All right folks, this is your first and only warning. The following fanfiction is ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING!

       It's sick, demented, and spawned from the twisted mind of Sam Raimi, of whose idea I am stea-uh…borrowing. I've taken license where I've seen fit, so it's not completely faithful to the Great One himself, but…hey, close enough.

       Most of this story is filled with gratuitous violence, severed limps, several characters' deaths…and hands that have an inclination to kill anything that moves, biting…and not in the fun, sexy, growly Spike way, severed limbs, gratuitous violence, accidental indigestion of eyeballs (SERIOUSLY!), one pencil used in a way that your school teachers would very much disapprove of…and a few sexually adventurous shrubs. If you've seen Evil Dead, Evil Dead 2 or Army of Darkness…you might have an inkling of what I'm talking about. And are probably already going, HELL YEAHS! I'm going to continue!

       THIS STORY IS SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK!

       Oh, and if you have any sort of emotional attachment to any given Scooby or any of Spike's appendages, I'd turn back now.

       Seriously. Go back. Read Castaway again. Or Pride and Prejudice, if you're underage. If you're underage, you've should've already turned back (Stern look) Like I don't know you guys don't listen to warnings anyway. (Sighs) BUT I WARNED YOU, FUTURE FLAMERS! THIS STORY IS BADDDDDDDD! BBBAADDDDD Not for ANYBODY'S eyes.!

       Okay, enough with the warning already. On to the story!

Part One

       Legend has it, that a certain book was created by the dark ones: Necronomicon Ex Mortes. Roughly translated: The Book of the Dead. The origin of the Book is traced back to the day when the dark ones ruled the Earth. The seas ran red with blood, and it was with this blood in which the Book was written.

       The Book of the Dead was last seen in 1300 A.D., when the dark ones rose up to battle the living. It is said assistance came from the sky, heroes that defeated this evil and buried the Book in the Castle of Kandar…and there it lay for 700 years…waiting, till it was discovered centuries later, stumbled on by a historian. He and his wife went into seclusion to study and translate the Book of the Dead…and were never heard from again.

       Till now…(Stop thinking in really creepy narrator voice...NOW!)

       "Jesus Christ, Spike!" Buffy wrinkled her nose, shooting her boyfriend a disgusted look, "Seriously…did you slaughter something in this piece of crap and leave it to rot?"

       "I knew we should have taken my van," Oz muttered in the back seat,

       "Okay, one, my car is not a piece of crap," Spike shot Buffy a look, "It's a classic 1958 DeSota Sportsman. Get it right. And two," He shot Oz a look over his shoulder. "We took my car because I wouldn't fry to death because the Slayer decided to open the sun-roof for a bit of fresh air. Besides…s'not like your van smells like roses, Wolf. You'd have to sandblast the damn thing to get the scent of you and Red out of it. And three…my car wouldn't smell this bad if the Slayer hadn't decided the back seat was a good place to stash the body of a Kaek demon for three weeks without telling me."

       Willow flushed a deep red, as Cordelia's eyes widened, "Spike! This is a two hundred dollar designer dress! You could've told me there was a demon rotting on the upholstery BEFORE I got in the car?!"

       "I said I was sorry," Buffy sulked, jutting out her lower lip, "I forgot!"

       "Right…you forgot about the two hundred pound demon in the backseat?" Spike asked, making the mistake of looking towards Buffy as he said it, and any anger dissolved when he saw her pouty lips, "Dammit, woman…you know what that does to me…"

       "Oh, God," Xander covered his eyes as Buffy giggled and leaned towards Spike, "Hey! Man! Watch the road! Want to get there in one piece!"

       Spike rolled his eyes, turning back to the road as Buffy sighed and leaned against his side, and his arm dropped from the back of the seat to drape over her shoulders, "Whelp, are we gettin' any closer to this place, or what?"

       "You know…it'd be easy to tell if I could see out the damn windows," Xander pointedly rapped his knuckles against the paint-covered glass with a scowl.

       "Oh…give me the bloody map," Spike let go of the wheel, leaving his arm draped around Buffy, causing all the mortals in the car to pale in terror.

       "Spike!" Buffy grabbed the wheel as he settled back in his seat with the map in hand, and he scowled down at the jumbled words and hand-drawn lines on the grease splattered napkin, taking the wheel back from Buffy before she could kill them.

       "This is your map?!"

       "Hey! My dad had to draw it from memory, give him a break," Xander replied, hands gripping the back of the front seat now, knuckles completely white. Someone was going to have to pry them off with a crowbar.

       "Your dad…oh, bloody great…" Spike snorted as he dropped the map in his lap, squinting out of the paint-streaked windshield. He saw a dirt road coming up, with a faded, broken sign on a post; the sign had leaned far over to the side, but he could make out the pale, squiggly writing that said `Bridge Road'

       He turned onto it, following the long dirt track that could hardly be called a road, weeds springing wild all over the place. He saw the bridge in question approaching, and he slammed on the brakes abruptly, tossing everyone forward in their seatbelts, except Buffy, who he had a firm grip on.

       "OW!" Cordelia rubbed her forehead, shooting the blond vampire a look, "Great. Now I have waffle marks on my face. I hope you're happy."

       "Harris, when's the last time someone's bloody well been up here?" Spike asked in annoyance, ignoring Cordelia's outburst.

       "Uncle Rory rented it to some guy and his wife a month ago…why?"

       "The bloody bridge looks like it's about ready to fall over!"

       "It's fine. It's always looked like that," Xander assured him, "It's safe."

       Buffy leaned over Spike to peek out the windshield, hand very deliberately landing on his crotch, and he stifled a groan as she flexed her fingers, eyes flashing amber at her, "Vixen," He whispered, and she grinned at him before looking back out the window, eyes widening.

       Said bridge was very much in disrepair, at least, in her opinion. Several boards were missing from different parts, and it was listing dangerously to one side, spanning over a huge chasm, "I really don't want to go over that."

       "The bridge is fine," Xander huffed, "Stop pussing out, Spike and just go already."

       Spike narrowed his eyes, and Buffy groaned as she fell back into her seat, buckling herself back into her seatbelt. Not that it would help her much if the bridge collapsed and plunged them all to their deaths two hundred feet below. Cordelia smacked Xander's arm and Willow leaned forward to glare at him from around Oz. "Great, Xander…if we die `cause you dared Spike to cross the Bridge of Death…I'm going to kill you."

       Xander didn't comment on the futility of that particular threat, instead, he rolled his eyes and enjoyed the way Cordelia pressed into his side, her eyes wide as they started to cross the rickety bridge. Spike was leaning forward over the steering wheel, concentrating on getting across with unlife intact, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the other side.

       "See? What did I tell you?" Xander said smugly, "Perfectly safe."

       Spike shook his head in annoyance as he continued down another dirt track, eyes searching for the turn-off to the cabin. It was an hour before he finally saw another dirt road, with a deer skull on a post being used as a road marker. Buffy had dozed off against his shoulder, a bit of drool running out of the side of her mouth and onto his duster, and he grimaced as he nudged her awake gently. "Right, kiddies, looks like this is it," He said, turning into the long, winding drive-way.

       "Finally!" Cordelia straightened, "God…I so need a hot shower right about now. The damned stink has to be sticking to my skin by now."

       "This is going to be great," Willow started to bounce in place beside Oz, sending her boyfriend a brilliant smile, "Out in the woods by ourselves; hiking, roasting marshmallows in the fireplace, singing campfire songs…"

       "Shaggin' like rapid ferrets on rufies…"

       "I like Spike's plan better," Xander replied, earning another swat from Cordelia, and he shot her a guilty grin.

       "Gee, Spike…real romantic," Buffy said sarcastically.

       "Fine…shaggin' like rapid ferrets on rufies…in front of the fireplace with champagne, on the skin stripped from a poor, defenseless bear."

       "Wow…I didn't even know it was possible to suck ALL the romance out of that cliché love scene," Willow observed, "But you did it."

       "I have many talents," Spike glanced at Buffy as he said this, biting his tongue between strong, white teeth and waggling his eyebrows.

       "Yeah," Buffy said breathily, several of those talents spring immediately to mind, her face flushing, but not with embarrassment.

       "Great…I would never have agreed to come if I knew this weekend was going to turn into the Spike and Buffy sexcapades," Cordelia groused.

       "Luv, wherever we go, it's the Spike and Buffy sexcapades," Spike admitted unashamedly, and Willow's mouth dropped open.

       "That's why you were in the bathroom at the Bronze for an hour!" Willow accused Buffy, who looked towards her guiltily, "I can never use it again!"

       "You still use Harris' pool table."

       "You had SEX on my pool table!?"

       "NO! We didn't!" Buffy glared at Spike, "Right?!"

       "Uh…right…just kidding," He said without even a tiny bit of sincerity.

       "You're buying me a new table!" Xander complained, "It's only six-months old and you already defiled it!"

       "You can't defile a pool table," Spike argued, "Didn't defile the hot tub, now did it?"

       "Spike, just…shut up," Buffy glanced at Cordelia, who was going red in the face, since it was her hot tub in question.

       "You're cleaning it," Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest, scowling, "God…is there anything you guys haven't had sex on, under or around?!"

       "Oh, look! We're here!" Buffy threw the door open as soon as Spike stopped the car, and the vampire yelped, scrambling back as the car was flooded with light. "Oops! Sorry, honey," she slammed the door shut again, safely on the other side.

       Oz handed Spike his blanket, which he covered up with as the other kids climbed out of the car, and Oz gave him a look, "You're never allowed near my van."

       "Too late," Spike muttered beneath his breath as Oz climbed out. He drew the blanket more firmly around himself before getting out as well, frowning slightly when he didn't hear any bitching, or arguing. He glanced towards Buffy, who was staring in the direction of the cabin, eyes slightly wide, and he followed her gaze, nearly groaning.

       "Harris! You idiot! You said this was a nice place!"

       "It was," Xander said lamely, staring at the broken-down cabin in some disappointment. He hadn't been there since he was eight, but he seemed to have remembered it looking larger…and more livable then. The porch of the cabin was missing several boards; the porch roof was sinking in some spots, and the swing had broken one chain, the others holding on by sheer will alone. Tattered, frayed white curtains hung in the windows, which were missing several frames of glass. The woods pressed in around them on all sides, rather closer to the cabin then he remembered. The only real clear spot in the yard was near the tool shed, about fifteen feet from the cabin. "Maybe it looks better on the inside…"

       "It'd better…or I'll be forced to rip your spine out through your nostrils," Spike growled as he went around the car to pop the trunk, grabbing he and Buffy's duffel bags and slinging them over his shoulder before heading up towards the porch, carefully placing his feet down, so not to fall through the rotted wood. The others grabbed their bags in silence, either too shocked or disheartened to rip Xander a new one like Spike wanted too. He had been promised a weekend in a cabin out in the woods, rustically romantic setting. Instead, he got a cabin which looked like it would be better off with the company of a few oily rags and matches.

       Xander and the others joined him on the porch, carrying overnight bags and groceries; Xander leaned over to unlock the door, grunting in frustration when the key wouldn't turn in the lock, "Damn it!" He punched the door as he straightened, and then Spike snorted as the door collapsed inward, making Xander jump as it crashed against the floor with a hollow thud.

       "Smooth move, Whelp."

       "Shut up, Spike," Xander sighed in exasperation, shaking his head as he bent to grab his bags to go into the dark interior of the cabin. He nearly screamed when a loud crashing sound came from his left, everyone else jumping as well. The porch swing was swinging back and forth on its three chains, erratically jerking after having slammed into the side of the cabin. He glanced towards everyone else, who was staring at the swing, a little freaked out looking, Spike included. "Aww…is Spikey-wikey scared of a little wind?" He taunted, and Spike glared at him, and sent a pointed look towards the trees, whose leaves weren't even rustling a tiny bit.

       "What wind?"

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       Xander's an idiot, Spike's horny, Willow's blushing, Oz is kinda quiet, Cordelia's bitching, and Buffy felt up Spike's crotch. (What? Like you don't want too? Please.) Also, there was a big, creepy bridge, Xander accused Spike of pussing out, a pool table and hot tub were defiled, the cabin REALLY sucks and the porch swing has a life of its own, but nothing really squicky has happened yet. You are now lulled into a false sense of security.

Part Two

       "Aw, come on, guys, it really isn't that bad…"

       Everyone glared at Xander, save for Spike, who was too busy trying to repair the door, the toolbox they had found out in the shed open beside him. Every available surface of the cabin was covered with a fine sifting of dust, there was a notable lack of furniture that was wasn't torn with stuffing sticking out of it. Unidentifiable stains marred the wood of the floor. They had least found out where the boards from the porch had gone. The windows had been boarded up…from the inside.

       "When we get home, me and Uncle Rory are going to have words," Spike growled from beside the door. He hadn't even looked at the other rooms yet, but he didn't think it'd be very promising. He didn't even want to know what the beds looked like.

       "Okay, so, Uncle Rory hadn't been up here for a few years…but the people he rented the cabin too didn't complain…" Xander frowned, "But they took off without paying him…"

       "Gee, I wonder why," Cordelia sniffed, "Could be the place was a freaking dump and they turned around the second they saw it? Like we should do?"

       "Does anyone really feel like getting in Spike's car for another six hours?" Xander asked, and was met with silence, "Didn't think so. All right, so, the cabin's a little disappointing. But, hey! It's all about the adventure, right?" That was met with silence as well, and Xander groaned, "Come on! This weekend is only going to suck if you let it suck! But hey!" Xander pointed towards the fireplace, "We light a fire, sit down, talk, cuddle with our respective partners…pretend that we don't see Spike trying to stick his hand up Buffy's shirt…and it's all good, right? All romantic…and…shit."

       Cordelia sighed when Xander looked at her with a hang-dog expression, "Sounds great," She said half-heartedly, but he immediately brightened.

       "All right, then!" Xander clapped his hands together, "Oz and I can chop wood, while you girls get the marshmallows ready?"

       "Door's fixed…just don't be pounding on it," Spike said as he straightened, and Xander grinned.

       "See? The weekend's already looking up! The manly men will make fire for our women, and we have a door!"

       "Yay," Buffy pumped her fist in the air, but Xander didn't seem to notice the sarcastic overtones to her voice as he shot her a smile as he and Oz headed out the door. Buffy shook her head as she looked around the cabin, "Well, at least we don't have to worry about Spike getting any sun exposure," She gestured at the boarded up windows, "That's one worry taken care of already."

       "Yeah…but kinda strange, innit?" Spike asked, glancing at the windows, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Don't you board up windows to protect the glass? So…why would someone board up the windows from the inside?"

