of blood on the side of his face and grinds out, “Who are you?” 

“Y/N. L/N,” you pant, keeping your gaze on him in case he tries anything. Honestly, he seems too young to be a serial killer type. “So can you tell me what’s going on here?” 

“I wish I knew,” he says through gritted teeth, his face filled with the expression of a man who has seen death. Things begin to fall into place in your mind, starting with the bloody shovel and lopsided cross outside the cabin. “I got here last night with my friends and–” His breath hitches and tears suddenly well in his brown eyes, lip back to trembling softly. “Everything went to shit after we played that tape. My girlfriend– she went nuts, I– I buried her in out front,” he says, voice breaking painfully as he averts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. He takes a long minute to breathe, forcing himself to swallow his sobs before looking up at you with a pleading expression. “I had to kill her… I’m— I’m not crazy, I swear. She— she was gonna—”

“I know,” you interrupt, sucking in a breath. “My boyfriend–” The bile is back, rising up in your throat at a nauseating rate and you choke on your words. “I had to do it, too.” 

“That was…?” Ash doesn’t need to finish his sentence before you’re nodding, his hand pressed to his mouth in horror and disgust. You let yourself wallow in the somber moment, jolting when the man suddenly snaps and punches the wall with all of his might, letting out a roar. “This is insane!” he cries, clutching at his head. 

“We need to get out of here,” you decide, then, standing up and leaning against the wall behind you for support. “You can explain everything later, we can’t stay.” 

“Right. Right,” he says, nodding and trying to regain composure, his cheeks alight with emotion. “Let’s go.” 

He glances at the window and grimaces, rectifying, “Or maybe we should wait until morning?” 

You open your mouth to argue, when a sound makes your blood run cold. A loud scraping– then a sharp bang, and something begins scrambling through the back door of the cabin. Almost comically, you and Ash whirl to exchange a horrified look before turning back to the source of the sound. 

A creature– a snarling, panting, huffing, running, creature bursts forth into the room through the door, headed straight for Ash. The man has no time to dodge before this thing– its shape and form so dark and hideous you have no words to even form a mental description of it –throws itself against Ash’s chest. He grunts in pain before letting out a terrified cry as his attacker drags him up and crashes out through the window, into the darkness of night. He screams in the distance as he’s dragged through trees and whipped through the sky and finally dropped in a muddy puddle far below— just in front of the cabin. 

Not thinking of Jake, or the possibility of other dead bodies come to life out here, you shove the dresser away from the front door and limp hurriedly out to reach Ash. Your savior’s body lies unmoving in the dank puddle, soft bubbles rising from the murky water, and your heart drops. He can’t be dead. Not now— he’s all you have. 

You know better than to call his name and turn his attention to you, instead waiting to see what happens. You tamp down the instinct to shake him awake and drag him out of the water, knowing it could be fatal for you. After a long stretch of silence, his face bursts from the puddle with a screech. 

You begin to quake as you stare down at his disfigured face— looking just like Jake before he was struck down. His eyes gleam white, cheekbones jutting out through rotting skin as he bellows and tries scrambling up from the earth. He extends his arms toward you and begins to march like a zombie, a guttural sound emitting from his lungs. This time you don’t run, too terrified to move from your spot at the cabin door.

The trees seem to leak dark fog, limbs quaking in the bitter wind as the man who’d just saved you starts his ascent up the slope. 

Just as you shut your eyes and allow yourself to mentally give in to your inevitable death, you hear a soft hissing as the first morning sunlight breaks, illuminating the forest with golden rays. You risk opening one eye to peer at the possessed man and gasp. A sliver of light has fallen across him, shocking him into silent stillness as features on his face begin shifting and changing. His skin seems to regrow and refresh, beneath the layer of mud caked to his cheeks, as his eyes lose cloudiness in the sunlight. He claws at his own face and hair, crying out in fear as he feels for the deformities, only to find himself back in his own true body. 

His last conscious glance is in your direction, before his eyes turn skyward and he flops over onto his back, a low whimper still rattling in his chest. 

You pant fearfully, looking out into the woods to see if the fog has returned, but miraculously enough, the forest is clear, the only sign of anything amiss being the crooked cross made of sticks leaning in a heap further on the hill beyond. Not even Jake’s body is within sight. 

It seems daylight saved you both. 

As soon as you’re sure no dark being is back to rip you apart, you approach the man’s body and crouch down to inspect him. Every inch of his face has returned to normal, drawing a sigh from you. You feel an urge to wipe some of the thick mud away from his face and eyes, a welling pity for him in your chest. 

Who was this man, anyway? And why was he alive while all of his apparent friends have been chopped and dragged into the woods? 

Perhaps he was a serial killer after all. But that wouldn’t explain this thing– whatever it was, hurtling him into the sky at impossible speeds, and the way his very bones morphed as it crawled into his body and then cast itself into the abyss at the first sign of light. 

None of it could be explained anyway, but you planned to stay very wary of this man until he found some way to prove to you that he wouldn’t turn on a dime and chop your head off with a shovel, too. 

Looking around, you can’t help the yawn that breaks from your throat, the hazy morning light warming your chilled bones and coaxing you to rest. You try at first to resist, bent on getting out of there as soon as possible, but the exhaustion of your body at what you just endured drags at your eyelids until you find yourself lying down next to this stranger and letting yourself sleep. 

Darkness pulls you under, into a dreamless, heavy, warm rest. Part of you hopes when you wake, this will all have been a dream.

 

…

Chapter 2: who’s laughing now

You open your eyes with a gasp and realize it’s evening. 

You wasted the entire day. Sleeping outside of a haunted cabin in the woods, surrounded by the unseen bodies of a strange man’s friends– along with Jake, wherever he ran off to. 

You whip your head sideways to see Ash sitting up, groaning loudly and clutching his head. Caked mud stains his shirt and face, and he turns to look back at you, wiping dirt from his eyes. 

Almost instantly, you’re both standing and booking it for the car. You don’t communicate out loud– just exchange a glance and jump into the front, him taking the wheel and starting down the dirt road before your side door is even shut. 

The two of you pant wildly and stare ahead as you charge for freedom, hoping– praying with everything in you that this is it. It’s almost over. 

Silence stretches on as Ash turns and barrels down wildly through the brush, branches reaching down to claw at the windshield as if begging you to stay. Threatening to keep you forever. As you turn a recognizable bend, you feel a flutter of hope rising in your gut. You risk a smile as Ash cranks the wheel leading to the bridge and–

Scream. 

Both of you are screaming, Ash slamming on the brakes as you cover your face and hit the dashboard with both knees. 

