A Tale of Two Ashes
@armyofdrkness
As usual, it starts with a head injury.
The last thing he remembers before things had gone dark is walking into the back room after hours at S-Mart to finish closing up shop. The front doors had been locked, the recycling bin had been emptied, and he’d just finished taking out the trash through the back when he’d felt a familiar tingle at the back of his neck - something he hadn’t felt for awhile. Not since he’d stuffed the Book in a padlocked container that he’d shoved into a safe that he’d buried under the cement that made up the foundation of his new work shed.
That should have been enough to keep the Evil from rising again, right?
That’s what he’d told himself at the time, anyway. Easy to talk himself out of it because he’d wanted to put the whole ‘Chosen One’ thing on the backburner for a very long time, and why the hell would the Evil come anyway if there wasn’t anybody to read the Book? And with the Book buried underground, that made it even more impossible that someone could have read it, so...
And yet Hell had descended on the S-Mart formerly located in Dearborn, Michigan. The moaning wail of the Evil Dead began as a far off whisper located somewhere in the woods outside of town. But as it drew closer to the shopping center, closer to the Chosen One who had just thrown a pair of big black trash bags into one of the dumpsters, the wailing grew louder, clearer, more audible. And before long, Ash couldn’t ignore it anymore - but by then it was too late.
The full force of that Evil tore its way through the fence lining the property of the S-Mart, barreled through the pair of dumpsters to spill their contents onto the pavement, and tossed his Oldsmobile into the air, spinning it round and round like a piece of tickertape caught in the wind. The back door of the S-Mart imploded as the Evil drove through it, setting off the emergency alarm that had just clicked back on, and continued forward through the store’s inventory space before slapping through the pair of double swinging doors that led out onto the main floor.
It rose high into the air, lifting above the tallest shelving units in search of its prize, then dropped back down at an angle, knocking over shelves and starting a cascade effect that would, ultimately, knock down every damn shelf in the store. At the very center of the building, Ash stepped away from the coffee maker, having just filled up a travel mug for the road, his interest only piquing when he heard the first shelf start to fall. His eyes widened when he saw the mass of what he could only describe as bad stuff approaching him, and he let out a hoot of surprise, flinging the mug at the Evil as it drove towards his chest.
It slammed into him like Mike Tyson’s fist slamming into an uppercut, knocking the wind from his lungs and physically lifting him off the floor. His back slammed hard into the aluminum roof, leaving an Ash-shaped impression, and his head bounced off one of the steel beams before his body started plummeting to the floor head-first. That was when things went dark.
However much time has passed between now and then, he’s not sure - his eyes open at the sound of birds chirping, a stream running nearby, and the familiar purr of the Oldsmobile’s engine somewhere off to his left, in the woods. Grimacing, he pushes himself upward slowly, leaning the gauntlet that makes up his right hand against the ground and rubbing at a welt on the back of his head. His brow creases as he looks around, a frown pulling at his features. These woods look familiar for some reason.
Pulling his feet underneath him, he sighs and pushes himself to stand only to wobble a little one direction and then the other. Then he bends at the waist and vomits his guts out, letting out a groan. “Uggggh. I think I’m freaking concussed.”