       "You ever meet Xander's Uncle Rory, Spike?" Willow asked, twirling a finger near her temple, "He's not all there upstairs. Plus, he has a little bit of a drinking problem…"

       "Maybe so…doesn't explain why he'd rip up the porch to cover the windows though…"

       "Who cares? It's done so we don't have too," Cordelia replied, grabbing up a grocery bag and heading towards the kitchen.

       Spike shook his head in irritation, but smiled as Buffy wrapped his arms around his waist from behind. "Stop being such a worry-wart," She advised him, "Okay, so the cabin isn't as romantic as Xander made it sound…but that's never really stopped us before, right?"

       "Damn straight," Spike turned in Buffy's arms, leaning down to kiss her, but was startled by Cordelia screaming. He immediately broke off with her and raced towards the kitchen, Willow and Buffy on his heels. He ran into it to see Cordelia screaming her head off, backed up against the counter, her grocery bag lying on the floor.

       "Rat! It's a rat!" Cordelia shrieked at him, "Kill it!" Buffy abruptly turned and fled the kitchen with a yelp, and Willow peered around the doorframe, carefully remaining out of the near vicinity of the vicious rodent.

       Spike peered into the corner where was pointing, a dark spot between the oven and old-fashioned fridge, and indeed, he could see something furry in there, but it wasn't moving. He glanced around the kitchen, and saw a broom propped up against the counter near Cordelia, and grabbed it, carefully nudging the ball of fur out. When it was nearly out, he apparently poked it a little too hard, and the body burst open, internal organs spilling out onto the floor, and he gagged at the scent the suddenly filled the entire room. He backed away, grateful that he didn't need to breathe as he started to look around for a trash bag with which to dispose of the body.

       Cordelia covered her nose with a groan, eyes fixated to the rat's body with morbid fascination, and she nearly screamed when she saw the body jerk suddenly, its head turning a bit in her direction, black, eyeless holes staring up at her, "OH GOD! It's still alive!" Spike whirled to see that the body was indeed wriggling, and Cordelia screamed again, backing away from the moving rat. "It's a zombie!"

       "Calm down!" Spike snapped at her as he finally found a trash bag, and he approached the rat again, holding his broomstick like a weapon now. He carefully poked the dead animal. Cordelia turned about six different shades of green when the head suddenly burst open with a sickening pop and a torrent of writhing, pale maggots poured out, along with ropey, half decomposed strands of gray matter. Cordelia spun, staggering back into the main room, with a revolted moan.

       Spike grimaced as he carefully swept the dead animal and parasites into the bag, very firmly wrapping it up. He shoved it into a trash can near the backdoor, shuddering a tiny bit. He may be a vampire…but even maggots managed to gross him out, big time. At least he could assure the girls there were no other rats in the house. They were cannibalistic little buggers, and would have been all over their friend like Xander on a box of Ho-Hos.

       He returned to the girls, to see them holding their overnight bags to their chests, eyes wide. Cordelia was sitting on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, looking fairly traumatized. "We are soooo not staying in the house with zombie rats!" Buffy said shrilly, "We're going home!"

       "Luv, it wasn't a zombie…just had bugs in it…" Okay, that didn't help to reassure his girlfriend any, since her eyes had gone even wider, and Willow's face had gone a whiter shade of pale. "There's no more rats, all right? They would have eaten him if there were. Promise."

       "They're probably in the cellar," Willow said, pointing towards a trapdoor in the floor he had failed to notice before, "What if there's more down there?"

       Spike sighed, "I'll go down and check for `em, if it'll make you feel better," He told them, crossing the room and kneeling beside the trapdoor. He frowned slightly, "Buffy? Be a pet and hand me the hammer? Door's been nailed shut…"

       "Ew! No! Leave it like that then," Buffy shuddered, "At least they can't get up if it's nailed shut."

       "What's down there, you think?" Willow asked, calming down a little bit, feeling better that the trapdoor was nailed shut. She couldn't explain it, but knowing that it couldn't be opened made her feel…safer. "Why would someone nail it shut?"

       "Ladder or stairs rotted out, most likely," Spike told her, straightening, "Keep people from going down there and hurting themselves," He nodded his head at Cordelia, "Is she all right?"

       "I'm fine," Cordelia answered, shaking her head slightly, "Just don't ask me to go into the kitchen anytime soon, and I'll be even better." She jumped, nearly screaming when the door suddenly slammed open.

       "Harris, you git! I just fixed that thing! I told you not to do that!"

       "Sorry," Xander laid the ax he had slung over his shoulder next to the door, and frowned when he looked around at everyone, seeing the looks on the girls' faces and the way Cordelia was holding her knees tightly to her chest. He dropped his load of wood near the fireplace, "Okay, what happened?"

       "Dead rat," Spike said simply, "Not a pretty sight."

       Oz came in with his arms full of wood as well, "Dead what?"

       "The girls got freaked out over one little dead rat," Xander replied in a teasing voice, only to be met with death glares from aforementioned girls, and wisely refrained from further comment on the subject.

       "Just light a fire, Whelp," Spike grabbed his duffel and a sleeping bag, glancing towards Buffy with a raised eyebrow.

       She hurriedly grabbed up her bags, and grinned abashedly at the looks her friends shot her, "We're…just going to get our bedroom ready, we'll be right out."

       "Right," Cordelia snorted as their bedroom door slammed shut, "More like christening it."

       Xander rolled his eyes as he knelt before the fireplace, packing it with the wood they had cut and old newspaper. For good measure, he took the bottle of lighter fluid and doused it liberally.

       "Uh…Xander? Isn't that a bit much?" Oz asked as he backed away from the fireplace.

       "No way…you can never use too much lighter fluid," He struck a match, and tossed it in. He yelped, scrambling backwards on his hands as it lit up with a `WHOOMPH!', a fireball shooting out towards him, nearly singeing his face. "SHIT! Now that's a fire!"

       The bedroom, Spike was heartened to see, wasn't as in bad a shape as the rest of the cabin. The mattress smelled a bit like mildew, but not enough to bother Buffy in the least. He heard Buffy come in behind him, and he smirked as he unfurled the sleeping bag, and laid it across the bed before she could see the somewhat dubious stains on it. She might refuse to sleep on it if she saw them, and there was no way he was spending the weekend on the floor.

       Buffy dropped her overnight bag by the door, smiling almost evilly as she watched Spike carefully spreading the bag over the bed, and then removed his duster, tossing it towards a chair in the corner. He turned to face her, but a startled cry was wrenched from him as he was shoved backwards. He bounced against the mattress, and Buffy was immediately crawling on top of him. She grabbed his hands before he could try and touch her, and pinned them over his head, leaning downwards to kiss him heatedly.

       "Hmm…" Buffy broke the kiss, panting a bit, "Dead rats and creepy swings aside…this could be a pretty nice weekend."

       "That's the plan," Spike replied, not even bothering to try and make her give up her position above him. He loved it when his girl went the forceful route. "Out in the middle of nowhere…no one can hear you scream, you know…"

       "What about the four other people in the next room?" Buffy asked, letting go of his hands to slowly unbutton the dark blue shirt he was wearing, exposing his smooth, hard chest.

       "Sod them…might learn a thing or two from us," Spike told her, grinning wickedly. Buffy frowned down at him, deciding he was far too cocking looking at the moment. She lowered her mouth to his chest, doing a fair imitation of his famous smirk when he gasped as she not so gently closed her teeth around his flat nipple.

       She loved the sounds he made as she licked, kissed and nibbled on the skin of his chest; whether it was his sharp inhalations of breath he didn't need when she sucked on his skin, leaving hickey marks wherever she went, or the small whimpers and subdued snarls when she teased him by dipping her tongue into his navel, she loved them all.

       Spike watched as she slowly unzipped his jeans, her eyes on him the entire time, eyes twinkling with a glint of mischievousness as she reached inside, watching as he closed his eyes with a groan as her fingers enclosed around his hard length and drew it out. They immediately flew open when he felt her hot, moist mouth sliding over him.

       "God, baby…" He moaned, "No one sucks cock better then you…" He frowned, lifting his head when Buffy's mouth suddenly disappeared, and he stared up at her in confusion when he saw her glaring at him, hands on her hips. "Why'd you stop?"

       "God, Spike…you're…so…so romantically retarded, it's not even funny," She groused.

       "I thought you liked it when I talked dirty," He said in genuine bewilderment…and a little bit of pain as he started to edge into blue ball territory.

       "Yeah…but…" She pouted, which wasn't helping him any, "All you do is talk dirty…you used to say…really sweet things to me."

       "Yeah…but then you started sleeping with me, so what was the point?" He laughed as she swatted his stomach.

       "I'm serious!" Buffy protested, teasingly closing her fingers around him again, stroking him in feather soft touches that made his stomach start to quiver, and she pressed her lips against the vibrating muscles. "You used to recite poetry…and Shakespeare to me. And this whole weekend is supposed to be all about the romantic…and what I get is `no one sucks cock better then you?!'"

       "Fine..." Spike smiled at her wickedly, and his face took on a thoughtful cast, "Let's see…romantic…romantic…hmmm …" She didn't trust the look on his face on little tiny bit, and she squeezed the hard flesh in her hand in retribution. However, it had the opposite effect she intended since he moaned loudly, eyes clouding slightly. She let go of him once again, and he looked up at her with a tortured look. "Aw…luv…"

       "Fine,' She sighed, "But you better be making big with the romance later…"

       "Pet…go back to what you were doing, and I'll bloody put on a dress and sing love ballads in front of the entire gang."

       "Watch out…I might hold you to that." She warned him, but any sarcastic reply he had to that was lost in the sound of his moans as she returned her mouth to its `rightful' place, and he fisted his hand in her blond hair.

       He squirmed against her, even though her hands were braced against his hips in an attempt to hold him still, broken pants and strung-out phrases that really made no sense. Okay, she loved that about him too…the second she put her mouth on him, he went completely incoherent, and he made the cutest little growls and snarls when she swirled her tongue in all the right places and raked her teeth over his rigid staff. His body started to shake as he neared release, and cried out as Buffy's took him down to the root, his hand tightening his grip on her hair as his eyes rolled back in his head as he came.

       His semen dribbled out of the sides of Buffy's mouth as she carefully let his cock slip out from between her lips. Spike trained his somewhat glazed eyes on her as he watched her very deliberately swallow when he was looking at her. She turned an amused glance down as his cock hardened again almost immediately. There was another thing she loved about him. Very quick recovery time.

       She stood up as he started to kick his jeans off of his legs, eyes on her as she started to strip off her clothes. She let her blouse drop to the floor before sliding her pants down her legs, and as soon as they were off, Spike reached out and snaked an arm around her waist, jerking her onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

       He had his head between her legs, working diligently towards her second orgasm when the screams started.

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       We discovered that Xander has a promising career in arson, Cordelia was attacked by a zombie rat, (Well, not really) Spike was still horny …and completely squicked by the maggots, Oz was quiet…again. Uncle Rory's a raving loony and probably an alcoholic, (Someone needs to do an intervention for Uncle Rory. Seriously. I'm worried about him, man.) Trapdoors are scary, even when nailed shut, and there was gratuitous acts of violence against wood. Buffy apparently sucks cock better then anyone else, Spike's romantically retarded and possibly has to don a dress to sing love ballads later for getting a blow job. (We all think Buffy is crazy now. I mean…COME ON! You've seen Spike, right? Eh...never mind. She did worse to him in exchange for sex in Season Six.) However, that didn't keep them from getting up to the naughty stuff, which was interrupted by screams. WHEW. That was a long chapter.

Part Three

       "Xander! You're such an IDIOT!" Cordelia glared at her boyfriend as she hugged herself, but he didn't seem to hear her as he was laughing his ass off, still holding the brown, tattered sock in his hand. He had thought it'd be hilarious to throw it at her and Willow, screaming, `Oh my God! It's a demon rat!'

       She wondered if he'd think it was funny when she forced him to sleep in Spike's car for the rest of the weekend. He was WAY wrong if he thought he was getting ANY ever AGAIN!

       They all looked up as Spike burst out of the bedroom, hair, usually so carefully slicked back, now a wild mass of unruly curls. He was shirtless, and his jeans were zipped, just barely, but he hadn't bothered to button them. Of course, Willow and Cordelia both stared at him, mouths gaping open.

       Xander immediately stopped laughing when he saw Spike, even paling a bit when the blonde's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Um…hey, Spike…"

       "What in the soddin' hell is going on out here?!" He snarled at Xander angrily, as Buffy came out the bedroom, looking as tousled as Spike. She rolled her eyes as Xander stammered out a lame answer, and plopped onto the floor beside Cordelia and Willow, raising an eyebrow when she saw they were ogling her boyfriend.

       "He threw a sock at us and said it was a demon rat," Cordelia tattled, and Spike growled loudly.

       "Cordy!" Xander whined, and grinned sickly at Spike, "Sorry, man…wasn't thinking…"

       "Harris, you little shit…if you ever interrupt us like that again, I will rip the top of your head off and scoop your brains out with a spoon…" He whirled and went into the bedroom. Two seconds later, he was back, staring at Buffy, who was now roasting a marshmallow on a stick Cordelia had given her. "Um…luv…?"

       "Put a shirt on, honey," Buffy replied wearily, "I'm so not in the mood anymore."

       Spike shot Xander another deadly look before heading back into the bedroom to grab his shirt, and Xander wisely scuttled to as far away from Buffy he could get, but still reach the marshmallows and fire. Spike was not a happy camper…literally.

       Spike came stomping out, a petulant look on his face as he collapsed next to Buffy, grumbling as he took the stick she handed him, and savagely speared a marshmallow, shooting a pointed look at Xander as he did so.

       "Okay…okay, I got one…" Xander grinned, taking a healthy swig of his beer before looking at Spike, "Okay…this one's great…Willy told it to me when I got the beer. So, a vampire walks into a bar…"

       Oz groaned, "Not this one…"

       "Shut up, you'll ruin the punch line," Xander said, holding up a hand, "Okay, so a vampire walks into a bar…and orders a glass of warm blood…"

       "Is that the joke? I don't get it…" Buffy frowned from her position between Spike's legs. She was leaning against his chest, wrapped up in his duster; when night fell, the temperature in the cabin had dropped pretty suddenly, and everyone, save for Spike was now wearing either sweaters or sweatshirts, despite the fire's warmth. She held a can of lukewarm beer in her hand, grimacing every time she took a sip of it. Despite not liking the taste, she was well into her third one; probably hoping, like everyone else, the cabin's condition would improve with inebriation.

       "No, it's not the joke," Xander huffed, "I'd finish it if you guys would stop yapping…" He shook his head, "Anyway, a vampire walks into a bar and orders a glass of warm blood. Then a second vampire walks into the bar, and orders a glass of warm blood as well…then Spike walks into the bar…" Xander grinned evilly when Spike looked at him sharply, "And orders a glass of warm water…"

       "Why am I in this joke?"