The only sound at first is breathless heaving, wheezing as the two of you stare ahead in abject horror. Then, Ash’s voice fills your ears; a low, frantic muttering that grows louder and louder as he gets out of the car and begins banging his fist on the front of the vehicle, making your heart pound harder in your chest. 

“No, no, no, no, NO!” he wails, arching his back and crying out into the void beyond– hopelessness creeping into your chest and curling around your heart like a vice. There is no way out. The bridge– once a rickety metal and wood path over a deep abyss– has been broken in half and curled over so that the metal rods jut inward like a cage. As if a giant hand tore it apart and meticulously curved each piece to trap you within the forest. 

You feel sick. 

Getting out of the car, legs shaking, you bend and puke into the ditch, confusion clouding your eyes and making your head swirl. Ash is choking on sobs, pulling at his hair in desperation, staring helplessly at the blocked way. 

“Ash,” you start, voice wavering after your fit of nausea, but something cuts you off. It’s evening, now, and the sun has been dragged behind thick clouds, the nighttime already threatening to take over the daylight. You turn and watch the trees shake terrifyingly behind you as something– no, the thing from before, the one that threw your counterpart into the sky this morning, comes crashing toward you. Its faceless body, part solid and part wisp, it seems, flies up and over the ditch, headed straight for Ash. 

He screams again, this time leaping into the driver's seat, and you follow close behind, seeing the beast catch up to you. Ash begins to back up, speeding along, stopping only once to crank the wheel again and turn around before making his getaway down the path. You realize with a sinking feeling that you have no choice but to head straight back to the cabin. That damn cabin. 

Utterly hopeless, you shut your eyes until Ash pulls into the space in front of the shelter, nearly completely running over the front steps, he grinds to a halt and directs you out of the car. “Go, GO!” he cries, jumping out and snatching your hand before hauling you inside behind him. You stumble as your foot catches on the wooden floorboards of the cabin and topple, landing in a heap in the living room. 

Without even a second to catch your breath, Ash is lifting you, shoving you hard forward and shrieking as the thing starts gaining on him. The two of you race through the cabin, Ash looking not unlike a dancer in a ballet as he spins to catch sight of your pursuer before continuing his escape. You slip through room after room, shoved along by the man behind you, his toes nudging your heels as you both scramble to outrun this thing. 

Suddenly, you burst into the open living room and take a deep breath– the creature is stuck on a corner, but quickly regains its composure and bolts out after you. Right before it can sink itself into your body and drag you into the sky, you feel a warm hand encircle your upper arm and yank. 

Another hand falls over your open mouth as you ready yourself to scream, being pulled into the darkness of an unknown corner of the room. 

The beast searches for you momentarily– whipping its head around in a confused motion before crashing back out through the front door and disappearing into the looming night. The hand over your mouth shifts and finally releases you, someone’s hot sigh of relief buffeting your hair and sending shivers down your spine. You recoil, turning to see Ash standing against the wall, shoulders slumped as he pants. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, his voice shakier than you’ve heard it yet. 

You don’t trust yourself to speak, stomach turning over— threatening to spill the remaining contents from your gut if you open your mouth. 

Ash gapes at you, as if he wants to say more, but instead pushes off from the wall and starts for the door, barricading for the final time. Hopefully. You join him, heaving to push a stray end table against the broken wall. He’s panting, sweat trickling down his tired face as he tries to appear grateful. 

“Thanks,” he breathes. 

Again, you don’t answer. What is there to say? You turn away. 

He frowns, now, straightening and clenching his fists. “Hey, what’s the matter with you? I said I’m sorry—”

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” you cry, outraged, turning back to face him with a fierce look. “My boyfriend is dead, I’m being chased by— by something that already possessed you, and to top it, you refuse to explain why any of this shit is even happening!” 

“I don’t HAVE an explanation!” Ash booms, his eyes flashing angrily, but his hurt is obvious under it all. “It’s because of that— fucking tape— and those words, they drove ‘em all mad! I— they couldn’t fight or anything— and I had to kill my best friend, my own girlfriend— my sister—” He gasps, tears springing into his brown eyes. Ash’s heartbreak spills into his worn face as he looks at you. You stop your incessant glowering to let yourself mourn on this man’s behalf. He killed his own sister… no wonder he was going bonkers. “I killed them,” he whispers, salty trails running down his cheeks, streaking the dirt and blood caked there. 

You choke, hardly able to keep your eyes on him as you take a careful step closer. “Ash—”

You start, comfortingly and soft, but grind to a halt as you hear the piano behind you begin to play. 

A haunting melody fills your ears as you turn in alarm, lungs seized at the sight of the keys dipping on their own accord. A gentle, romantic song rings out happily into the echoey cabin, and you turn back to see Ash walking toward the instrument with wonder in his gaze. 

He appears almost in a trance— lost in the nostalgia of his stolen love as he retrieves a locket from his breast pocket and stares at it in pain. More tears stream down his face as he clutches the object in his dirty hand, the piano reaching a devilish crescendo. 

“Ash,” you say, sternly this time, stepping toward him. “Come back,” you beg, watching in fear as his eyes seem to glaze over. His head flies up at the sound of snapping wood, a board flying off the wall from the other room. You follow him as he rushes to the source, limping. When did he start limping? Was he hurt worse than you’d first thought?

Coming from the other side of the wall is a soft, lilting humming sound– a symphony of creaking wood and scrambling hands against dirt from outside the cabin. Ash creeps toward the boarded-up windows in the other room, the one that something— you hope the wind— broke apart, watching his face fill with horror. 

He starts to shake uncontrollably, witnessing something beyond your line of sight. Risking an attack from the man, you join him at his side and peer out the cracks in the boards over the window and feel your stomach flip. The body of a woman, already rotting and dropping bits of flesh as it moves, dances lazily among the trees, leaping over the fallen cross and empty grave, straddling a tree branch seductively as her severed head rolls up and reattaches itself to her neck. Ash’s face has gone pale, his hands gripping the wood as he gazes outside at the image of what you assume was his girlfriend. 

“Ash,” she calls with a sadistic giggle, something distorted and warped about her voice. Like her lungs have been seized and worked by a puppeteer. “Come to me, my love. Dance with me,” she begs in a soft, pouting plea. Ash seems almost tempted, a whimper escaping him as the body moves closer and closer and finally right up against the window. 

You throw yourself back, disgusted and filled with more horror than you have ever needed to comprehend. You expect the man to do the same, but he just gazes out at her through the boards with a tortured look in his eyes. 

“Linda,” he mutters, sober for a second before screaming as her arms slide through the boards and clutch his face in her hands. She cackles, slamming his face repeatedly into the wood, in an almost cartoonish display of absurd violence as she pulls him in her direction. 

