Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash

Ashley J. Williams

So now, this is the part where I come in. At this point, I had no idea that these two fuckos were in my immediate future. Hell, I had no idea that the Necronomicon had anything to do with this. All I knew was that I was that I had just told corporate S-Mart that I was being transferred to a new S-Mart location that had just opened up in New Jersey and was in need of a good S-Martening up.

Anyways, my name is Ashley J. Williams, Housewares/Domestic Engineer of S-Mart store A113, the Detroit location. ''Shop smart, Shop S-Mart,'' right?

Yeah, right...

I had a real life once, long ago. But it's ancient history now, like the Pyramids of Egypt, the Lost Empire of Atlantis, and 8-Track tapes.

You see, all my troubles began over thirty years ago when me and a few friends spent the night at a cabin in the woods, and we found this ancient book, the Necronomicon ex Mortis, the Book of the Dead.

Like nincompoops, we read the damn thing and unleashed all kinds of Hell. All my friends died for it, and I was deemed the ''Chosen One'' who would save the world from all evil!

By now, I've spent a good chunk of my life chasing down that infernal book and the hideous Deadites that spawn from the text within, but I have fuck-all to show for it. My search has long-since stagnated, and I'm at a dead-end (metaphorically and emotionally) trying to find it.

Little did I know, fate was about to drop a big clue right on my nut sack... and it hurt! Oh Jesus, did it hurt!

***

Ice flew off the road as a 1972 Oldsmobile sped down the stretch of highway that led into Crystal Lake. The opening riff of AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" blared over the terrible sounding speakers. Ashley J. Williams kept his eyes on the icy roads all the way into Crystal Lake. Every now-and-then, he would shift his eyes to a newspaper in the shotgun seat. The paper's headline said, "Crystal Lake to be Renamed Forest Green – Ghosts Buried, Bright New Future Ahead."

Ash wanted to spit on the article. How bright can the future be if he couldn't see the road ahead of him now?

Surprisingly, Ash had changed very little in twenty-six years. He still had the black Elvis-wannabe hairstyle. His chin was very square and pronounced, almost like it was made of steel. A thicket of bangs hung over his high forehead and exaggerated his huge brown eyes. His right hand was actually a steel replacement hand he had made in the Dark Ages.

"Long story," was the quite brief answer he told nearly everyone who asked. If he was pestered enough, he would eventually regale them with the entire tale, from the cabin to his time in the Dark Ages, and every adventure he'd had since. And every time he told the story, he was laughed at relentlessly. Many often remarked that Ash belonged in a padded room.

Maybe they were right, Ash would sometimes think. He knew all of it was true, but maybe in a padded room he might finally escape his destiny as the "Chosen One."

He made a left turn into the S-Mart parking lot and drove around looking for a spot to park, failing miserably. It was Christmas Eve, and everyone was doing their last minute shopping sprees, so of course parking was a bitch. He finally found a spot near the front entrance, waiting patiently as the old lady slowly backed out her Packard before whipping in. The space was tight, but Ash managed to squeeze in and shut the car off.

The tailpipe began smoking something fierce. A whistling noise began to emanate, and Ash held up a finger as it began to crescendo. Nearby, a young woman was holding her hands over her ears. Ash spied her, and smiled, pointing his finger at her.