       "Hey, don't blame me, Willy told it to me…and probably because you're British," Xander replied, narrowing his eyes at Spike, "Now, do you wanna hear the rest of it or what? All right, so Spike walks into the bar and orders a glass of warm water…and the bartender's confused, and he asks Spike, `Why did you order warm water and not blood like the other vampires?' `Because,' Spike replies, pulling a used tampon out of his pocket, `I'm having tea.'"

       "EEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" The three girls squealed in disgust, as Xander practically fell over backwards, he was laughing so hard. Even Oz had started to chuckle at the look on Spike's face.

       "I'm going to break the little snitch's face," Spike scowled down at Buffy, who had started to giggle, and then he smirked evilly, "Don't have to do that anyway…get it straight from the source…"

       Buffy abruptly stopped giggling when her friends looked towards her with wide eyes, and Xander had stopped laughing to stare at Buffy as well. "Okay…now that's gross, Buffers."

       "Spike, you are such a dick," Buffy smacked his chest before wriggling out of his duster and stalking towards the kitchen to get another beer, grumbling beneath her breath the entire way. "Stupid, big-mouthed vampires who don't know when…" The rest of her tirade was cut off as she entered the kitchen.

       "Spike, that was so mean," Willow swatted his arm, "She's so going to beat you up later."

       "Maybe not," Spike looked in the direction Buffy had gone in, and then at Xander, who was adding more wood to the fire. Oz had gotten up to head into the kitchen to grab another drink as well. Spike grabbed his coat and dragged it towards him. "I got it," He said in a low voice, and Willow's eyes widened as she watched him remove a small, black box from his duster pocket.

       "Oh, my God, Spike…" Willow gasped as he popped it open, drawing Cordelia's attention towards them, "Wow…it's…um…wow."

       "Oh…my…Gawd…" Spike jerked in surprise when Cordelia grabbed the box out of his hand, to stare down into it, "This is from Tiffany's!"

       "Shhh!" Spike hissed at her, "Keep it down," He snatched the box back from her, glancing down at the solitaire diamond ring with the white-gold band. It reflected the firelight, fiery beams of orange playing inside it. He snapped the box shut, and slipped it back into his duster before Buffy could return to the room, looking up at the other girls, "Was going to do it this weekend…but this hellhole wasn't exactly what I had in mind for the atmosphere…"

       "Well…it's the thought that counts…" Willow said unsurely.

       "Red…it's a proposal…not a crappy present you get from your Aunt Edna for your birthday. It was supposed to be sipping red wine by the fireside…not exploding rats, mildew and Harris' comedy hour. Knew I shoulda sprung for the bed and breakfast by the seaside."

       "With a rock that size, you could propose to her in a dirty porta-potty, and she'd still say yes," Cordelia said, looking a little starry-eyed, "Hell…I love Xander, but if you handed me that thing, I'd say yes."

       "Well…you'll be my back-up if she says no," Spike joked, despite the nervous look that briefly crossed his face, which disappeared when Buffy appeared again with Oz, beer in hand.

       She scowled at him, but still plopped onto his lap, causing him to wince as she put all over weight on a particular sensitive part of his anatomy; probably purposely. "Putting on a bit of weight, aren't we, baby?" He teased, but then kissed her temple and whispered in her ear, "Like my Slayer all plump and curvy…and succulent…"

       "You would, you freak," She mumbled, but he caught the faint, pleased smile that flashed across her lips, despite her attempt to at least look like she was still pissed at him. He smiled and rested his chin on top of her head, his arms wrapping around her firmly.

       "Okay…" Xander clapped his hands together excitedly when everyone was together and settled once more, "Who wants to tell scary stories?"

       Spike groaned, "Who died and made you cruise director?" He asked, "Scary stories? You're in the room with a vampire, a Slayer, a witch and a werewolf…and you want to tell scary stories? What story could possibly faze us?"

       "Telling scary stories is a camping tradition," Xander said firmly, "We have to do it."

       "You know what else is a camping tradition? Chasing half naked girls through the woods with knives…but I don't see you suggesting that."

       "Spike…he's talking real camping traditions, not the ones on the cheap, B-horror movies with bad lighting, horrible special effects and actresses who are chronically unable to keep from tripping when someone's chasing them you seem to love so much," Buffy told him, rolling her eyes, "And I'm so not happy that you think about chasing half-naked girls through the woods with cutlery."

       "Aw…luv…you're the only girl I'd chase half-naked through the woods with pointy weaponry," Spike promised, and she smiled up at him, giving him a peck on the corner of his mouth.

       "You know," Cordelia wrinkled her nose, "What you guys find romantic…scares the crap out of normal people."

       "So? What do you say, guys? Scary stories?" Xander grinned, and then jumped when a crash of thunder sounded, fairly close by, and Spike looked up as the lights flickered. "Whoa…talk about great timing."

       Spike sighed as the lights flickered again as more thunder rolled above them, and then there was a sizzling sound as the lights finally gave up and died, plunging the room in darkness. "Bloody hell…"

       Willow looked upwards at the dead lights, waiting for them to come back on, feeling a thread of panic move through her. "The…the power lines aren't down, right?"

       "Doubt it," Spike glanced at Willow, noting that her heart rate had sped up considerably, and her face appeared deathly pale in the firelight. "Sounded like a fuse just blew."

       "So…we can get the lights back on?" Cordelia asked hopefully.

       "Oh, come on, we'll fix them in the morning! This is the perfect atmosphere for scary stories!" Xander replied, but Oz glanced at Willow before hugging an arm around her and pulling her close.

       "Naw, man…let's just get the lights on," Oz replied, ignoring Xander's petulant look, "Where's the fuse box?"

       "In the cellar," Xander replied, sighing in defeat as he stood up, and went to dig around in one of the bags till he found a flashlight and flicked it on. "Who wants to do the honors?"

       He shined the light towards Spike's face, and the vampire flinched, bringing up an arm with a growl. "Get that out of my eyes before I shove it up your soddin' arse, Harris!"

       "Jeez…you are one cranky vamp."

       Spike rolled his eyes as he gently dislodged Buffy from his lap, not seeing the wide-eyed look she gave him, "You guys can't go in the cellar! The rats are down there!"

       "There's no rats," Spike said, sighing, "Would have heard them by now if there was any," He grabbed the hammer from the tool box and knelt down by the cellar,  shoving the prongs down into the crack between the door and floor and gave it a hard wrench, the nails giving with a screech.

       Willow chewed on her bottom lip as she watched Spike lift the trapdoor, and Buffy went towards her boyfriend's side, "Spike…screw the fuses…we'll…we'll just go to bed, all right? We'll change them in the morning…"

       Spike looked up at her, and then glanced towards Willow and Cordelia, who had drawn closer together, looking terrified out of their minds. "It'll take me five minutes, tops," Spike told Buffy, "Might as well do it now," He moved to the other side and wrenched the nails loose from that end as well.

       He pulled the door open, and Buffy stepped back with a gasp as a wave putrid, hot air rushed out of the opened cellar; despite the warmth of it, goose bumps broke out all over her skin. She leaned forward and peered into the darkness as Spike took the flashlight from Xander. He shined it down into the darkness, and Buffy's body shuddered convulsively when the light didn't even to semi-pierce the shadows of the cellar.

       "Hey, pet…" She looked up, smiling wanly when Spike smirked at her confidently, "Five minutes…promise."

       "Right," She muttered beneath her breath, taking a deep breath as Spike carefully started down the rotted stairs, clasping her hands in front of her and twisting them together, "Five minutes…"

       She still felt a flutter of dread despite his assurances as she watched the blackness swallow her boyfriend completely.

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       Xander's still an idiot, Oz had spoke in like…three whole sentences, a sock tried to kill Cordy and Willow. (Not because it was demonic…it was on Xander's foot all day. Believe me…it was frightening to them.) Xander's not getting any for the next millennium, gratuitous violence against marshmallows, and to the disappointment of all, getting drunk off their asses didn't make the cabin look any better. Spike was the butt of a gross joke, and Buffy stormed off for more beer when Spike turned the joke on her…and then he showed Willow and Cordelia a HUGE ass rock. A diamond, for those of you who are skimming ahead towards the smut and violence. Yes, I know you're doing it. I know all. Cordelia wants to marry Spike now and apparently thinks porta-potties are romantic (She's been with Xander for WAY too long) and Spike promised that he wouldn't chase after a half-naked chick with a knife, unless it was Buffy. (Awwwwww! That's practically a proposal right there.) A storm blew up suddenly, (Spppoookkkyyy) and the power went out (Even Spookier). Spike bravely volunteered to go down into the Cellar of Death to change the fuses, while we all screamed at the screen, `No! You idiot! Don't go into the cellar! It's nailed shut for a reason, moron!' Hell…I'm writing this crap, and even I screamed that at the screen!

Part Four

       "Where is he?!" Buffy peered down into the darkness below, the feeling of dread compounding itself, "He's been down there for ten minutes!"

       "Relax, Buff," Xander was sitting on the broken down couch, nursing a beer, "He's probably can't find the extra fuses."

       "Then he should have come to the bottom of the stairs and told us!" Buffy snapped at Xander, "I'm going down after him…where's a flashlight?"

       "We only brought one," Willow spoke up sheepishly, "We…we didn't think we needed them, since this place has electricity."

       "Great! Xander, I thought you were a boy scout! Didn't the `always be prepared' thing stick with you?!" Buffy asked sarcastically, "Or does that only apply as far as the extra box of twinkies?"

       Xander blinked in surprise at her outburst, and Willow got up to wrap an arm around Buffy, hoping to reassure her, "Buffy, I'm sure he's fine…it's not like there's anything in the cellar that's going to eat him…" I hope, she added in her mind, trying hard to keep the smile plastered to her face. Frankly, she was just as worried as Buffy, but she didn't want to facilitate her best friend's fears. "Xander's right…he's probably just can't find the fuses…"

       Buffy shook her head, breaking away from Willow to lean over the trap door and call into the cellar. "Spike! SPIKE!" It felt like the darkness consumed her voice, not allowing it to travel, but she was sure he should be able to hear her. It wasn't like it was all that big a basement. "SPIKE! Answer me, damn you!"

       She lifted wide, panicked eyes up to Willow when he still didn't answer, "Something's happened to him…"

       "Hey…" Oz appeared beside them, holding a lit lantern, "Uncle Rory did something right, at least."

       Buffy moved to grab it from him, but he stepped back, shaking his head, "I'll go down," He said, flickering his gaze towards Willow and Cordelia pointedly. Xander was looking rather unaffected by the whole thing, but the other two girls were looking even more freaked out then before. He moved down the steps before Buffy could protest, and into the shadows themselves.

       "Spike?" Oz frowned as he reached the bottom of the stairs, eyes narrowing as he attempted to see through the darkness. No one answered him, and he sighed as he moved farther into the basement, looking around curiously, nose wrinkled against the musty, mildew scent that covered permeated it.

       There didn't appear to be much down there, except entire loads of junk; at least there weren't rats that he could see. "Spike? Come on, man…this isn't funny…Buffy's having a fit upstairs, and she's going to beat the crap out of you if you don't cut it OUT!"

       Something bright suddenly flared, right near his face, and Oz flinched away instinctively, staggering to the side, dropping the lantern on the dirt floor. He ran up against a shelf along the damp wall, and jerked with a sharp intake of breath when a pale face leapt up at him, teeth going for his throat.

       Oz batted it away with a shout, losing his usual composure, and he nearly screamed as he slammed backwards into a hard wall of flesh, arms grabbing onto his shoulders.

       "Whoa, mate! Calm down! It's just me!"

       "Jesus…" Oz tried to calm his erratic breathing as Spike let go of him, "Don't do that to me…" He glanced at the `thing' that had tried to eat him, nearly groaning when he saw the deer skull that he had slapped down to the floor; the bright flash of light had been a light bulb that was hanging from a cord in the ceiling. Spike had fixed the fuses, apparently.

       He shook his head, turning to face Spike, glaring at him, "What the hell is wrong with you? Didn't you hear us yelling?"

       "No…sound doesn't carry real well down here," Spike explained, "Probably `cause of all the junk. Anyway, come and see what I found."

       "I don't think so, man…Buffy's…" Oz sighed as Spike ignored him, heading towards the back of the cellar. Oz glanced towards the stairs uneasily, and then shook his head again before following after Spike. Spike's flashlight played ahead of them, and Oz frowned when he saw what looked like an office sat up in the far corner of the cellar.

       A desk lay there, covered in papers, an antique banker's lamp illuminating it. Polished brass shone in the dim light, part of an old phonograph, as well as large, bulky voice recorder that was thirty years out of date; threaded with reels instead of a tape. However, unlike the rest of the items in the basement, it wasn't covered in inches of dust. It hadn't been down there for all that long.

       "That's weird…" Oz muttered, "Who'd set up an office in the basement?"

       "Dunno…ole Rory sounds like a crazy old coot, if there ever was one. Maybe liked the privacy?" Spike replied absently as he and Oz started sifting through the papers on the desk. Spike raised an eyebrow as he found a long, lethal looking dagger beneath them and held it up for Oz to see. The handle looked to be carved of some sort of bone…possibly ivory, a screaming skull adorning the bottom of the hilt. "What I say? Crazy old coot…think he was sacrificing virgins up here with this thing?"

       Oz snorted, shrugging his shoulders, "If so, I think we're all safe."

       Spike chuckled as he slipped the dagger into the back of his jeans, deciding not to leave it down there rotting with the rest of the junk. It was pretty damn cool looking…and he could never have too many weapons.

       "I think Uncle Rory has some interesting hobbies on the side," Oz said, and Spike glanced towards him, watching as he held up a leather bound book; the leather was thick, and scarred heavily, apparently the worse for wear. The scarring almost looked…like a face. Spike shook his head at that thought.

       Oz flipped open the book, frowning as he stared at the foreign, unfamiliar writings, cocking his head as he stared at the nightmarish images drawn inside. Demons, human body parts, a hand, severed from a body, fingers curled to claw, drawn back like a cobra preparing to strike…

       "I think Uncle Rory has more then just a drinking problem," Spike muttered, picking up the voice recorder, "Come on…let's take this stuff upstairs…I'm thinking the others are going to want to take a peek at Rory's extracurricular activities."

       "SPIKE!" Buffy practically threw herself at the blonde as he climbed up out of the cellar, nearly making him drop the voice recorder. She hugged him tightly, and then pulled back, punching him square in the face. Spike stumbled back with a curse, shifting the bulky recorder to one arm so that he could touch his tenderized nose. "You asshole! I was freaking out up here why you were digging through trash?!" Two seconds later, she was throwing herself at him once more, hugging him close, "God…I was so worried!"