You hesitate before remembering Ash’s complete willingness to help you when Jake was nipping at your ankles, and rush forward, yanking at the woman’s arms. She growls through the window, smacking at you as you snap one arm backward and listen to her shriek, recoiling. Ash breaks free from her grip with a squeal, falling back onto his spine with a sickening crack and shutting his eyes. 

You shove a stray board up against the rest of it and revel in the sudden and total silence that falls over the entire forest. Fog creeps in to surround you, but for now, you’re safe inside. 

You crouch at his side, gripping his arm in concern as he shakes and whimpers, covering his head. All at once, he begins to scream, his eyes flying open as he scrambles to put space between you and himself. 

“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’s over,” you cry, breathing heavily. You back up and he seems to calm, clutching his chest as he starts to return to reality. 

He nods slowly, his screams subsiding. “S-s-sure,” he mutters. He feels himself, checking for injuries, maybe, still nodding. “Wasn’t real… It wasn’t real…” 

“I— Ash, it happened—” You want to cry. How messed up can this get? Telling a man who’s just seen his own girlfriend’s corpse dig herself up that it actually just happened? Why dash his remaining hope of making it out of this with his sanity? 

“No, no! It was all a dream,” he says, still nodding manically. “A bad dream—” He stops as something falls into his lap. 

This time, you scream. 

A head— Linda’s head, unmistakably, rolls over between his knees, making Ash shriek. 

“Hello, lover,” she growls, grinning wide to show all of her sharpened teeth. 

Without warning, she bites down on Ash’s already mangled hand, causing him to wail in terror and excruciating pain. 

“Ash!” you scream, thoughts racing a mile a minute. Do something, do anything, you have to help him! The urge to save him is overwhelming as you watch him leap up and begin smashing the woman’s head against every nearby object available— trying to no avail to dislodge her fangs from his flesh. The woman’s head cackles wickedly as she continues to gnaw on his fingers, Ash’s screams growing louder as he swings his arm helplessly, blood gushing from the wound in his palm. 

The man throws himself onto the floor, writhing, using his feet to try and pry his girlfriend’s face off his hand. 

You look around wildly, searching for something to aid your counterpart. 

Suddenly you remember seeing a shed outside the cabin— maybe there were tools out there. An axe, or a weapon. 

You whirl and lock eyes with Ash, both of you saying simultaneously, “Work shed.” You lean down and grab his arm, dragging him up before rushing to the blocked-off door and ruining your barricade once more. It would be almost funny how many times you’ve had to rebuild this blockade in the last several hours. If you weren’t in serious danger, that is. 

You and Ash burst forth in a frenzy of thrashing, you keeping one hand wrapped around his left wrist as you run, his sobs echoing through the forest beyond. You risk a furtive glance into the woods, looking for Jake— suspecting you’ll see his corpse hidden among the trees and hoping you won’t. 

Thankfully, you reach the work shed without any further injury than Ash’s hand, Linda’s grip on which has only seemed to tighten in this time. She’s still laughing, that horrible, blood-curdling laugh that makes you wish you couldn’t hear, as you pull Ash straight to a clamp on the workbench. 

He tries stifling his pained cry as he crushes Linda’s head into the metal clamp and squeezes the vice. She snarls, teeth popping out of his skin as she snaps her jaw open and shut, Ash yanking his hand out of her reach and clutching it to his chest. 

Linda begins to taunt him, in an awful, gargling voice, “Even now, we have your darling Linda’s soul!” She cracks up again, as if she’s told the world’s greatest joke, but Ash is getting paler by the second. 

“You’re going down,” he mutters, turning to face you with a determined look. “Gimme something to cut this thing up with,” he orders, and you instantly begin scouring the shelves. 

Ash rips open one of the cupboards and frowns. There’s a space for something there— missing, now. 

Just as you start for the door, hearing a faint rumbling sound, Ash calls, “Chainsaw!” 

The doors burst open and sends you flying back as a headless, half-nude body of a woman stumbles in clutching the chainsaw between her hands. Smoke pours out of it, the blade running just past your face as she staggers forward. 

You squeal, lashing out and snatching her hands in your own. The two of you grapple, Linda’s head growling as she watches you fight her body to the floor, Ash in a silent shock. The chainsaw’s rumble sends shockwaves through your chest, and you bring your knee up to smash into Linda’s leg, snapping a bone somewhere and sending her down. You topple forward in the process, nearly falling onto the spinning blade of the saw if it weren’t for Ash’s lightning fast grip on the back of your shirt keeping you aloft. 

Mustering all of your strength, you turn the chainsaw back on Linda’s body and push down into her neck, running it straight through her chest and cleaving her in two. Blood flies up and out and everywhere— soaking your face until blackish wetness is running down your neck and into your shirt. You grit your teeth and keep pushing until Linda’s body stops writhing, and you finally yank the saw back out of her flesh. Ash’s panting is shallow and raspy behind your head as he hauls you to your feet. You hand him the chainsaw when you’re sure Linda’s body is unmoving for good, and he takes it in his strong, slightly shaky grasp. 

He turns to Linda’s trapped head and goes silent— even his breathing has stopped. 

Linda’s face has lost all sense of being possessed, her skin pink and supple and soft once more, eyes glittery with tears as she puckers her rosy lips. 

“Ash,” she begs, voice soft and high and pleading. Tears drip down her cheeks and Ash seems to weaken, lowering the chainsaw momentarily. “You said we’d be together forever… don’t kill me, please.” 

“Oh— Linda,” Ash cries, shutting his eyes. All at once, you gasp as the head morphs right back into a monster, jolting Ash back into the moment. 

“Your love was a lie! Linda lives in torment now,” she rants, her eyes back to bleach-white and teeth rotten. You slam your eyes shut as Ash screams and runs the chainsaw through Linda’s face. Skin and fresh blood scatters, chunks of her jaw bone shattering and landing in your hair and between your fingers as you gag behind your hands. 

Eventually Ash stops, once the head has been torn to indecipherable shreds, his lungs heaving. He waits a few silent moments before turning to look at you. His eyes are wide, faraway and glistening. Blood covers his face, dripping in macabre trails down his chin and cheeks and from his hair. 

You hold out your hand— for whatever reason, you can’t quite explain why— shaking violently and still dropping bits of body from your clothes. Ash takes your hand without hesitating, wincing hard as the holes in his palm brush against your skin. You recoil and instead grab his wrist, just making sure you’re touching before you venture back to the cabin. 

He’s still clutching the chainsaw in his left hand, knuckles white from his grip. When you return, safely inside the cabin walls and behind the reconstructed barricade, Ash begins searching for something. 

You follow in quiet confusion, head spinning to fast to stop and try and make sense of any of this. 

