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When awareness crept into Sam once the blue-white arcs of the leap faded, a strange, creepy, high-pitched giggle filled his consciousness again and he looked down to see he held a young woman by the ankles and that she was the source of the giggling. Sam’s stomach gave a nervous, uneasy quiver as he realized something was wrong with her face. Veins stood out in tortured relief against her skin and her eyes had a terrible translucent cast to the corneas, the eyes red. A consistent thumping noise sounded behind him and he turned to see something—perhaps it used to be human, Sam couldn’t tell—trying to escape a chained basement trapdoor. The girl whose ankles he held continued to giggle manically.
“Oh God,” Sam groaned before looking around in desperation. “Al!” He called out, but his holographic companion was nowhere to be seen.
Where am I? Sam asked himself. He seemed to be in a cabin filled with rickety furniture. The girl’s face changed suddenly, and she struggled to her feet to throw herself into his arms.
“Oh, Ash!” She cried. “Don’t let them take me away again!” She cried, and Sam put his arms around her.
“No . . . no, I won’t, I promise,” he said, and at the same time, a tearful voice cried out from the cellar.
“Ashley? Ashley, help me, let me out of here. I’m all right now! I’m all right . . . I’m all right.”
A groan of pain caught Sam’s attention and he glanced over to see a bleeding, injured young man sitting in a nearby chair. His face was a road map of lacerations, and Sam went to the chained door. As he got closer, a terrible hand shot out from the space and grabbed Sam around the neck.
“I’m all right now, Ash!” A maniacal voice giggled and croaked. “It’s your sister, Cheryl!”
Sam struggled as the imaging chamber door opened to Sam’s right and Al stepped out.
“Sam! We had a heck of a time finding—” Al’s dark eyes widened as he viewed the carnage and his friend wrestling with some kind of terrible demonic hand.
“Oh Jeez, Louise!” Al exclaimed, and Sam rolled his helpless gaze toward Al.
“Al!” He wheezed. “What . . . am I here . . . to do?” He asked as he finally managed to pull away from the grasping, peeling hands, and Al stared as the other girl began to giggle again, her face twisted into a dying clown’s visage.
“We’re gonna get ya . . .” She began to chant, and then the horrible giggling began again. Sam dragged the struggling, possessed girl out into the yard.
“Al!”
“Sam, I can’t keep a fix on you!” Al called, his visage flickering in and out. “You’re here to destroy something called the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis! It’s the book.” Al frowned and gave the handlink a smack. “The book of the dead?”
“There’s no such thing!” Sam argued, and Al gazed at the terrible thing trying to escape the cellar.
“Tell that to undead Morticia over there!”
“Not helpful!” Sam replied, and Al winced as the awful thing that had once been Ash’s sister broke free from the cellar. Al pointed.
“There, Sam!” He said, pointing to the skin-bound book, and Sam ducked around the demon to scoop up the thing, yelping in surprise as it felt like a square of dry ice. “Toss it in the fire!”
Sam cried out as the demon’s terrible hands encircled his throat and he tossed the book into the fireplace. The chaos inside the cabin stopped all at once, and the hands fell away as the book began to burn, making awful noises of its own. The animated corpse took Sam to the floor with its weight and began to dissolve out of nowhere, drenching Sam in its awful fluids. Al covered his face and watched through tented fingers. Finally, he lowered his hands as Sam lay on the cabin floor, panting like an exhausted animal.
“Can we please get the hell out of here now?” He asked, and Sam wiped blood and gore from his face. Before he could answer, the glow of another leap enveloped him, and a moment later, he found himself facing a bloody chainsaw—a chainsaw that sat where his right hand should have been.
“Ohhhhhh boy,” Sam groaned.
Fin