       "Y'know…these mood-swings of yours are enough to drive a bloke insane," Spike grumbled, but he kissed the top of her head. Even if she went psycho-Slayer on him, he was still touched that she was worried about him. "Sorry, pet. Didn't mean for you to fret."

        "We found some weird stuff down there," Oz said as Spike disentangled himself from Buffy's grasp to set down the recorder on the floor near the fireplace, and Buffy frowned when she saw the dagger sticking out of the back of his jeans. "Xander, what kind of stuff is your uncle into?"

       "What? Rory?" Xander looked down at the book Oz handed him, opening it up and peering down at the pictures and writing, "No way this is Rory's."

       "Jeez…remind me to never get on his bad side," Buffy said as she withdrew the dagger from Spike's pants, peering down at the screaming skull, "Creepy much?"

        "I'm telling you guys, this isn't Rory's crap," Xander insisted, handing the book back to Oz.

       "If it isn't Rory's, who does it belong too?" Willow asked, eyeing the recorder speculatively, wondering if there was some sort of clue on it.

       "Mine now," Spike snatched the dagger from Buffy with a grin, and she playfully tried to grab it from him, a playful wrestling match ensuing.

       "Will you guys grow up?" Cordelia snapped at them, and Buffy and Spike looked at her in surprise. She looked away from them, back into the fire, hugging her arms around her, shuddering, despite the heat coming off of the flames.

       Xander raised an eyebrow in Cordelia's direction, "Honey? You all right?"

       "I'm fine," She muttered irritably, "Just peachy. Why wouldn't I be?"

       Spike shook his head as he plopped down next to the recorder, pulling Buffy down on top of him again, and setting the dagger aside, "Should take a look at the book, Red…you're a bit of a Junior Watcher and all…"

       "Am not," Willow blushed, obviously flattered by the compliment Spike paid her, and obligingly took the book from Oz, raising an eyebrow as she began to flip through it, "I don't recognize the language at all…was it familiar looking to you, Spike? Is a demon thing?"

       "Not any that I know of," Spike replied, peeking over her shoulder, "Well…looks a little like Satasie…but it's not. Maybe some form of Ancient Satasie?"

       "What the hell is Sashtie?" Buffy asked, and Spike sighed.

       "Satasie, poodle…and Satasie are pretty much harmless…all bark, no bite…look a bit like giant squirrels. Don't think there are many of them around anymore."

       "Giant squirrels wrote this?" Willow frowned down at the diagram of an eyeball, optic nerves hanging behind it, dripping blood across the page. "Freaky little rodents."

       Spike chuckled, "They go for the smoke and mirrors bit…bare their teeth, growl, snarl, try to appear threatening…but if they're challenged…they scamper off right quick. They're not much for spells or ceremony either…more of the `breed obsessively, and die after a short lifespan' type."

       "Nice," Willow snapped the book shut with a sigh, "Well, Giles might have better luck with the giant squirrel creepy book translation." She turned her attention to the recorder, "Should we listen to it?"

       "No!"

       Everyone jumped, shooting startled looks at Cordelia, who was twisting a thick strand of hair in her fingers. "Cordy?" Xander eyed his girlfriend worriedly, "You all right? You've been kinda acting weird since we got here."

       "I…I just…" Cordelia shook her head, unable to find a voice to her anxiety. She just didn't like the book, the cellar, or the recorder thing; she also didn't like the way her friends were staring at her like she was insane. "It's…it's been a long day," She finally conceded with a sigh, "Drank too much…"

       "You want to go lay down?" Willow suggested, somewhat worriedly, but Cordelia shook her head, turning her gaze into the fire, offering no further protest when Spike leaned around Buffy to push the large `play' button down.

       There was a static hiss as the reels started to turn, and then a disembodied voice spoke out to the small group gathered around it.

       "My name is Julian Knowby. I am a professor of Ancient Egyptian mythology in Dextin University's ancient history department…"

       "See? This isn't so bad," Xander said to Cordelia, rolling his eyes, "It's probably a recording of one of his stupid lectures or something…" She didn't even look towards him, only drawing her knees closer to her chest, concentrating even more attention on the flickering, dancing flames, her breath catching in her throat.

       "I am recording this entry from a small cabin in the mountains of California. Here, I am staying with my wife for a few weeks so that I may continue my research undisturbed…"

       "Well, that blows the theory of them turning around and running away the second this saw this piece of crap of a cabin," Buffy observed, giggling when Spike tickled her sides, shushing her.

       "Since May, a group of associate professors and myself have been excavating the ruins of Ca'n Dar. I believe I have made an important find in that area, and thus, the reason for this log…"

       "Giant Squirrel diaries," Oz muttered, earning a smile from Willow.

       "With it, I can keep an accurate record of translations from my latest find; the first of six, the others still lost, volumes of ancient Sumerian burial practices and rites."

       Spike dropped his head on Buffy's shoulder, pretending to fall asleep with a loud snore. "Jesus…could this guy get anymore dry and boring? Sounds like the Watcher…cross-bred with Ben Stein."

       "Bueller...Bueller…Bueller" Xander imitated the actor, his voice sounding like it was stuck in slow-mo, ala his role in `Ferris Bueller's Day Off.'

       "Guys, shush," Willow admonished.

       "Basically, it is a book of do's and don'ts dealing with the deceased entitled "Necronomicon Ex Mortes," roughly translated "Book of the Dead." It is bound in human flesh, and inked with blood of the deceased…"

       In perfect synchronicity, everyone who had touched the book looked down at their hands, grimaces of disgust crossing their faces.

       "Eeeeewwwww…" Willow groaned, rubbing her hands on her jeans frantically, and Buffy immediately jumped off Spike's lap.

       "Oh…God…no more touching till you wash your hands! Creepy giant squirrels, my ass!"

       "Great, Spike…hand around the book made of PEOPLE!" Xander's face was screwed up in revulsion.

       "Hey! The Wolf was handing out the pamphlet of the Dead here, if you'd recall."

       "Hey, man…didn't know." Oz defended himself.

       "Told you," Cordelia mumbled beneath her breath, but either no one heard her or they were ignoring her.

       "This particular volume deals with demons and demon resurrection. These are of the Katardi family, meaning those forces believed to inhabit the jungles and woods of man's domain…"

       Willow glanced towards Spike, and he frowned slightly, trying to place the name. "Kind of a wood sprite thing, I think…the Katardi…like Robyn Goodfellow…nymphs…stuff like that…more mischievous then dangerous."

       "The first few pages that I have translated warn that these demons are dangerous, ever-present, and exist primarily though this book." The voice said, as if in reply to Spike's comment.

       "Or I could be wrong…"

       "As legend has it, only the sacred high priests of the Ca'n Dar tribe could possess these books, for they alone could properly control the resurrected demons. It is only through the act of reciting the resurrection passage that these demons would be able to posses the living. For many years, it was thought that this legend…"

       Impulsively, Cordelia lunged forward and slammed the stop button, the machine letting out a hiss of protest as the reels stopped turning on their spindles.

       "Hey! Cordy, what gives?" Xander asked in bewilderment, "It was finally getting good."

       "No demon squirrel wrote that book," Cordelia turned her gaze reluctantly towards the book, shuddering at the scarred, demented look of it. She felt like it had eyes and it was watching her, making her skin pinch and crawl over her flesh.

       She suddenly stood, grabbing up the book and striding towards the fire, a determined look on her face.

       "Cordelia!" Spike was on his feet in an instant, grabbing her arm before she could toss it in, "Give it back, pet…we gotta bring this thing in to the Watcher…"

       "No!" She snapped at him, "We should destroy it! Right. NOW!" She shoved Spike backwards. He managed to snag the book, and it pulled free of her grasp as he fell, his leg smacking against the recorder and sending it sliding across the floor, a hiss exploding from its speakers before the reels started to turn once more.

       "Give it back, Spike!" Cordelia stalked towards him as he scrambled backwards, and he clamored to his feet.

       "Cordy, come on! Calm down!" Xander went towards her and grabbed her arms, and she struggled against him violently.

       "Tantir-ah-mis-trobeen-ha-zar-ta…"

       "No! Throw it in the fire! NOW! DO IT! Before it's too late!" She shrieked at them, not hearing the tinny voice coming from the recorder.

       "Tantir-man-ov-mis-hazen-sober…"

       Spike glanced towards the window when a sudden buffet of wind struck the cabin, howling and battering against the walls, like it was living, breathing thing.

       "Kanda!"

       "DO IT NOW! SPIKE! DO IT!"

       "Kanda!"

       Spike turned back towards the room, looking towards the recorder, his face paling slightly, and then he was sprinting across the room.

       "KANDA!"

       Spike slammed the off button on the recorder, and then Cordelia screamed as a tree branch crashed through one of the windows, glass and boards shattering inward. Cordelia tore herself free from Xander finally, her eyes appearing glazed as she turned to gaze at Spike, dead straight in the eye, her voice oddly disjointed.

       "I hope you're happy, Spike…you've killed us all."

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       Oz went down after Spike into the creepy old cellar, and after having post-mortem Bambi attack him, he and Spike discovered a really ugly book, a recorder and a big ole creepy dagger. Buffy's relieved when Spike comes out of the Cellar of Death™, but that doesn't keep her from punching him for making her worry. Okay, I know that's mean, but don't all girls want to beat the shit out of their boyfriend for doing incredibly stupid crap? Oz handed around the book, everyone snuggled around the fire again, and Spike yapped about giant demon squirrels writing literature. They played the recording of Ben Stein against Cordelia's advice, and found out the Book was made from PEOPLE! PEOPLE! I TELL YOU! SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!!! Uh…sorry. Wrong movie. Buffy won't touch Spike till he washes his hands, oh, and they found out the book was really the Sumerian Book of the Dead. You'd think at this point, they'd start taking things seriously. Then again, this story is based on adolescent stupidity. Without it, no story. Cordelia tried to destroy the book, but Spike stopped her, after accidentally turning on the recording again, and Ben Stein started sprouting really creepy words. A tree crashed through the window, and Cordelia accused Spike of killing them all. Little melodramatic there, aren't we Cord? We can all trace this back to Uncle Rory, really…the drunk needed beer money, so he rented the cabin to some creepy old Egypt-dude and his wife. DAMN YOU UNCLE RORY! YOU'VE KILLED US ALL!

Part Five

       Silence reigned over the group for several minutes as Cordelia continued to stare accusingly at Spike. Spike was looking a little bit stunned by her accusation, as did Buffy. Without a word, she broke off her gaze with him and stalked towards the bedroom that she and Xander were sharing. The door slammed shut behind her, the door rattling in its frame. Xander stared at the closed door, apparently trying to decide whether going after her was a good idea or not.

       "What was that about?" Buffy asked, going to her boyfriend's side, and threaded her fingers through his, giving his hand a squeeze. "I mean…overreact much?"

       "I don't know…she's really upset…maybe Xander should go talk to her?" Willow suggested.

       "Do I look suicidal?"

       Willow glared at Xander as Oz moved towards the window, inspecting the branch that had broken through it. He shook his head as he shoved it back outside, "That's weird."

       "This whole place is weird," Willow muttered, shaking her head, "I think I'm funned out for the weekend…tomorrow…can we just go home?"

       "Oh, come on! We drove like…six hours to get here!" Xander protested, "I'm sure Cordy will feel better by tomorrow morning…she just doesn't hold her liquor well."

       "No, I think Willow's right," Buffy replied, chewing on her bottom lip worriedly, "This place does have some really creepy vibes…and they're getting worse…besides, we should get that book to Giles, ASAP. He'll be ticked off if we put it off till Monday."

       "Fine," Xander sighed heavily, "We'll leave first thing in the morning…"

       "I don't know, Harris," Spike looked down at Buffy, who was pressing herself against his side. "Cordelia's upset, Red's upset, Buffys' upset…hell…even I'm starting to get upset…let's just grab our shit and go…we can at least stay in town till tomorrow."

       "Does anyone really wanna go over the bridge at this time of night?" Xander asked, "If we run into trouble, we're stuck, and we'd have to hike all the way back here anyway."

       Spike sighed, giving in. As much as he hated to admit it, Xander was right. "You'll be okay till the morning, luv?" Spike asked Buffy softly, and she looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

       "Are you?" She shot back challengingly, making him chuckle.

       "What about you, Red? Wolf?"

       "Not like we have much of a choice," Willow sighed, "We're probably overreacting, anyway. Today's just been one disaster after another…" She then hastily added, "But I still wanna leave tomorrow."

       "Great…" Xander sighed, glancing at Oz, as if hoping for a bit of backup, but none was forthcoming. "Fine…tomorrow, we'll head home."

       "Why do you think Cordelia said that to you?" Buffy asked, watching Spike; to her annoyance, he had brought the book with him, and was now pacing the bedroom, thumbing through it. Perched on his nose were his cute, little wire-frame reading glasses, which he'd only wear in her presence. It had been a surprise to her to find out that even as a vampire, he still had bad eyesight; apparently, an improved vision plan wasn't in the vampire contract. Good thing he looked adorable with them on, or she'd have been forced to torment him about them.

       "Will you put that thing down?" She asked in irritation when he ignored her, "It gives me the wiggins."

       He finally looked in her direction, "Huh…sorry…what was that, luv?"

       "The book! It's giving me the creeps," Buffy replied, crossing her arms over her chest, and jutting out her lower lip, "And Cordelia…I mean…why she said that to you, not that she's giving me the creeps…well…actually, she did freak me out."

       "I don't know why Cordelia said that to me," Spike replied, turning his attention back to the book, "Scared maybe? Had a feeling something was wrong? Not sure…" He looked up at Buffy again, seeing the frightened look that briefly passed over her face before she could hide it. He sighed, setting the book down on the dresser and crossing towards her to sit on the bed by her side.

       "Listen…we'll be fine till morning, I'm sure, baby," He assured her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and drawing her closer to kiss her temple, "Besides…even if what was on that recorder was a spell…they don't work like that. Red can tell you that. There's ceremonies involved, y'know, candles, incense, a circle…all that rot…"

       "I don't know…Giles always told Xander to `never read Latin in front of the books,'" Buffy replied unsurely.

       "Well…the Romans were a bunch of lazy gits…didn't want to set down and do a spell properly." That got a tiny smile of out her, and Spike brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, smiling at her warmly. "Nothing to worry about, baby. Promise."

       She tilted her head up as his lips came down, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him close as they kissed, his tongue delving into her mouth, wrapping around her tongue. Spike blinked when she suddenly broke off the kiss, and shoved him away with a grimace. "What's wrong? I brushed my teeth after eating this time! Promise!"