“What are you looking for?” you ask gently. He doesn’t look at you as his gaze falls across a shelf in the hall. 

“Weapon,” he says simply. He reaches up and pulls down a double barrel shotgun, eyes wide and jaw clenching. Ash thrusts the chainsaw into your arms and nods before turning back to inspect the gun. 

A minute passes in peacefulness as Ash shoves a few bullets into the chamber and then a handful more into his breast pocket, whirling around at the sound of creaking from the living room. 

You turn and feel your knees go weak. “Oh shit,” you whimper, backing up. 

The rocking chair in the center of the room pivots to face you, rocking gently back and forth. 

Ash stares at it in utter disbelief, making his way in front of it and sticking one hand out bravely. The rocking ceases, and Ash staggers backward, dropping his gun. 

He sounds nauseated as he presses one palm to his head and backs up further, saying, “I need a minute…” 

Without any more explanation, he leaves to the other room, and you remain all alone near the chair, gripping your chainsaw fearfully as you listen to him composing himself. 

“I’m fine,” he’s whispering. “I’m fine.” 

A few seconds go by and suddenly he’s gaping, a loud and helpless choking sound ringing out to alert you. 

You rush to his aid, stopping in bewilderment as you catch him in front of the mirror, his own hands wrapped around his throat. Ash makes a strangled choking sound, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tries and fails to suck down air. 

You drop the chainsaw and hurry to rip his hands from his throat, his eyes flying open and gaze returning to normal. Terror fills his face, and he shakes his head, holding his hands far from the rest of him. 

“It’s okay,” you console him, tears thick in your throat. “It’s over, she’s gone. They’re gone.” 

It’s meant to be comforting, but Ash’s face just falls further, his eyes downcast before he yelps in pain. He lifts his bitten hand and glares at the deep puncture in the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, watching as black spreads from the hole outward. His veins alight with ebony blood, he gasps, the entire hand suddenly shifting to appear like Linda and Jake’s decomposed bodies. 

Greying skin peels from his knuckles, greenish blood caked in the wound as his hand lifts on its own accord and lunges for Ash’s throat. He yells, grabbing his wrist and holding his own hand back, his eyes bulging from his skull. 

“What the fuck?” you scream, jumping back. This is too much— too much to possibly comprehend. You can’t bring yourself to help, besides, how could you? By holding his hand? Even the thought is ridiculous. 

Ash just slams it down on the ground, apparently knocking it unconscious for a moment as he pants, more tears streaming down his bloody cheeks. He turns his head skyward and wails, “Bastards! Give me back my hand!” He sobs softly, staring down at his possessed limb in melancholy. His eyes make their way to yours and you feel your heart being tugged painfully by his pleading gaze. “They took my hand, Y/N,” he cries. “They took my hand.” 

“Ash,” you start, sucking in a deep breath, “just calm down, we’re gonna be okay—”

Your words die in your throat as you hear a familiar, yet dark voice coming from the window. The boards have been broken from the outside, an arm jutting inside and dangling a severed head by its hair as it laughs. 

“Y/N, babe!” it chortles, the body punching out another board. “Come give me a kiss!” 

Ash screams, his hand dragging him into the kitchen as his legs fight against it. 

You’re frozen to the spot, watching your dead boyfriend crawl brokenly through the boarded window, his head rolling across the floor and grinning all the while. 

Hearing shattering in the kitchen, your heart squeezes in fear for your new friend, hoping his hand isn’t strong enough to kill him outright. You dodge Jake’s lurching body and start for the abandoned shotgun, not trusting yourself to use the chainsaw. Fearing he may turn it back on you. 

The weapon lies in front of the rocking chair, and you snatch it up frantically, scrabbling to cock it and spin, firing without hesitation. Jake’s put-together body flies apart, chest hollowing of its lungs and heart in one blast. His lower jaw and part of one eye splatters the ceiling, blood dripping down to land with an unsavory plopping sound on your face. 

You rear back and shoot one more time to be safe, the rest of his head disappearing in a bloody explosion. Jake’s body falls over and stops all movement, and you finally sigh. Realizing the logic of this living nightmare heavily resembles that of a zombie slasher movie, you figure once the head is properly decimated, or enough of the body, the creature will die and stay dead. At least you hope so. 

You stand and step over Jake’s corpse, taking shallow breaths. Ash is groaning in pain, and you rush into the kitchen to see him being dragged by his own hand across the floor. 

His eyes are shut, mouth slack— he actually looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen him, even in this short time of knowing the man. Unconscious and being dragged to his demise. 

You spot the weapon his possessed hand is headed for— a cleaver— and leap to stomp on it, kicking it out of reach, just as Ash snaps awake. He flails, snatching up a fallen blade and plunging down into the back of his own hand. He cries out, but slowly his pain turns to victory as he sneers down at the twitching fingers. 

“That’s right,” he grinds out through his teeth, eyes flashing with anger and ferocity that makes you shiver. “Who’s laughing now, huh? WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?” 

He looks as manic as he sounds, but so is this entire situation. You don’t think twice before grabbing the chainsaw from the floor where you left it and tossing it to the man. Ash leans down, biting the pull string and twisting, the engine starting up with a hideous growl. 

Ash’s laughter echoes against the walls as he brings the blade down onto his own wrist, and you cover your eyes, unable to watch. He screams in pain, intermingled with barks of laughter at his triumph, until his hand is severed entirely from his arm. 

The man finally sits up, panting for air as he shuts down the chainsaw and rests it in his lap, cradling the stump of his right arm. The hand is still squeaking and wriggling among the broken shards of glass and puddles of blood. 

Ash spits a mouthful of red, crimson staining his whole face as it dribbles down his chin and into his eyes, making him grimace. 

You take the initiative and find an empty coffee can on the counter before setting it over the hand and piling a stack of books on top just to be safe. Ash watches you with wide eyes, still trying to get air into his lungs, limbs quaking with adrenaline and fear. The pain of his wound apparently hasn’t quite set in yet, as he’s simply holding his wrist up and rocking gently back and forth. 

“Stay there,” you instruct, backing up to search for something to wrap him up with. You come back with a chunk of old white cloth and a roll of duct tape. Ash laughs at the objects as you kneel in front of him and set them down. “It’s all we have,” you say apologetically. He just shakes his head, shoulders bobbing with silent giggles. He’s in shock, surely. 

“Fix me up, doc,” he snorts, covering his eyes with his remaining hand, holding up his bloody stump for you. 

You hiss at the sight, carefully wrapping the white cloth over the exposed bone and hanging flesh, before rolling strips of tape around his wrist. 

“Thanks,” Ash breathes after you’ve finished. He seems to have regained some of his composure, but a wild glint of fear remains in his eyes. 

