Ash Williams's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Ash Williams checked the shotgun one last time before shouldering his pack. The Necronomicon was still out there—bound in human skin, written in blood, and calling to him like a fishhook lodged in his brain. He'd lost everyone at that cabin: Linda, Cheryl, Scotty, Shelly. All possessed, all dead. Now seventeen more people had vanished near those woods while he rotted in Sunny Meadows. The book had to be destroyed, and he was the only one left who knew what it could do. The forest stretched ahead, dense and quiet. Too quiet. Ash's boots crunched on dead leaves as he moved between the trees. The pull in his head grew stronger with each step, dragging him forward like a rope around his skull. He'd memorized the map his unknown helper had left—the one that marked the cabin's location. But he needed to think like the book would think. Where would something that evil hide? The answer hit him when he spotted the cave entrance tucked between two moss-covered rocks. Small, easy to miss, blending into the hillside like it didn't want to be found. Ash crouched at the opening, chainsaw hand scraping against stone. Darkness swallowed the passage just a few feet in. The smell rolled out—damp earth mixed with something rotten. His gut twisted, but the fishhook feeling yanked harder, confirming what he already knew. The Necronomicon was down there somewhere. He clicked on his flashlight and wedged himself through the gap. The tunnel sloped downward, walls pressing close on both sides. Water dripped somewhere ahead. This was it—the path to ending the cycle, or dying in the dirt trying. Ash moved forward into the black. The tunnel opened after twenty feet of crawling. Ash stood and swept the flashlight across the space—a natural chamber about the size of a bedroom. Empty. Just wet rock and mud. The fishhook pull didn't ease up though. It dragged him toward the back wall where the shadows sat thickest. He moved closer and saw it: another passage, this one leading up instead of down. Fresh air leaked through from somewhere above. Ash climbed the slope, chainsaw scraping rock, until he emerged into filtered daylight. He blinked. The cabin stood fifteen feet away—weathered wood, boarded windows, front door hanging crooked on rusted hinges. Knowby Cabin. Where Cheryl clawed her fingers to stumps. Where Linda's head spun full circle. Where his hand tried to kill him. The place where everything started and where it had to end. The Necronomicon was inside those walls. Ash could feel it breathing, waiting. He checked the shotgun again and started toward the door. An iron chain fence blocked his path. Rust spotted the metal links that stretched between thick tree trunks on either side. Someone had strung it up after he'd escaped—probably the state trying to keep people out after seventeen went missing. Fat lot of good it did. Ash grabbed the chain with his good hand and yanked. The metal held. He could climb over, but the fishhook pull was getting worse, making his skull ache. No time for careful. He revved the chainsaw and cut through two links. The fence dropped with a clank. Ash stepped over it and crossed the final stretch of dirt to the cabin steps. His heart hammered against the chainmail vest. Everything he'd survived—the asylum, the nightmares, six weeks of doctors telling him it wasn't real—led here. One way or another, the book was getting destroyed today.