       "It's not that," She stood, firmly planting her feet on the ground and hands on her hips. "I'm not doing it with that book in the room! And until you wash your hands!"

       "Cordy? You asleep?" Xander cautiously came into the bedroom; his girlfriend was lying on the bed, her back to him. If she was awake, she was ignoring him completely. He crossed around the bed, and saw that her eyes were open, staring fixedly at the wall. "Honey? We're going home first thing in the morning."

       She turned her head slightly to look at him, her lips drawing up in a feral smile, eyes shining much too brightly in the dark room, "But don't you see? We'll all be dead by dawn."

       Willow tossed and turned fitfully in bed, unable to succumb to sleep. She rolled onto her back with a groan, sending an ill-natured glare at Oz, who was sleeping rather deeply beside her. She considered elbowing him awake, but decided against it with a sigh. No reason to bug her boyfriend because she was grumpy and developing a serious case of insomnia.

       She finally sighed in defeat when she felt her bladder start to protest, apparently joining the plot to keep her from a goodnight's sleep. She groaned as she carefully swung herself out of bed, careful to not jostle Oz. She padded out of the bedroom, tugging on the Rob Zombie t-shirt of Oz's she was wearing in lieu of a nightgown, dragging the hem past her thighs in case she bumped into Xander or Spike.

       She found her way to the small bathroom in the back of the cabin, just off of the kitchen, wrinkling her nose as she walked into it. It was absolutely filthy; the floor covered in unidentifiable stains, bathtub full of leaves and white porcelain stained black. She shook her head, going towards the toilet, and nearly lost everything she had eaten that day on the floor.

       Inside the toilet, thick, black viscous fluid was churning within the bowl, the stench seeming to intensify the longer she remained in there. She staggered against the doorway, and groaned as the black fluid started to overflow, pouring over the rim of the toilet and covering the floor, flowing towards her.

       She immediately backed out of the bathroom and slammed the door closed. Looked like someone really needed to call Roto-rooter. Figures. The septic tank decided now it wanted to overflow.

       The pressure on her bladder intensified, combined with the urge to violently vomit, and she sighed, heading towards the backdoor. Does a Wiccan shit in the woods? Looks like this one does, Willow thought, a wry smile touching her lips…and…crap, the toilet paper was in the bathroom. Well, no way in hell was she going into that bathroom to get it.

       Well, apparently, a Wiccan did shit in the woods…and used leaves too. God, she hoped she remembered what poison sumac looked like, or that would be just the perfect ending to this horrible trip.

        Willow sighed as she headed out into the backdoor, looking into the dark forest apprehensively. Who turned on the fog machine? It looks like a Michael Jackson Eighties video out here...

       She shook her head slightly at that thought, chewing on her bottom lip; mist rolled through the closely clustered woods, the entire forest silent, not even a single cricket chirping. However, she thought in the distance, she heard a wolf howling. Okay, so it was a Michael Jackson video…notably the Thriller one she'd seen on VH1. If the Gloved One himself came prancing out of the forest, that was it. She was getting in Spike's car and taking off. There were a few things Willow was deathly afraid of, and the pigment-less pop singer was one of them.

       She started away from the cabin and towards the trees, rubbing her arms, which had sprouted goose bumps from the cool, night air. She made sure she kept the cabin in sight before finding a suitable place to do her business, plucking a few leaves off a tree that had fallen during the storm earlier in the evening.

       She straightened when she finished, grimacing a bit in disgust, deciding that the first order of business when she got home was a long, hot, invasive shower. She started towards the cabin once more, but paused when she heard something rustling in the woods off to her side. She frowned, brushing a strand of hair out of her face as she peered into the fog-covered woods, trying to see who was there.

       "Oz? Is that you?" No one answered her, and she shrugged, deciding it must've been a squirrel…but hopefully not Spike's demon squirrels…which, personally, she thought he must be making up. Because…demon squirrels…no matter how big, just didn't seem that freaky to her.

       She moved to take a step, but the rustling returned, this time, bringing friends. She jerked her head, eyes widening when she heard the sound of crashing trees, and what sounded like a huge animal crashing through the underbrush. She whirled, panicked, and started to sprint in the opposite direction. She had gone about fifty yards when she stopped with a loud swear, berating herself. She had run away from the damned cabin, and now whatever was in the woods with her was between her and relative safety.

       "BUFFY!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, "SPIKE! HELP!"

       The crashing continued, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she brought up her hands, starting to murmur a protection spell. Her eyes shot open when something sharp slapped against her wrist, and then her arm was jerked painfully to the side. She turned her head, heart nearly stopping in her chest as the forest itself seem to come alive.

       Vines shot out of the ground and started wrapping themselves around her legs, and she started to scream as thorns and sharp twigs dug into her flesh, ripping into it, blood starting to run down her legs, even as more branches wove themselves around her arms, pulling them away from her body, almost in the cruel, woodland parody of a crucifixation.

       A branch wound itself around her forehead, keeping her head still, and it tore into the skin of her forehead when she tried to jerk herself free. There was the sound of ripping clothe as the vines continued to bind her, and she screamed even louder when her feet were suddenly yanked out from beneath her. She struggled against the branches, yanking and pulling at them, trying to make them lose their hold on her. She heard the sound of snapping wood and she trashed even more, heartened by the fact that they seemed to be giving under the stress of her fighting back.

       Faintly, underneath the sound of her own, shrill shouts, she heard a hissing sound as something moved over dead leaves and towards her, and she lifted her head, eyes going wide when she saw a single, thick branch move towards her. Just then, the vines and limbs holding her legs started to yank them apart, leaving her open and vulnerable.

       The branch that had been slithering towards her suddenly shot forward, and she screamed till her lungs were hoarse and raw.

       "OOOOOOOOOOZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"

       She gave a out a forlorn cry when no one answered, shutting her eyes and mind against what was happening to her, against…against the thing that was violating her body, and wrenched her right arm with a furious, desperate sob. The branches holding her arms finally snapped, but not before leaving large scratches all along her arm. She grabbed the ones holding her left arm and pulled them loose, and scrambled backwards, pulling and tugging at the ones binding her legs.

       As soon as she was loose, she shot to her feet, sobbing with harsh, rasping breaths as she ran for the cabin, the sound of crashing trees and a low, eerie wailing pursuing her through the woods. She hit the front door running, and began screaming and pounding on it, blood running down her arms, legs and face, "Let me in! OH GOD! PLEASE! LET ME IN!" She looked over her shoulder when a tree near the cabin crashed to the ground, and then shrieked when an arm grabbed her, and yanked her into the cabin, the door slamming shut behind her.

Previously on the Evil Dead:

       The gang finally decides that coming to the cabin wasn't such a hot idea, and make the decision to go home, the very next morning, much to Xander's disappointment. Spike wears cute, but really nerdy reading glasses, Buffy won't get frisky with the creepy book in the room, and Cordelia says that they'll all be `Dead by dawn.' Who pissed in her cheerios? Seriously! Willow had to pee, and went outside into the woods, despite her fear the Michael Jackson would pop out at her. (Michael Jackson when he was still black, but after his first nose job, that is.) She then committed the most common horror movie mistake. She heard a sound in the woods and wasted time trying to make first contact instead of hauling her skinny ass indoors. And then she runs AWAY from the cabin, instead of towards it, like any sane human person, and ran into some freaky, amorous redwoods. Yes. The trees did what you think they did to her. (That's what she gets for claming to be Wiccan all during season six, when…obviously not Wiccan behavior.) Willow and I have issues. We're trying to work through them in group. Willow manages to get herself free and finally runs for the cabin. I'm not sure how everyone thought this girl was some kind of genius in high school. The cabin was the first place I would've went! Well…at least she didn't trip at a crucial moment, that's all I can say.

Part Six

       "Holy fuckin' shit…" Willow collapsed into Spike's arm, sobbing and gripping his shoulders tightly, "Willow! What the hell happened to you?!"

       "They…they were everywhere…all over me…" Willow bawled, burrowing her face against his chest, entire body trembling so violently that Spike was half certain she had actually gone into convulsions from fright.

       "Willow? Oh…Christ…WILLOW!" Spike immediately moved aside as Oz rushed to his girlfriend's side, gathering the shattered, broken girl into his arms.

       "I was…I was screaming! But no one came! I was screaming! But you didn't come! You didn't come!"

       "Wills…shh…we're here now, baby," Oz's nostrils flared, and he looked up at Spike sharply, who was watching them both pensively, a dark cloud brewing on his brow.

       The rest of the crew came barreling out of their bedrooms at the commotion, save for Cordelia, who calmly came out and leaned against the doorway of the room, looking in on the scene somewhat impassively.

       "Wills? What happened?!" Xander asked in horror, staring at his bloodied, beaten best friend, trying not to notice the way her clothes had been torn.

       Willow had dissolved into a mess of tears, no longer speaking, just holding onto Oz, and Spike disappeared into the bedroom, and he came out with his duster, handing it to Oz to wrap around his mate. The werewolf shot him a grateful look that he didn't need words to convey.

       "She just came to the door, screaming and pounding on it," Spike explained to a panicked Xander as he drew Buffy into his arms, noting that she hadn't said anything; just stood there, wide-eyed and watching her best friend with what looked like hopelessness. Spike glanced around till he found Cordelia. She was still standing in the doorway, but she was now looking at him, instead of Willow. Her gaze seemed somewhat neutral, but he could almost feel the accusations brewing beneath her calm exterior.

       "Willow…baby…what happened?" Oz gently cajoled her as her tears started to wind down, being replaced by heavy sniffles, "Can you tell us who did it to us…"

       "Th-the forest…" She stammered out, drawing Spike's duster even tighter around her, closing her eyes with a shudder.

       "Someone in the forest? Did you see his face?" Oz continued to gently pry, glancing up towards Spike, fire burning behind his hazel eyes, "He can't outrun us."

       "We'll get him, pet," Spike assured Willow with a nod at Oz. He'd catch the bastard and skin him alive for doing…that to their Willow.

       "No...no…no…NO!" Willow shook her head violently, "It wasn't SOMEONE! It was the woods themselves!"

       For once, Oz looked completely at a loss, "The…woods did this to you…?"

       "YES!" Willow shouted, swinging to her feet somewhat unsteadily and looking towards Spike, "I want to go home! NOW! RIGHT NOW!"

       "Willow…" Xander walked towards her, "Come on…calm down…we're leaving first thing in the morning…"

       "NO! I want to GO right now!" Willow shrieked at him shrilly, "We have to leave!"

       "Wills…"

       "Xander, shut up," Buffy glared at her friend, "She's right. We have to leave now."

       "It's too late for that." Cordelia spoke up finally from the doorway, and everyone looked towards her, "It won't let us leave. Not now."

       "I've had about enough of you," Spike growled at her, "Go get your shit, and shut the hell UP!" She smiled at him in disdain before disappearing into the bedroom, and Spike looked back towards Willow, tears leaving tracks down her dirty face, "We're going now, pet…don't you worry. We're gettin' out of here."

       Willow clutched Buffy's hand tightly, anxiously trying to peer through the paint over Spike's windshield, her body still shivering, despite the sweat standing out on her forehead; she drew her thick fleece coat even more tightly around her. Faintly, she could see the headlights highlighting the stark, bare trunks of the trees they whizzed by, mist rolling across the road. She sat, snugly, in the front seat between Spike and Buffy. In the back, Cordelia sat stiffly between Xander and Oz, her eyes riveted on the back of Spike's head, her eyes seeming to burn with fire, branding the vampire.

       Oz opened the window a crack, but immediately closed it when Willow tensed and turned to look at it with frightened, haunted eyes, as if whatever was in the woods could squeeze through the window, and get them all.

       Spike turned onto the road that would lead to the bridge, softly muttering to the redhead beside him, "See? No worries, luv…'nother hour, we'll be in town, checking into the first motel we see, hmm? Won't that be nice…shower sounds good right about now…"

       Willow smiled faintly at Spike's attempts to calm her shattered nerves; she appreciated the effort…even if it wasn't working worth crap. "Yeah," She whispered beneath her breath, laying her head on Buffy's shoulder, "Real nice…"

       Spike glanced at Willow worriedly before looking into the rearview mirror. Cordelia turned her head slightly so that she would be looking him right in the eye, if it weren't for his lack of reflection. He wasn't sure what was exactly happening with her…but she was starting to act as nutty as Dru. "What about you, Cordy? Shower sound good to you?"

       He regretted addressing her as a sickly-sweet smile crossed her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes, "You really don't think we're leaving, do you?"

       Spike's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he gritted his teeth together in frustration, "Now, come on…that's no way to talk," He forced out, trying to sound confident and amicable, "For a former cheerleader, you're certainly negative."

       "I'm sorry. Not what you wanted to hear?" She started to wave her hands around as she snapped sarcastically, "Spike, Spike, he's our man…if he can't kill us, no one can!"

       "CORDELIA! WILL YOU FUCKING SHUT UP?!" Buffy finally broke, "Just…SHUT UP! You're not helping anybody. And this is NOT Spike's fault."

       Cordelia pressed her lips together, but said nothing more as she settled back against the seat. Xander stared at her, eyes wide, mouthing hanging open slightly. He tried to reach out and take her hand, but Cordelia shook him off, still staring forward.

       "How much farther to the bridge, Spike?" Oz asked, mostly to break the oppressive silence that settled over the group, and Spike peered through the windshield into the darkness before them, and then he sighed in relief.

       "Coming up on it now," Spike said, starting to slow down for the possibly precarious drive across. He suddenly slammed on the brakes, and Buffy and Willow grabbed each other with twin cries of surprise.

       "Spike! Can't you brake like normal people?" Buffy asked in annoyance, which faded when she saw the look on his face. He opened the door, despite Willow's sharp protests, and climbed out to stare ahead in shock.

       "Un-bloody-fucking-believable…" He breathed as the passenger and driver's side door opened, spilling out the rest of the Scoobies, save for Cordelia, who remained where she was.

       "Oh…God…Oh God…Oh…God…" Willow chanted, looking frightened out of her wits.

       Spike moved away towards the car, and to the face of the cliff, looking past the twisted steel remnants of what had been a bridge just that afternoon. Across the vast canyon, he could see girders lying twisted and deformed against the cliff on the other side. "Now what in the fuck could've done that?!"

       "There's another way around," Buffy said, looking towards Xander, "Isn't there? There has to be. Just a long, scenic route, right…?"

       Xander shook his head dazedly, still staring at the wreckage, "Uh…no…this…this is….was the only road. There's no other way around…"

       "What about by foot?" Oz asked, "You said there was all kinds of hiking trails around here…one of them has to lead to the other side…"

       "Yeah…uh…yeah." Xander shook his head, as if to clear it, "There's one trail that leads to the other side…but it's a two day walk"

       "No, no way am I walking," Willow shuddered, "It's in the woods!"