You open your mouth to reply but stop yet again as you’re interrupted by a screech and a toppling sound. 

The coffee can once containing a mangled dead hand rolls to your knees, the books scattered across the floor. Ash leaps up and starts for the living room. 

“Dammit!” he cries, struggling to grasp the shotgun with one hand while he unloads your spent shells. 

He tries to balance the gun and rummage for bullets in his pocket but nearly drops it all, and you interject, closing the space between you. 

“Here,” you say gently, pressing one palm to his arm to steady his frantic movements. You dig in his breast pocket and pull out two bullets, helping him load them and Ash clicks the machine shut, his mouth hanging open as he looks at you. 

He doesn’t say thanks this time, but the thought is clear in his face. 

You jump at the  sound of scrambling in the walls, and Ash aims, steadying the barrel on his stump-hand. The other hand scurries along the floor, squealing strangely as it ducks inside a mouse hole and disappears. 

Ash growls and shoots once— BANG! A hole appears in the wall, and the hand hurries by, waggling it’s fingers and letting out an unreal cackle from its tiny bones. 

It falls back down to the mouse hole and peers out in an attempt to mock Ash, only succeeding in snapping its own fingers in a mousetrap sitting nearby. 

“HA!” Ash cheers. The hand twists and flips him the bird, sending him into a fit. He mutters, “Son of a—” Aiming and shooting again, Ash misses it by a mile and curses loudly. He reloads and starts to aim again when you hold a hand out to him. 

“Wait,” you say, pressing a finger to your lips. You feel bile rise in your throat as you taste someone else’s bitter, coppery blood on your tongue, and turn to Ash. “Listen.” 

He obeys, confused but willing, as he tilts his head and waits. After a long moment of silence, you hear it— that same scratching of fingernails against wood, and Ash blasts two more holes in the wall. The second one is followed by a low moan from inside the wall, and Ash grins. 

“Gotcha now, didn’t I? You bastard,” he snickers. Blood seeps out of the spot where the hand was (assumedly) shot, but something feels… off. More off than just the hand running around controlled by a demonic source.

“This isn’t right,” you start, backing up. “Ash—”

Just as he turns to look at you in concern, a fountain of blood gushes from the wall like a geyser. Ash gargles, his face and body instantly soaked in the red spray, multiple spots breaking open to pour spouts of blood into the room. One stream busts through and sends you crashing into the back room, the door slamming and locking shut behind you. 

“Hey!” you cry, wiping blood from your eyes as you stand, slipping in the mess, and grappling with the knob. “Let me out! Ash, help!” 

You hear him yelling, the gushing blood still drenching him, and you gag as black ooze dribbles under the door and against your shoe’s toe. 

Minutes go by in agony, as Ash cries and slips and suddenly laughter fills the other room. It sounds like tens of people, demons, maybe, all busting a gut at a joke you haven’t heard. Eventually Ash joins in, and your heart drops to your stomach. He’s snapped.

His laughter is loud and long and insane, and you hear yourself bawling as you pound helplessly on the door. 

“Please, please,” you sob, to no avail. 

Then, all at once, silence falls, followed by a single shot from the shotgun. 

“Ash?” you call. No answer. You decide to stay silent and see what happens. 

A minute goes by. 

Two. 

Nothing. 

Then, a chilling war cry as someone’s body hits the ground hard. 

 

…

 

Chapter 3: fruit cellar

…

 

“Hold ‘im down.” 

Those words turn your stomach to rot, silencing every sound that would have been uttered from your throat. You back up from the door and cover your mouth in horror as you hear two loud cracks against someone’s flesh, and Ash goes silent. 

You’re starting to hope whoever just walked in didn’t hear your cries for help. 

“Anybody home?” a thickly hillbilly voice calls, the same one that told someone else to hold Ash to the floor. He continues, his voice muffling, “Bobby Joe, you alright?”

“I— I think so,” a girl sniffles in response. She sounds hurt, or maybe just scared. 

“This stupid sumbitch—” the hillbilly growls, and you wince at the sudden thump of someone getting kicked. No sound of pain rings out, and you can only assume it was Ash being hit. 

You can’t take this anymore. 

“Hey! Somebody let me out! Help!” You pound your fists into the door and cry, anger and fear making your face flush. 

“The door’s locked,” someone mutters, wiggling the knob. “Hold on, we’ll get you out of there!” 

You stand back as someone begins banging on the wood and finally busting it open in a spattering of splinters. A blond man in a cream jacket is standing there huffing, and a shorter man hurries next to him, squinting. 

“He hurt ya, miss?” he asks, grimacing. 

“Move,” you insist, shoving past both of them in an attempt to reach Ash. You yelp as the hillbilly man grabs your arm to stop you, just as a dainty woman enters the cabin with worried eyes. 

“Where are my parents?” she demands, looking around. 

“No one is here, only me—” you try to explain, watching as the woman catches sight of the bloody chainsaw in the corner and grows angry. 

She rushes to Ash, who’s lying unmoving on the floor in a puddle of blood, and grabs his collar. Slamming his head violently into the floor, she cries, “What the hell did you do to them? WHAT DID YOU DO?” 

“Stop! Leave him alone!” you shriek, fighting against the man holding you back. 

“This man’s plum crazy,” he grunts in your ear, tossing you aside so you fall in the corner. “He done killed ‘er parents!” He juts one thumb towards the raging woman, just as the blond man snatches her up and drags her back. 

“Annie, Annie— stop!” He holds her against his chest as she sobs, his hands stroking her brown hair with a loving air. You seeth, no patience for this woman and her emotional antics. The only thing on your mind is Ash’s safety. 

“We’ll put ‘im in there,” the hillbilly says, grinning wickedly as he looks toward the cellar door. 

“No!” you exclaim, standing. “He hasn’t done anything wrong! He saved me—”

“He killed my parents!” the manic woman screams accusingly. 

“Bullshit,” the hillbilly continues, hefting Ash into his arms to drag him across the room. 

You howl, “STOP!” The blond man crosses the space to block your attack, tears blooming in your eyes as you try to get to your friend. 

“No, wait…” Your heart begins rattling in your chest at the weak sound of Ash’s voice. 

“You won’t be hurtin’ anyone else, fella,” hillbilly snarls, dragging a limp Ash closer to the door. 

“I… I made a mistake,” Ash groans pleadingly. “I made a mistake.” 

“Please, leave him alone,” you beg, sobs starting to rack your body. You claw at the blond man but fail at diverting him. “He’s innocent!” 