       "There's no other way, Wills…" Xander told her.

       "But…Spike. He can't hike for two days…" Buffy said.

       "Why not?" Xander looked towards Spike, "You run around under a blanket all the time."

       "Yeah…sprinting from the sewer," Buffy reminded him, "And even then, he's already smoking before he gets in the door. He'd catch on fire if he's out in the sun for too long, even under a blanket!"

       "Buffy,' Spike touched her arm, drawing her attention towards him, "Worry `bout your friends and not me. Nothing we can do for me at the moment, but if there's a chance for you lot to get out of here, you better take it."

       "I'm not just leaving you here!" Buffy asserted firmly.

       "Guys?" Oz interrupted the argument that was sure to break out between the two of them as he wrapped an arm around Willow's waist, "Let's get back to the cabin…we can figure out what to do once we're indoors."

       "This is so not over," Buffy vowed as she whirled on her heel and stomped towards the car, and Spike sighed, hanging his head as he followed.

       "Didn't assume it was," He mumbled beneath his breath.

       "Will?" Buffy sat beside her best friend near the broken window, where Spike was boarding it up once more. Willow turned wide, stormy green eyes towards Buffy, and Buffy offered her a weak smile as she pressed a cup of warm tea into her friend's shaking hands. "How you doing?"

       "Okay, I guess," She whispered, her voice sounding a bit hoarse still. She looked past Buffy's shoulder, to see Oz and Xander arguing in low voices, and Cordelia was sitting in the corner, a purple flowered diary open on her lap. She was furiously scribbling in it with her pencil. "What's she doing?"

       Buffy followed Willow's gaze, hesitating before answering, "She's...uh…she's writing a good-bye note…to her parents…"

       Willow closed her eyes with a low groan, and Buffy stood as Oz came towards them, taking her place beside the redhead. "First light…Xander and I are going for help," He announced, and Spike turned sharply, "Anyone one else who wants to come, can."

       "I'm not going," Buffy said firmly, "I'm not leaving without Spike."

       "Buffy…you're going," Spike dropped the hammer back into the toolbox, holding up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest, "If something's out in the woods, you can't expect them to go alone."

       "I wouldn't bother…stay…go…you'll just end up dead anyway…"

       "I swear to God…" Spike glared in Cordelia's direction, "I'm five seconds from throwing her down into the cellar and nailing it closed again!"

       "Don't you talk about her like that!" Xander snapped at Spike, "She's just…stressed."

       "Stressed? No…Willow's stressed…your bird is out of her fuckin' goddamn mind!"

       "Xander…" Oz counseled in a low voice, "Maybe you should put her to bed or something…she's really not helping anyone with her comments," He looked pointedly towards Willow, whose head was bowed, hair in her face, and she picked at the bandages covering her hands. Her shoulders were shaking; whether she was crying or was just frightened was anyone's guess.

       "Fine," Buffy conceded, "In the morning, Xander, Oz and I start through the woods…Spike can stay here with Cordy and Willow."

       "Oh…gee…thanks. Leave me with the doomsayer," Spike muttered sarcastically, "I'm locking her in the cellar. I'm not kiddin' about that."

       "Spike, you can't lock Cordelia in the basement," Buffy told him with a sigh, "But you can lock her in the bathroom."

       "Hey! There will be no locking my girlfriend up ANYWHERE in the cabin!"

       "Trunk? I gotta clear some of my shit out…but she can squeeze…"

       "Guys, will you be serious for five minutes?" Oz asked in annoyance as he went towards one of the boarded up windows, peeking out of it, "It's a two day trip to get to the other side of the canyon, once we get to the road, we might be able to hitchhike to town…then we'll send help."

       Buffy looked towards Spike, who was throwing a few more logs on the fire; he hadn't brought up the fact that even if they managed to make it to town for help, he'd still be unable to make it back without a bridge. He straightened, glancing over his shoulder to catch her anxious look, and he grinned at her.

       "Sounds like a plan," He replied overly cheerfully, "As long as the Negative Nancy over there keeps her yap shut, we'll be just peachy." Right…that didn't sound completely poncy at all…he thought, rolling his eyes.

       Buffy smiled despite herself, and Spike wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her forehead, a soft sigh escaping her lips, "I guess we should try and get some sleep so we can be out of here as soon as the sun rises," Buffy told Oz and Xander, "Wills? Do your bandages need to be changed?"

       Buffy smiled faintly when Willow didn't answer; her head still bent, and knelt in front of her.

       Cordelia abruptly stood, her chair falling backwards and slamming into the floor with a heavy thud that made everyone jump; her pencil and diary slipped from her lap and to the ground, forgotten.

       Buffy glared at her over her shoulder, hissing, "Keep it down, will you? Willow's trying too…" Buffy's words were cut off with a sharp cry as Willow's hand shot out and enclosed around her throat.

       Willow's head jerked upwards, her face gone deathly pale, eyes the pallor of bone; her blue lips were drawn around her teeth. The skin of her face and hands looked as though they had began to decompose, and yellowed fingernails dug into Buffy's skin, drawing  a bit of blood. She lurched to her feet gracelessly, lifting Buffy off of the ground with a inhuman shriek. Willow easily tossed her through the air at Spike, who had started to move to Buffy's defense, and the two blonds smashed together, rolling across the floor in a tangle of limbs.

       "Willow!" Xander regretted saying her name as soon as the words passed his mouth as Willow jerked to face him, her body rising off the ground, head rolling on her shoulders. She started towards him in the air, fingers twisted into claws, eyes boring into his dementedly.

       "Why have you disturbed our sleep? Awakened us from our ancient slumber?" Willow's body jerked as if on a puppeteer's strings, "You will die! Like the others before you! One by one, we will take you!"

       "Oh God…" Xander whimpered, backing away from the thing that had been his best friend just a few moments ago. Suddenly, without explanation, Willow's body crashed to the ground, and lay still.

       Oz stared at her body, unable to force himself to move, his ears telling him what his eyes refused to accept. She wasn't breathing…and her heart had ceased to beat. He let out a lupine whimper, collapsing to his knees.

       Spike climbed to his feet, eyeing the fallen girl with trepidation, gripping Buffy's arm when she attempted to move towards her friend.

       "Is…is she dead?" Xander asked, his eyes wide, moving forward carefully.

       "Harris…don't…" Spike tried to advise him, but Xander glared in his direction, and continued towards Willow, kneeling by her side.

       "Wills?" Xander called quietly, staring fixedly into her face, which had seemed to have sunk inwardly, creating shadows around her mouth and eyes.

       "Xander, get away from her," Cordelia ordered in a shaky voice, "Willow's dead…"

       Xander cut his gaze towards Cordelia, and then towards Oz, who was just kneeling in the middle of the floor, watching on in what looked like shock. Buffy was clinging to Spike's arm, staring at Willow with tears standing in her eyes, and Spike was giving him a disapproving look, but didn't appear to want to move any closer. "We gotta help her," He said hoarsely, "There's gotta be a way to help her…"

       "She's dead…" Oz said hollowly, "She's dead…there's…nothing we can do…she's dead…"

       "We got to TRY!" Xander shouted at them, "Don't just stand there! Help me!"

       "XANDER!" Cordelia's shout came to late, and Xander looked down in surprise as Willow's hand closed around the pencil that Cordelia had dropped, and he screamed as she shot up to stare him in the face with her corpse eyes, attempting to scramble back.

       She lifted the pencil and in a lightening fast move, she brought it down again. Xander howled in pain as the sharpened point sliced through his ankle, right into his tendons with a squelch. Willow cackled demonically as she jerked it back and forth in the wound, driving it even farther into his flesh, blood flowing out onto the floor, not stopping till the point snapped when it dragged across his bones.

       She jerked it loose, and was about to plunge into him again when Spike grabbed her arm. She turned on him, her free hand crashing against his face, and she shoved, sending him slamming into a bookcase across the room, which fell over on top of him as he fell to the ground.

       She tilted towards her feet again, ignoring Xander, who was lying on the ground, hand closed over his bleeding ankle, trying to choke back his sobs of pain. She lifted the pencil and started towards Spike with shrill, insane giggles, merely backhanding Buffy, when she attempted to get in her way. Buffy hit the fireplace with a sharp cry as her forehead smashed against the mantle, blood trickling down her face.

       "Jesus Tap-dancin' CHRIST!" Spike shoved up on the bookcase, wide eyes on Willow, not liking the looks of the wooden pencil she was holding.

       She suddenly staggered to the side with a shriek, and she whirled around to face Oz, who was standing behind her, holding the ax in both hands, a determined look on his face. He nearly dropped his weapon when Willow's voice suddenly issued from her blue lips, "Oz…Oz? Baby…what are you doing? I thought you loved me," She said plaintively, even as her bone white eyes continued to stare him in the face, "You said we were mates forever…"

       A sob broke out of the conflicted were-wolf as he started to lower the ax.

       "WOLF!" Spike spoke sharply, "Don't listen to her. Willow's dead.  You know she's dead…"

       "Oz…baby? Don't listen to him…I love you…and you love me…" Her face twisted with hatred when Oz gripped the ax tighter and held it up again. "LIAR!" She lunged at him, malformed hands going for his throat.

       Oz ducked under her sloppy lunge, closing his eyes as he slammed her in the back with his ax, the blade cutting through her spinal column; her blood splattered him in the face as she screeched, falling against the ground, near the trapdoor.

       She attempted to gain her feet again, but Oz kicked her from behind, sending her tumbling down the stairs, and he slammed the door shut, throwing himself on top of it as she screamed through the wood. The trapdoor lifted up a bit when she slammed against it with a sickening crunch of bone.

       "HELP ME!" He screamed at the petrified Cordelia, "GET OVER HERE NOW! I CAN'T HOLD HER!"

       Cordelia shook her head, her hair whipping around her face violently, "No…no…I told you all…no…no…no…NOO!"

       Spike finally managed to wriggle out from beneath the bookcase as Buffy dragged herself up the side of the mantle place, tears running down her face. She stumbled towards Oz and collapsed on top of the door beside him, and Willow finally stopped banging against it when she couldn't budge the added weight of the Slayer. Instead, she stood directly beneath them, giggling eerily.

       Oz started rubbing his face with his hands, trying to clear Willow's blood off of him, finally breaking out into sobs that made his entire body shake. He fell into Buffy's arms when she wrapped them around him, and she looked up at Spike as he shakily ran a hand through his hair.

       "Harris…you…you all right?"

       Xander looked up at him with haunted eyes. His blood had pooled on the floor around his ankle, and it was still flowing. "Willow's gone," He said hollowly, "She's really gone. Really, really gone…"

       "Cordelia…"

       She was still shaking her head, muttering `No' underneath her breath.

       "CORDELIA!"

       She finally looked up at Spike, the loathing and accusation in her eyes now replaced with fear, "You gotta take care of Harris…get his ankle bandaged up. You can do it, right? Sure you can…you've been a Scoob long enough…I gotta go and find something to keep the cellar closed with…"

       Cordelia slowly turned her head to look towards Xander, and she automatically started towards him, her movements forced and mechanical looking. She collapsed next to him, and pushed the leg of his trousers up to stare down at the stab wound in his ankle.

       "Chains…" Oz spoke up without looking up at Spike; instead, his gaze was on the fire still burning merrily away in the fireplace. Were he and Willow really just sitting there a mere three hours ago, joking and having fun with their friends? It seemed impossible to him. "Chains…there's some chains in the tool shed…I saw them when we got the toolbox…we can chain it shut…"

       "Right…" Spike took a deep breath, and picked up the ax off the floor where Oz had dropped it. "I'll be back in a jiffy, kiddies…don't you worry…" His enthusiasm sounded as forced as it really was, and he pressed his lips together before opening the front door and peered out into the silent, dark woods on the other side. Without another word, he stepped out onto the porch, firmly closing the door behind him.

Previously on the Evil Dead:

       Willow was freaked out, Cordelia was still acting all creepy and shit, Oz and Spike wanted to beat the shit out of some dirty, rapist trees, (See what happens when a redwood gets a woody? HA! Get it? Trees? Woody? Oh…bite me.) A pencil was SERIOUSLY misused! (Warning to the kiddies who are UNDOUBTEDLY reading this fic, despite me telling them NO! Do NOT stab people with pencils. Not only will you break the tip off, it's really difficult to write with a pencil that's all gross and caked with blood. Use stakes like normal people.) Oh, and Willow turned into some creepy, dead zombie thinger, and is now trapped in the basement, Oz and Buff's tubby asses keeping her down there while Spike braves the scary outdoors to get some chains. Hmm…chains…a must for EVERY camping trip. God knows I would have had more fun in the tick-infested woods if I could have chained my mother to a tree and waited for a bear to come and eat her. Umm…where was I? Oh…yes…Spike's gone out into the spooky darkness….oooooooooooooo! (Makes appropriate spooky noise.)

Part Seven

       Spike leaned against the door with a heavy sigh as soon as he closed it, taking a long, deep breath, trying to steel his nerves. He cast his eyes towards the trees, shuddering violently when he received the distinct impression that he was being watched.

       Buck up, mate…get the damned chains and get back indoors, he told himself firmly. He glanced left, and then right before making a run for the tool shed, adrenaline rushing through his veins the entire time. He slammed into the tool shed, kicking the door closed behind him. He panted unnecessarily as he leaned against the door, his eyes closed as he fought down his ill-timed panic. He scowled as he also forced himself to stop breathing like an asthmatic that had just run a 5K marathon. Now was definitely not the time to embrace his human-like foibles. He had to remain focused, calm and collected; once he had chained the thing that once been Willow up in the basement, he could give in to the unmanly like urge to scream like a ten-year-old girl and run about the cabin, flailing his arms in full-blown terror.  Because, unlike the other, non-demon Scoobs…he wouldn't be able to leave once daylight came.

       He shoved that entirely too sobering and horror-inducing thought out of his mind as he peered around the shed, squinting in the darkness, half-expecting something to jump out at him.

       Stop being such a pathetic sod, mate, he told himself disgustedly, you've seen things that would make the even the bravest man's balls shrink up into his body and his hair to turn white with fright…now, stop acting like a squeamish girl and get a MOVE on, already!

       He nodded decisively, and ventured slowly away from the door. He jumped when something brushed against his face, and he snorted in disgust at the flare of panic that hopped up inside him. He reached up and tugged on the string that had touched his cheek and a single, bare bulb lit up. The light barely touched the deep shadows of the shed, and he took a second to peer into all corners, feeling as though something was watching him again.

       He saw the chains Oz had mentioned before, laying beneath a work bench at the far end of the shed and he grabbed them up, slinging them over his shoulders. He also grabbed a padlock off of the bench.  He took another precious moment to look around, seeing if there was anything he could use for a weapon. His eyes settled on a chainsaw hanging above the workbench and he started to reach for it when he heard Buffy desperately screaming his name from the cabin.

       He immediately forgot about the chainsaw and lifted the chains away from his feet so that he could make a swift, distressed flight back towards the cabin and his shrieking, terrified mate.

       She had been waiting, that much was obvious.

       Down below, Willow hadn't attempted to escape again; instead, it had sounded as if she had taken a seat on the stairs below Buffy and Oz, and had seemed to be content to giggle creepily and mutter unintelligible things to herself.

       Buffy had thought it safe to move off of the trapdoor to help Cordelia move Xander into one of the bedrooms. The boy had gone into shock after Willow's vicious attack on him, and he would have been better off lying down in a bed then having to listen to the…thing downstairs. However, the second Willow had heard her move off of the trapdoor, she struck.

        She slammed into the door with enough force that Oz, caught off guard, had rolled off, and she was halfway out of the basement before they could even react.

       “SPIKE!” Buffy shouted as she kicked non-Willow in her withered gray face, trying to drive her back into the basement. Oz was lying on top of the door again, her legs trapped underneath it so that she couldn't crawl out even farther, but it was proving difficult to get her back downstairs. “SPIKE! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE NOW!”

       “Oh…God…oh…God…” Xander scrambled over Cordelia, and then falling to the ground as he dragged his useless ankle along the ground as he crawled to press himself into the corner, trying to get away whatever had taken residence in his best friend's body. Cordelia, for her part, was frozen, staring at Willow's white, rolling, rapid eyes as she attempted to grab at the Slayer dancing around her, trying to avoid her gnashing teeth and grasping claws.

       On an ill-timed kick, Willow snagged Buffy's ankle and jerked the feet right out from beneath Buffy. She crashed to the ground, stunned as the wind was knocked out of her and Willow cackled as she dug her nails into Buffy's pants legs and dragged the Slayer towards her.

       Spike burst through the front door right then, and he immediately sprang into action when he saw Buffy was in danger. He dropped the chains from around his shoulders and grabbed the ax that was lying on the floor. Using the blunt end, he struck Willow upside the head, her skull caving in with a squishy THACK! Willow shrieked as she let go of Buffy's leg and the Slayer clambered out of her reach before she could attempt to grab her once more. Spike dropped the ax and grabbed Willow by the air and Oz lifted the door so that the vampire could toss the still-stunned demon down into the basement below.

       There were several sickening `crunch' sounds as Willow's body crashed down the stairs, but it was universally ignored as Buffy and Oz both hopped back on top of the trapdoor again. Spike swiftly threaded the chains through the nails half-sticking out of the floor, and pulled them tight before snapping the padlock into place. Buffy and Oz both hesitated several seconds before climbing off of the door, and everyone in the cabin stared at it, waiting for Willow to start banging against it. However, there was not a peep from down below, not even a mad little giggle.

       “Do…do you think that…she's dead?” Buffy asked Spike quietly.

       “Not sure, pet,” He answered, rolling his shoulders, trying to loosen the knotted up muscles that had formed. “But…have to say…I don't think it's particular likely, either…”

       She gratefully sank into his embrace when he absently wrapped an arm about her waist, and she pressed her face against his chest as he tightened his grip about her. Spike glanced towards Oz, who was looking rather paler then usual, “Mate…you doin' all right?”

       Oz glanced at him and then his knees seemed to go out from beneath him, as if no longer able to support his weight. He plopped down on his backside, and hung his head, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth in a sign of canine exhaustion. Spike could commiserate. He glanced over his shoulder at Xander, who was squashed into the far corner of the room, an absolutely terrified look still on his face, and Cordelia was sitting stiffly on the couch, watching him with cold eyes.

       He shuddered beneath her gaze, and then turned his attention back to his beautiful Slayer and kissed the top of her head before gently disentangling from her tight grip. “Pet…think you better see to Harris…he's not looking to well at the moment…”

       Buffy nodded slowly, and started towards Xander, and Spike knelt beside Oz after digging through his duster pockets to find his trusty, silver flask. Oz took it with a somewhat curt nod, and then proceeded to drain most of the bourbon from it, bits amber liquid trickling out of the side of his mouth. Spike watched him in somewhat wide-eyed surprised as he chugged the hard liquor without taking so much as a breath and without getting even a little red in the face. Pretty impressive for the cub, he had to admit…unless the boy was something of a closet alcoholic and perhaps now he should be teensy bit worried.

       “Spike!” Buffy called and he turned to see she was helping Xander get to his feet, “Help me get him into the bedroom…he needs to lay down…”

       “All right,” Spike sent another worried look at Oz, who was wiping his sleeve across his mouth and staring at the basement door, down which his apparently ex-living and ex-human girlfriend was trapped, an unreadable expression on his face.

       “Spike!”

       “Comin' pet,” Spike sighed as he turned and hefted Xander into a standing position. The boy's head lolled lifelessly on his shoulders, despite his eyes being open. “Jesus…is he even livin'?”

       “He's in shock,” Buffy informed Spike, “I think he needs a doctor or something…”

       Spike shook his head slightly as he helped her lay Xander out on the bed, and he bent, lifting the bandage away from Xander's ankle, wincing when he saw the blackened-bruised and torn flesh. “Be a couple days before he can even think of walking on that,” He told Buffy, “Tomorrow, you, the wolf and cheerleader are goin' to have to hoof it without us.”

       “What? But what…”

       “There isn't going to be a goddamn discussion about it!” Spike snapped at her, deadly anger lancing his voice, “Tomorrow, you take what friends you have left alive and get the FUCK out of here! Let me worry about myself and the whelp. I'll figure something out. Always bloody well do.”

       Buffy knew better then to attempt to argue with him when he got like this, but that didn't keep her from glaring at him and then flouncing out of the room. Spike shook his head with a heavy sigh as he pulled the bandages back up around Xander's ankle. “Better well think of something,” He muttered beneath his breath.

        “It has only been a few hours since I've translated and spoke aloud the first of the demon resurrection passages from the Necronomicon Ex Mortes…”

       Buffy hugged herself as she and Cordelia crouched next to the fire, shuddering as the voice of the undoubtedly doomed Dr. Knowby spoke from the tape recorder. Spike and Oz were both crouched around the machine, both of them listening intently to what was being said, both wanting to know what, exactly, had taken Willow. Spike, apparently forgetting that he cared what he looked like in front of the gang, was wearing his glasses as he looked through the book they had discovered downstairs.

       “And now, I fear that my wife has become host to a Kandarian demon. May God forgive me for what I have unleashed unto this earth…”

       Oz stabbed the pause button when Spike let out an irritated growl, “Can't make heads nor tails of this damned thing,” He shook the book at Oz, punctuating his comment, “Just when I think I'm making some damned head-way, there's either an all new word or one that doesn't fit in the bloody sentence!”

       It was a bit like Satasie, as he had thought originally, but the damned people who originally penned the book were either completely illiterate, or just threw random phrases and words in to expressly piss future translators off. “We're never going to bloody well figure out how to kill whatever the hell is skulking out in those woods!” Spike scowled at the tape recorder, “And if that `effin professor chap was still alive, I'd rip his arms off and beat him to death with `em for JERKING US AROUND AND NOT GETTING TO THE FUCKIN' POINT!”

       Oz, Buffy and Cordelia all jumped at Spike's frustrated roar. Spike suddenly tensed, and then looked towards the trapdoor as it slowly opened, the chains creaking. A tuft of tangled, dust-whitened hair was visible and then Willow's hideous, corpse-eyes were peeping out at them.

       A shiver ran up Spike's spine, despite himself, and he growled at the demon inhabiting Willow's body, “Don't suppose you're partial to tellin' us how to kill your arse,” He asked with what little control he had.

       “Silly, silly, silly,” Willow giggled, and then flipped Spike the bird before disappearing again, the trapdoor crashing down with a bang and clatter of chains.

       “She's really startin' to get on m'nerves,” Spike muttered beneath his breath, taking a seat by the tape recorder once more and opening the Book of the Dead. He seemed strangely calm and Oz shot a look at Buffy.

       “The roaring thing calms him down,” Buffy explained in a low voice, “You know…like primal scream therapy?”

       Oz nodded slowly, and then pressed the play button on the tape recorder once more.

       “March 12th. Suzanne came after me and almost murdered me. My own wife! At first, I thought it was a mental or physical disorder because of what had happened to her eyes…but I was only fooling myself. I knew what it was.”

       “We get the point…she's a bloody demon,” Spike muttered beneath his breath as he continued to flip through the book, and then paused on the page with an illustration of a severed hand. He stared down at the image, its fingers poised to strike out at him. Another shiver ran up his spine, but for the unlife of him, he couldn't figure out why.

       “Three days have passed since that thing has been down there. I was hoping to weaken it without food or water. Nothing worked. Finally, in desperation, I dragged her out to the shed and dismembered her so that whatever it was could not get up again…”

       Spike lifted his head at that, and exchanged a look at Oz, both men saying in unison, “Dismemberment.”

       “Great…we figured out how to kill it,” Buffy said, “Now…who volunteers to chop Willow up into little bits?!”

       Another look was exchanged between Oz and Spike and then they both looked at the stoically silent Cordelia. She looked up when she realized she was the sudden focus of attention and her eyes narrowed, “Eat me, vampy and Dog boy,” She snapped caustically. “You got us in this mess, Spike, you get us the fuck out.”

       “Would, but a bitch like you is bound to leave a nasty taste in my mouth,” Spike replied with a sneer, “And the fuck does it look like I'm doing? Certainly not sitting on my soddin' ass and letting everyone ELSE take care of things! You're been nothing but a whiny, bitchy bag of fuckin' uselessness since this whole thing started!”

       Cordelia glared at him before turning her attention back to the waning flames of the fire. They were almost out of wood, and neither Spike nor Oz had volunteered to go outside to chop more.

       Spike grumbled ill-naturedly beneath his breath as he turned his attention back to the book, and Oz silently contemplated the turning tape in the recorder.

       “This is when I saw the dark figures moving about in the woods. I should have never tampered with the Book of the Dead. I now know that whatever it is I have resurrected through this book, is coming…coming for me.”

       The trapdoor slowly creaked open once more, but no one bothered to look in Willow's direction, even as she spoke in an eerily disjointed voice. “We're coming for you all!”

       And then…Xander started screaming.

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       Spike was having a little freak out in the tool-shed while looking for chains. (And not for fun, recreational use either!) He saw a chainsaw (Insert foreshadowing here) and then he ran back JUST in time to stop an escaping Willow and chained her down in the basement. (But not before bashing her head in. OUCH!) Xander went into shock…because…face it, folks…Harris is a bit of a pussy, and the poor wittle baby had to be tucked in by Spike and Buffy. (Why do I sound so bitter? Did you WATCH Selfless?) Anyway, Spike and Buffy got in a mini-fight, but sadly, there was no make-up sex, and then he and Oz started listening to the creepy Ben Stein dude again. They figured out what they have to do to kill Willow, but not what to do about the thing out in the woods. After indulging in a bit of primal roar therapy, Spike FINALLY flipped the HELL out all over Cordelia for her WAY negative behavior. We all cheered (Whhee! Go Spike!) and then Willow showed that she was still alive by threatening the gang…and then Xander started screaming like a little bitch. And now back to our regularly (okay, maybe more like irregularly) scheduled story.

Part Eight

       “Fuck!” Spike spat out as he jumped to his feet. The sound of wood and glass smashing filled the air around them and then all was silence. Xander was no longer screaming.

       “Xander!” Buffy rushed into the bedroom where her friend had been lying down, and then stared in dismay at the glass and wood shards lying all over the floor from the smashed in window. Xander was no where to be seen. Spike peered over her shoulder, and Buffy looked at him with wide-eyes, “Where in the hell did he go?!”

       Spike shook his head in bewilderment as he cautiously made his way towards the window. Buffy followed closely on his heels, holding on to his arm tightly. She let out a squeak of alarm when he started to lean out the window, and he shot her a reassuring grin, “S'alright, luv…really doubt there's anything out there big enough to take a bite out of the Big Bad…”

       She rolled her eyes as Spike braced his hands on either side of the window frame and he leaned out, vamping out as he peered into the foggy darkness outside.

       He didn't see anything. There were no drag marks that would have indicated Xander was pulled forcibly through the window…and there were no footprints that would have shown that he had walked off of his own volition. If he could've, that is. His ankle was in such a state that he wouldn't have been able to do so, even if he wanted.

       “Nothing…” He sighed as he dropped back inside, shaking his head as he turned towards Buffy. Oz peeked into the room, raising an inquiring eyebrow. “There's just…nothing…just a broken window and him gone…not even a single soddin' footprint.”

       “Great…just great!” Buffy grimaced, “You know…in those really lame horror movies you watch, this always happens...”

       “What does?” Spike asked.

       “You know…the dumbass college co-eds who always get killed because they separated…now WE are the dumbass college co-eds who separated! And at least they have an excuse. They're not actually that stupid…they're just written that way.”

       (A.N.: If this were a movie, this would be where they'd all turn and stare at the camera. Oh…yeah…you're ALL so gonna die. *giggles evilly*)

       “Buffy…let's be rational about this,” Spike replied, “If this were anything like a movie…they would have picked off the cheerleader first. They always kill the irritating one first…unless it's a Wes Craven flick…”

       “Guys,” Oz interrupted, sounding annoyed, “Could we argue the dos and don'ts of horror movies later. You know…when we aren't worried about dying?! Just a thought here.”

       “Right…sorry,” Spike sighed as he leaned against the window frame, “All right…we got to get smart about this now…Buffy's got a point…we shouldn't separate from now on. It's attacked twice already, and always when one of us was were away from the herd…”

       “Great…now we're stupid co-ed wildebeest…” Spike glared at Buffy, and she flushed slightly and then feigned zipping her lips.

       “AS I was saying…” Spike glanced at Oz, “We get smart about this…stop  making stupid mistakes like separating an-FUCK!”

       Buffy screamed as Spike was suddenly yanked out of the broken window he had been leaning against, and she rushed forward to see Spike lying on the ground, and what looked like Xander attempting to rip his throat out, his head bending towards her boyfriend's neck, “SPIKE!”

       Xander's head jerked up at Buffy's cry, and his bloodless lips pulled over his bared teeth in the sick parody of his boyish smile, his bone-white eyes gleaming in the bit of moonlight that filtered down from the thick, black clouds covering the sky. “Hey, Buffster! Going to come out and play with me and Spike here?”