“Wait— wait,” Ash whimpers, his head lolling forward on his chest concerningly. “No— I made a mistake—”

“Damn right, you flat-mouthed son of a bitch!” the hillbilly growls, rearing back and kicking Ash square in the chin as he starts to sit up. Ash yelps, falling back and crashing into the cellar in a heap. 

“NO! Ash!” you shriek, striking out in every direction. “LET HIM GO!” 

“I hope you rot down there,” the short-haired woman hisses, spitting into the cellar as her hillbilly man shuts the door with a slam. 

“You fucking psychos!” you yell, finally breaking free from the blonde’s grasp just as the hillbilly shoves a key into his pocket. You crash to your knees above the cellar door, yanking on it and growling in frustration as you find it locked tight. “Unlock this door now, you bastards or—”

“Or what? You wanna go down there with ‘im?” the hillbilly threatens. 

“Jake, stop,” the girl he called Bobby Joe says seriously. The name sends shivers down your spine. Not another Jake. Was the universe bent on tormenting you? 

“She’s defendin’ a damn murderer!” Not-Jake argues, baring his missing teeth. 

“He’s NOT a murderer!” Your jaw is starting to ache with how hard you’re clenching your teeth together, anger surging through you. 

“Tell that to my dead parents!” Annie cries, her face contorted furiously. 

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about!” you try arguing, but realize Ash hasn’t told you everything about what’s gone on here. Whatever happened last night before you arrived is unknown to you— even exactly who else was with Ash. 

For all you know, he could have killed some old couple who were hiding out here… your boyfriend did say somebody was doing research in a cabin in these woods— 

“All I know is there’s a shallow grave out front, a chainsaw covered in blood, and my mother and father are gone, ” Annie insists. “He’s staying down there until we know exactly what is going on.” 

You choke on a sob, anger and injustice making your hands shake. But instead of retaliating again, you crouch and slip one hand down into the cellar, calling, “Ash? Ash, wake up, I’m here! You’re gonna be okay…” 

He doesn’t answer, and you swallow more tears of worry. 

“Go check the other rooms,” Annie demands of someone, and people scatter. The woman retrieves a stack of papers from her satchel and plop them on a table, next to a tape recorder. 

She presses play, and you’re torn between watching her strange movements and trying to reassure an unconscious Ash that he’s going to be safe. 

When the tape begins playing the recording of an old man, however, you quickly decide on the former. 

“It has only been a few hours since I’ve translated and spoken aloud the first of the demon resurrection passages from the book of the dead.” 

“That’s my father’s voice,” Annie gasps, her eyes watering. 

The Hillbilly-Jake is helping Bobby Joe onto the couch, muttering about fetching a sheriff and applying pressure to the minor wound in her shoulder. 

You grit your teeth and ignore them, listening close to the tape. 

“I fear my wife has become host to a demon. May God forgive me for what I have unleashed into this earth. Last night, Henrietta tried to…” The voice pauses, thick with emotion, before continuing, “kill me.” 

Annie begins to break down, and the blond man rushes to hold her yet again. You shoot daggers in all of their directions, your hand still shivering below the cellar door in hopes Ash will latch onto it. 

“Henrietta is dead. I could not bring myself to dismember her corpse…” 

You wince at the obvious similarities between this man and poor Ash below you. Forced to kill his own love for the sake of everyone else’s safety. 

“But I dragged her down the steps. And I buried her.” 

Stairs? Your mind races. Where could he have brought her? The only spot in this house that held any steps had to be— 

“I buried her in the cellar.” You sit up lightning fast, tugging on the cellar down once more. 

“ASH!” you cry, tears blooming in your eyes as a sliver lodges itself in your palm. 

The tape ends ominously, “God help me, I buried her in the earthen floor of the fruit cellar.” 

Ash screams, and the fear in his voice sends your blood freezing over. Then another, unfamiliar, demonic scream follows it. Terrified, you yank your hand out from the door and begin wrenching the chain lock holding it in place. 

“What the hell was that?” Hillbilly asks breathlessly, standing up. 

“Someone’s down there with him,” Blondie says. 

“No shit! Get him out!” you beg. 

“This can’t be…” Annie shakes her head, looking ill. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Bobby Joe cries gently, holding herself. 

You hear a wretched voice speaking something unintelligible and then Ash yells again, his feet pounding the wood of the stairs as he starts for the door. 

“Ash, wait,” you call, “it’s locked—”

Too late, his skull cracks hard against the door as he flies upward, letting out another pained yelp. 

“LET ME OUT!” he screeches, clawing at the door as you try in vain to break the lock off with your bare hands. “Let me out, there’s something down here!” 

“Let him out!” you scream. 

“Let him out,” Annie finally echoes, her eyes faraway. 

“It’s a trick, I know it,” Hillbilly sniffles weakly, sounding close to tears. 

You leap up and grab his shirt, shaking him so hard his head bobs forward and back. “Let him out!” you order, ready to knock him senseless. 

The Hillbilly clambers to the floor, fiddling with the key and struggling to stuff it into the lock. 

Ash is crying, screaming, kicking. His face appears as the door flies open and shut repeatedly, his brown eyes bulging from his blood and dirt streaked face. “Move it! Let me out!” he begs, his voice hoarse and pleading. 

“I— I got it,” Hillbilly pants, blinking sweat from his eyes. His hands fumble over and over, dropping the key and then the lock and the process starts over. 

“Hurry up, dammit!” you hiss, your heart palpitating.

Ash’s pleading voice below your feet only makes you ache worse, scared for this man you hardly know. 

“Help me, please!” he sobs terrifiedly. You shift from holding the cellar door up, and instead slip one arm down, catching Ash’s hand in your own. He stops his frantic movements, wide eyes turning to look at you in fear and subtle hope. 

Something unspoken happens between you— a promise, maybe. That you’re in this together. Maybe a pleading that you won’t leave each other. Either way, for a moment in this living hell, you’re calm. And so is Ash. 

His fingers tighten around your hand shakily, covered in blood and drying black ooze, and you risk letting out a breath of relief at his receptive touch. 

But all of it is ripped away in an instant as the thing in the cellar grabs Ash’s foot, and sends him into another frenzy of screaming. The hillbilly finally unlocks the chains and throws the door open, literally grabbing Ash by his face to pull him out. The younger man shrieks, kicking wildly as he’s dragged up and out of the cellar, collapsing in your lap as he tries to get away from the monster. 

Something wretched pokes its face from the cellar and chomps down on Ash’s boot, twisting violently at his ankle and he cries out in pain. You slide your arms under his and yank, rolling both of you out of range of the creature as Hillbilly and Blond guy begin beating it senseless. 

Ash pants, your limbs tangled as he tries to catch his breath, shutting his eyes as he buries his nose in your shoulder before pushing up. 

He lets out a slow, pained groan, putting space between you as he sits back on his haunches. His eyes are bloodshot, and you have no time to check him out for injuries because someone is screaming. 

The monster from the basement has thrown Blond guy across the room, his skull busting through the wall before he falls to the floor limp. 

You start to stand, but already Ash is leaping into action, kicking the cellar door shut and stomping until the beast’s eyes burst from their sockets. You stare for a moment, simply shocked by this random stranger’s complete dedication to sacrificing himself over and over for the safety of these jerks who knocked him out and accused him of murder. 

One eyeball from the monster’s face flies across the room and lodges itself in the throat of Bobby Joe, whose screams are piercing, making you wince. She chokes and spits it out, gagging and clawing at her tongue in disgust. 

The sound of Ash grunting in exertion draws your attention back to him, his body lying atop the door in an attempt to keep it shut. You join him at his left, kneeling and pressing all of your weight down, gritting your teeth. 

He looks at you, his brow knitted deeply, brown eyes watering. Without thinking, you place your hand over his as the door jolts and jerks beneath you, and he sucks in a breath, not taking his eyes off you. 

The moment is broken when Hillbilly slams his own heavy body onto the door, finally stopping the movements once and for all. Ash takes his hand away from your grasp and begins wrapping the chains back around the door and locking it again. 

He stands with a huff, holding his stump hand to his chest protectively and crossing the room. You glance over your shoulder at the humming sound coming from the forest outside the cabin, but shrug it off as Ash crouches to light up the fire with a stray match. 

Everyone is shaken up, looking around tensely as Ash throws a few logs into the fireplace and watches the flames lick them up. 

After a minute, Ash straightens and blows out an uneven breath, still holding his stump close. 

He starts weakly, “There’s something out there.” Ash swallows and looks directly at you before quickly looking away. “That,” he points vaguely forward, “witch in the cellar is only part of it. It lives out in the woods—”

“In the dark,” you finish in a breath as he nods slowly. 

“Something that’s come back from the dead,” Ash says, his voice sounding even shakier as he says it. 

“Jake!” Bobby Joe wails, reminding you with an unholy wrench of your boyfriend, whose broken body is lying in the other room. “We gotta get the hell outta here!” 

“We’re goin’ baby, we’re leavin’ right now—” Hillbilly starts, crossing the room towards his girl. Ash slams his remaining palm into the man’s chest and frowns. 

“No one is walking out that door,” he orders, looking at each person in turn. “Not until daylight.” 

“You don’t get to decide when we leave!” Hillbilly yells, grabbing Ash by the collar and tugging him close. All of you stop at the sound of a haunting song… 

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word,” the whispery voice trills, “momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…” 

Everyone turns their gazes to the cellar door, and the soft face peering out of it. 

A smiling old woman, holding up the door to stare at Annie, whose face has gone pale and full of terror, replaces the spot where the monster had been only a few minutes ago. 

She keeps singing, and Annie starts toward her as if in a trance, eyes filling with tears as she looks upon what must be a familiar face to her. It dawns on you— her parents had been the ones researching here… this was the possessed corpse of her mother singing now. 

The woman smiles, “Remember that song, Annie? I used to sing it to you when you were a baby.” 

“Mother?” Annie breathes, stepping forward. She stops cold as Ash grips her upper arm and tugs slightly, looking at her with narrowed gaze. He shakes his head in warning and lets go, not letting his grasp linger as Annie grits her teeth and turns back to the demon. “No,” she says, shaking her head, too. 

The woman in the cellar looks forlorn, pouting her wrinkled lips and listing facts about Annie; her birthday, the weather on the day of her birth, etc. 

“That thing in the cellar is not my mother,” Annie decides, her voice wobbly with tears. 

You’re about to thank her for staying strong through this nightmare, when the blond man flies upward from his spot resting on the couch and hovers in the air, hissing. His face is warped in a monsterous form, hair wild and limbs flailing as he floats lazily. Annie screams, leaping backward as Ash stares in horror, mouth agape. 

“We are the things that were and shall be again,” he moans gutturally along with the woman in the cellar, their faces torn in ugly sneers. 

Annie creeps backward, encroaching into Ash’s space and grabbing onto his arm. You see him react, eyes going wide as he looks down at her hands on him and then back at the demon in the air, his jaw now clenched. 

“We want what is yours: life!” the demons laugh, sending Bobby Joe into a fit of tears as she clings to the Hillbilly Jake. 

“Dead by dawn! Dead by dawn!” The monsters begin speaking loudly, in many voices— all distorted and wrong. You cover your ears, the sound making you feel sickness creeping up your throat. 

“DEAD BY DAWN!” they cackle wickedly, thrashing, working to bust open the locked cellar door.

Suddenly, Blond man shoots over your head to tackle Bobby Joe, taking a huge bite out of her hair and swallowing it with a grimace. Bobby Joe squeals, batting him away and falling fearfully into a corner. Annie cries, clinging to Ash, but he yanks his arm out of her grasp and rushes to your side, eyes locking for a moment before he continues straight out of the room. 

He’s going to find a weapon, somehow you know. He’s going to fight. 

The realization makes you smile weakly— deliriously hopeful in this abysmal darkness. 

“Where are you going?” Annie calls, watching him leave. 

“He’s getting a weapon!” you growl defensively, looking around to find your own object to fight with. 

Annie just grinds out, “He’s a filthy coward!” 

You rear back, ready to smack the hell out of this woman, when Ash bursts back into the room, wielding an ax. He barrels past you and swings, the blade chopping right through Blondie’s face, sending a gush of bright green goop over one wall. The taxidermy deer drips with neon ooze, and you feel sick at the sight, watching Ash slice and dice the man to ribbons. Hunks of flesh fly as Annie screams incessantly, all of you trying to ignore the demonic cries of, “We live! We live, still!” 

Eventually, it goes silent, and one by one, the group returns to the center of the room, all staring mournfully down at the mangled corpse of the blond man. You find yourself at Ash’s side again, hearing his unsteady breathing, watching him wince as he puts weight on his injured leg, remaining hand still clutching the ax like a lifeline. 

Jake— the toothless idiot, walks to the window and peers out with a curious frown, Bobby Joe following close behind. 

“That’s strange,” he whispers, looking at you like he’s seen a ghost. 

“What? What is it, Jake?” Bobby Joe asks, holding onto him. 

“The path we took in here,” he starts, swallowing nervously, “ain’t out there no more. Like the woods just… swallowed it up.” 

Annie looks around, fear in her eyes. 

You feel yourself gulp as the clock ceases ticking— the arms suspended in motion. 

Annie notices along with you and grinds her teeth together again. “It’s so quiet,” she mutters. You hardly hear her, focusing on Ash’s arm brushing against yours firmly as he stands right beside you, inspecting the room around him without moving from your side. 

“Don’t jinx it,” you warn her, but as if cursed, horrible creaking and groaning begins to rattle the cabin, a growing, welling sound that makes your head hurt, fills your ears. 

It crashes and bangs and booms and crows from every corner at once, boards breaking and beams groaning as the cabin— and maybe part of reality itself— shifts on its axis uncomfortably. 

“What the hell was that?” Hillbilly Jake asks in a whimper. 

Ash speaks, forcing his voice to remain steady for the sake of the group. You stare at him in wonder. What kind of man is he, anyway? 

“It sounds like—” He swallows, blinking as blood mixed with sweat trickles down his temple and into one eye. “Like something trying to force its way into our world.” 

For some reason, it makes perfect sense to you. 

Lightning— or something far more sinister, makes an incredible crashing sound, and you wince, falling deeper into the safety of Ash’s proximity, and you can breathe again at the sensation of his arm staying close to you. The other room shakes at the sound, flashing as it fills with an eerie glow and dims again. 

“We’ll all go in together,” Ash suggests, not taking his eyes off the partially open door. 

“Hell no,” Hillbilly argues, “you’re the curious one.” 

You want to agree— hating, dreading the idea of going into that room and seeing your boyfriend’s blown up body on the floor. But instead you side with the only one who risked his own life to keep you alive tonight: Ash. 

You bare your teeth in a snarl and point menacingly at Hillbilly Jake. “Shut the fuck up.” Turning back to Ash you nod and say, “I’ll go with you.” 

He doesn’t thank you aloud, but his eyes fill with a gratefulness that pours out of him, lips stuck in a thin smile. If only for a moment before he regains his serious composure. 

Annie fetches a lantern hanging above the hearth and hands it to you. You nod to her in thanks and take it, following close behind Ash as he ventures into the other room. 

As you start, you begin to think, maybe this is a very stupid idea. And you would be right. But the need to prove to Ash that you’re on his side overpowers your common sense. 

The light from the lantern barely makes a dent in the overwhelming dark of the room, and you feel Annie leap a foot in the air as Bobby Joe and her man crash loudly in behind you. 

You glare back at him as he nervously chuckles, “See? I told you there ain’t nothin’ in here no how.” Despite his faux grin, he and Bobby Joe hold hands as if it’s the end of the world. 

Ash gasps as a painting falls from the wall, startling the group and setting off a series of rattling objects and snapping boards from the walls and windows. You yelp, jumping back from a sudden shaft of illuminated smoke— a ghostly figure appearing before you and groaning the name, “Annie…” 

Annie gasps, staring into the figure and biting her wobbling bottom lip. 

The ghost continues, “There is a… dark spirit here, that wants to destroy you. Your salvation lies there— ” The figure points ominously toward the pages she’d carried inside, still plopped lazily on a side table. “The pages of the book. Recite the passages. Dispel the evil! Save my soul!” He starts to disappear, form falling away into shadow as he begs with one last cry, “And your own lives!” 

The howling wind rips him away before all falls silent once more. 

The peace is broken by Bobby Joe’s weak complaint, “Baby, you’re holdin’ my hand too tight.” 

Hillbilly Jake gapes at her, sweat beading on his forehead as he says, “Baby, I ain’t holdin’ your hand.” 

You all look down in horror to see Ash’s rotting, dead hand gripping her fingers in a vice grip. 

Bobby Joe begins screaming, flailing in every direction in an attempt to pry the hand off of her own, and rams you into the wall in the process. 

“Hey!” you cry, falling and cursing as the lantern flies out of your grasp and goes out as it hits the floor. 

Ash drags you to your feet immediately, everyone scrambling to relight the lantern and regain some sense of calm. 

Hillbilly Jake peers around in confusion when it’s finally lit and queries, “Where’s Bobby Joe?” 

You hear a distant scream from outside and swallow worriedly. “I think she’s gone,” you mutter apologetically. 

If she’s out there— anything could happen. Any nightmare scenario any of you could picture was probably happening. 

Ash doesn’t take any time to wonder where she’s gone, following Annie across the room and slamming the glass-covered box of papers onto the table and shattering it. 

Without thinking, he begins picking at the shards of glass and tossing them aside before pulling the pages out and handing them expectantly to Annie. 

She flips through them, ignoring Jake as he starts worrying, “Where the hell is she?” He turns and insists, “We gotta go find her.”

Ash growls, “If she went out in those woods, you can forget about her.” 

It’s a sad truth, you realize. The woods were the least safe place to be right now, and judging by the fact that Bobby Joe is nowhere to be found, you can only assume she’s met a gruesome end beyond the forest edge. 

Ash shudders violently, leaning against the wall, and you place one hand on his arm carefully. He doesn’t pull away, instead looking  at you with twinkling eyes as he catches his breath. 

“What is it?” Annie questions. 

Ash shakes his head. “Felt like someone just walked over my grave.” He changes the subject and points down at the papers in Annie’s hands. “What is that? That picture.” 

You look over his shoulder at the painted image and frown. It makes no clear sense: a man with something sharp jutting from his arm, like a weaponized extension of his hand, almost, stands heroically over a glowing object. A woman, significantly shorter, stands behind him, their hands entwined as he holds the weapon-arm high above his head. 

“In 1300 AD,” Annie explains, “they called this man the hero from the sky, though not much is mentioned about the woman pictured with him. He was prophesied to have destroyed the evil.” 

Ash curls his lip in a snarl that makes your throat squeeze, and looks around, snorting, “Didn’t do a very good job.” 

“You can say that again,” you mutter in somber agreement. 

Ash smirks over his shoulder at you before turning back to Annie and pressing, “Can you find it? The passage he was talking about?” 

“Here it is,” Annie says after flipping a few pages, “two passages. Recitation of the first passage will make this dark spirit manifest itself in the flesh.” 

“Why the hell would we wanna do that?” Ash demands. 

Annie doesn’t miss a beat, continuing, “Recitation of the second passage creates a kind of rift in time and space—” You shiver at a sudden cold running down your spine. “—and the physical manifestation of this dark spirit can be forced back into ten rift. At least that’s the best translation that I can—”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound of a gun cocking just behind your head, and the three of you turn simultaneously. 

Hillbilly Jake is grinning maliciously, clutching the shotgun in his shaking hands. “Oh yeah,” he says in a wavering giggle. “I’m runnin’ this show now.”

Ash’s face falls at the man’s words, his left hand coming down to his side to grab at yours. You hold on, not caring that you hardly know him. 

Somehow, when he’s this close to you, things feel like they might be alright. 

 

…