       Spike snarled, taking advantage of Xander's distraction to roll so that Xander was trapped beneath him and he began to punch the now-possessed boy in the face with all of his strength. Bone cracked beneath his knuckles as he shattered Xander's nose and cheekbones, and brackish blood spattered across his face. However, that goddamn smile was still fixed to his face, despite the world of hurt Spike was inflicting on him. It was seriously creepy.

       Buffy looked up when she heard trees crashing together in the woods, and a loud, but strangely, soundless roar filled the air. The wind suddenly picked up and whipped her hair about her face. “SPIKE! Get back inside!” She cried shrilly, and the vampire looked up, eyes widening when he heard what she heard.

       He scrambled to his feet and then dived back through the window. He twisted his body as he struck the ground, grunting as glass and wood pricked his skin through his duster. He kicked upwards when Xander's face appeared in the window, and the boy staggered back several feet from the unexpected blow.

       Buffy was shouting as she grabbed Spike and hauled him to his feet, dragging him back out of the bedroom. Together, they slammed the door closed and braced their weight against it as Xander struck it from the other side.

       “Get something to brace the goddamn door shut!” Spike shouted at Oz, who was already looking around the room for something to do that. He finally settled on a chair and he hauled it over to Spike and Buffy. Spike jerked it beneath the doorknob, and as they eased their weight off of the door, the chair kept the door from opening more then a few inches.

       Xander's fingers scrambled along the edge of the doorjamb, and Spike lifted his leg, kicking the edge of the door with enough force that Xander's fingers sheared off at the bone and landed with thumps against the floor. On the other side of the door, Xander howled in pain and battered against the door a few more times before moving away, whimpering like a wounded animal. Spike and Buffy clutched at each other instinctively, listening as Xander scrambled around the bedroom for several minutes and then everything went silent once more.

       Spike shakily let out the breath he had been unaware he had been holding, and ran a hand through his thoroughly mussed hair as he looked down at Buffy, “Luv? You all right?”

       She shook her head, hazel eyes wide with shock, her body shaking uncontrollably. True, she was the Slayer, she had seen some truly horrible things…but she was completely shaken by seeing her friends becoming…God only knew what. She was now staring down at what had been Xander's fingers lying on the floor, and she felt a roil of nausea in her gut.

       Spike gathered them up without a word and then tossed them into the fire. He watched as they started to melt, like candle-wax, and he gagged as a foul smell issued from the fireplace as they burned. His head jerked upwards when a hellish howl rent the air from outside, and he turned as something started battering the front door. He glanced back down at the fingers, and saw one of them had began to wriggle, trying to get out and he made a face as he kicked it back into the fire with the tip of his boot. The howls tapered off as the fingers burned away into nothing but ash, and Xander stopped slamming himself against the door as those extensions of his body had ceased to exist.

       “Christ…even after they're cut off, they're still alive…” Spike mumbled, wondering how like a vampire they were. If you cut a body part off a vampire, it would exist and keep moving until you dusted the vamp or burned the body part. He didn't hold much hope, however, that killing them would be a simple matter of just driving a piece of wood through their chests.

       Spike lifted his head to see Oz holding the ax at ready, eyes slightly narrowed as his eyes flicked between the front door and the trapdoor, where Willow was once again peeking up from, giggling once more. Cordelia was seated on the couch once more, her legs crossed demurely at her ankles, and she clutched her sweater at the labels, as if covering herself from prying eyes. She was looking at nothing really in particular, mostly into space. Despite her recent behavior and his outburst earlier, he was worried that she had finally slipped into a kind of shock.

       “Cordelia?” He knelt in front of her and snapped his fingers in front of her face, immediately drawing her attention to him. “Pet? You all right?”

       She nodded slowly, her eyes wide, and her mouth hanging open slackly. When she spoke, her voice was sounding raspy, as if she had been crying for hours, where, as far as he could tell, she hadn't been, “It got Xander, didn't it?”

       “Yeah, luv…'fraid so…” He smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way, but the way his lips stretched over his teeth didn't feel at all natural to him. “Listen, pet…know me and you have been sniping at each other for the last couple hours…but we're goin' to have to pull together here, if we want to make it out of here, all right?”

       “We're not making it out of here…”

       Buffy looked over towards them sharply when she heard the sound of palm meeting cheek, and she saw Cordelia cradling one side of her cheek, looking shocked.

       “That's it, `Delia,” Spike growled at her, his eyes flashing golden, “Not goin' to be havin' that kind of talk anymore, got me?! We ARE gettin' out of here, if it's the last thing we bloody do! So, buck the FUCK up and help us out! All right?!”

       Cordelia slowly nodded but Spike didn't think she was going to be much help at the moment. At least she wasn't doing the irritating little doomsayer bit that was grating the hell out of his nerves.

       Spike whirled to his feet with a predator's grace, his eyes gleaming in his face as he looked over Buffy and then Oz. “Right…now I'm fuckin' pissed at whatever the FUCK is screwin' around with us. We need a battle plan.”

       “Like what, Spike?” Buffy asked in a slightly argumentative tone, feeling more frustrated at the situation then with him, “Willow said that thing controls the woods, it's possessing our friends right and left…and we still haven't even freakin' seen what it is! We don't even know if it even has a form! How can we fight a faceless, nameless force that we don't know the first thing about?” She gestured at the Necronomicon, which was lying beside the briefly forgotten tape recorder, “Unless Exorcist-Xander feels like helping us translate that freaking book, we're pretty damned SCREWED!”

       Spike's face softened as he approached his girl, and he sighed as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head tenderly, “I know, baby,” He murmured beneath his breath, and then pulled away to smile down at her rakishly, “But even if we can't get out of this shit, I know that you want to lay down a universe of hurt on this thing for touching your friends before it can take us out.”

       Buffy smiled slowly, and Spike bent to press a hard, quick kiss to her lips. “All right then,” He took an unneeded deep breath, “Got a few goodies stashed in the boot of my car…but Xander's runnin' around out there…can you watch my back, baby?”

       “You have to ask?” Buffy rolled her eyes, “Hello, Slayer here? We may be like those stupid co-eds, but I'm definitely not the blond bimbo with big tits bouncing all over the place while she runs away from the psycho.”

       “Uh…” Spike didn't know quite how to respond to that comment…but his body did decide to respond to the imagery. And to think, Buffy only thought he wore the big, long duster to look cool. Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and drew his jacket around his front a little, “Right…wouldn't think of that for a moment.”

       “Guys?” Oz interrupted, and Spike turned to see he was peeking out of the slats of the boarded up windows, “I don't see Xander out there anymore…if you're going to make a run for the car, now might be a good time.”

       Buffy gripped the ax tightly in her hands as she stood behind Spike by the front door. He was holding his car keys in his hand, the key to the trunk held at ready. He wanted to get in there, grab his stuff and be back in the house before Xander even had a chance to realize what he was up too.

       He glanced over at Buffy, who was pressed so closely to his back that her hot breath on the back of his neck was proving rather distracting. He sent her a small smile before turning the lock of the door and slipped out onto the front porch, mindful of the holes in the flooring from where they had lifted boards to close up the windows. If he had time, he'd grab a few to board up the door to the room with the now useless window.

       He glanced around, but neither saw nor heard anything in the gloomy darkness, and he hoped, probably in vain, that Xander had moved on by himself. He highly doubted it; whatever was out to get them wouldn't let his little servants shuffle off to terrorize some unsuspecting wild life instead of the houseful of juicy people waiting to be cracked open like a big ole walnut.

       “See anything?” Buffy asked, and Spike shook his head as he moved away from the doorway so that she could stand in it. Her job was to prevent anything from getting in and to keep a look-out for demon-Xander. Spike looked around once more before striding purposefully towards his car, his eyes flickering towards the woods, ears straining for either footsteps or something nasty crashing through the forest around them.

       He flickered a look over his shoulder to see his beautiful Slayer standing strong, the light from the cabin streaming out around her, lighting her golden hair aflame, and framing her slender, powerful body. When they got the hell out of this fucked up situation, he'd create epic poetry in her honor. His face steeled and his demon rippled beneath the planes of his human face. And Satan help him, he'd get her out of this if it killed him.

       “Spike, stop dicking around and come on!” Buffy hissed at him, looking around nervously.

       A smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, as he turned and walked up to his car and slid the key into the lock. He popped the boot open and the interior light flipped on, and he bent to dig through the assorted detritus littering the trunk.

       He grunted as he searched anything that was useful to them at the moment and then he grinned when he saw the old shotgun stashed in the back, as well as several boxes of shells. He grabbed it up and shoved the shells into the pockets of his duster. He slid the shotgun strap over his shoulder and sifted through the rest of the crap littering the bottom of the trunk.

       Unfortunately, he had cleaned up his car a little bit before picking up the gang for the trip out here, and he had left his battle-ax and sword he always kept there back at home. It was only luck that he hadn't seen the shotgun when clearing the trunk before.

       All that was left was a tool-box that didn't yield anything that wasn't already in the toolbox in the cabin, and Willow's backpack which had a baggie full of what may have either been Marijuana or magic weed, (He guessed the latter, since he couldn't begin to even imagine little Willow going up to some shady drug dealer on the street to make a purchase,) and several of her schoolbooks. He felt a slight pang when he realized that she had brought them along, probably hoping to catch a few moments to do her homework. The poor girl was a good sort, and she certainly didn't deserve what had happened to her. Not even in the tiniest bit.

       “Spike!” Buffy's impatient voice jarred him out of his thoughts and he slammed down the trunk, remembering abruptly where he was and what sort of danger he was in. “Hurry up!”

       “Right, coming,” He shrugged the shotgun strap so that it was slung across his back and he headed back towards the house. “You know, it's just my bloody freakin' luck that the one time I actually need the ax in my boot, and I leave the damn thing at home!”

       “Yeah, yeah, bitch inside,” Buffy gestured at him frantically, desperately wanting him inside and safe with her once more. Then he could gripe and whine all he wanted too.

       Spike grinned at her, about to step onto the porch when he heard something move above him…on the roof. Spike's head whipped upwards and then he was falling back as Xander dropped down on him from above with an unearthly shriek.

       Spike crashed against the hard ground, gasping as the shotgun stabbed rather painfully into his spinal column. Xander laughed manically as he closed his hands around Spike's throat, the fingers of his intact hand pressing into Spike's esophagus. Spike gasped in momentarily panic before his body reminded him that he didn't need to breath.

       “You were always a fuckin' stupid sod, Harris,” Spike growled as he went to punch Xander in the side of the head. However, Xander whipped his head around at the last second, and Spike howled as his teeth ripped through the flesh of his hand and sank deeply till his canines shattered when the struck bone. “FFFFUUUCCKKKK!”

       Spike ripped his hand away, looking up into Xander's face, feeling sick when he saw strips of his flesh hanging out of Xander's corrupted, bloodstained lips, and Xander bared his cracked teeth at Spike. “I hate it when food gets stuck in my teeth!”

       Xander suddenly pitched forward with another shriek as Buffy slammed him in the back with the business hand of her ax, and she swore as the handle was wrenched out of her hands as he rolled forward.

       Spike climbed back to his feet, clutching his mutilated hand to his chest; luckily, his blood was already coagulating, and the bleeding would soon stop. However, it would take several days before the sizable chunk the little bastard had taken out of him would heal over. Well, at least it was his right hand instead of his left, or he'd be in some serious trouble. He had never quite gotten the ambidextrous thing down.

       “You all right?” Buffy asked him in concern, and Spike nodded, eyes narrowing as he watched Xander lurch back to his feet with jerky, uncoordinated movements. He whirled around several times before he got his bearings back and then he zeroed in on Spike and Buffy.

       “Shit! DUCK!” Spike dove to the ground, pulling Buffy down with him when Xander suddenly launched himself through the air from fifteen feet away. He landed directly behind them, still not too steady on his feet; however, he was coping well enough with the handicap of the ax embedded in his back.

       Spike and Buffy crawled back several feet, avoiding the unsteady demon-Xander before getting back up and they exchanged a look, a plan without words forming between them with that one glance.

       “Oi! Harris!” Spike called, darting forward to drive a booted foot into his chest, causing him to stagger back. Xander hissed malignantly as he whirled to face Spike head-on, strips of Spike's flesh still hanging in his teeth. Buffy took the distraction as a chance to slip around Xander without his knowledge. “God…even dead, you're a fuckin' messy eater! Get a goddamn napkin, you filthy little…whatever the hell you are…”

        Xander's bone white eyes bore into Spike's as he staggered towards Spike, “We're going to get you,” He sing-songed mockingly, “We're going to get your little bitch too…that little red-headed whore spread her legs for us…we'll get your girl to do it too…” His red-tinted tongue snaked out over his black-veined lips, “Think her soul will taste as good as her flesh?”

       “You'll get her over my fuckin' dead body,” Spike snarled, and then smiled as Buffy came up behind Xander, “Or rather…yours.”

       Buffy grasped the hilt of the ax and wrenched it loose from Xander's back, and then stumbled back with a sickened cry as his black blood shot from his body in a grisly fount that caught her with a full frontal spray. She stood there, holding the ax, looking pretty damned stunned as the spray trickled away, her entire body shaking with the shock of what, exactly, had just hosed her down.

       “BUFFY!” Spike jumped forward, landing on Xander's back as the boy swung around to confront the stunned Slayer, and she shook her head, snapping herself out of her stupor.

       “Watch it!” She called to Spike, and he dropped off of Xander as she swung the ax with all of her strength, removing his head from his shoulders.

       Xander's head spun several times in the air before hitting the ground and bouncing like a macabre ball. Xander's body remained upright, and both Buffy and Spike leapt back away from him as green slime actually shot out of the stump of his neck and high into the air, and splattering the ground around them. Xander's body finally lost the fight with gravity and it toppled over to one side and lay still, leaving Buffy and Spike to stare at the body, completely staggered.

       “Oh…God…” Buffy looked down at herself and dropped the ax to start swiping at the disgusting mess covering her, “Oh God! Ick! ICK!” She then looked at Xander's severed head, still in its demonic form, “Oh my God! I decapitated Xander!”

       Utoh…Spike saw that Buffy's momentary shock was giving way to outright hysteria and he quickly stepped over Xander's prone body to wrap his arms around his Slayer, “Shh…baby…it's all right…you had too…you know you had to do it…”

       “Oh God…Oh God…I killed him! I killed my best friend!” Buffy burrowed herself into the cocoon of his arms, “And he sprayed green GOO at me! And…and…all that blood! Xander shot BLOOD at me!”

       “Uh…” Spike was a little confused about what she was freaking out about; either it was killing Xander…or the fact that he had ruined her outfit while doing it. It was probably just the hysteria talking, but either way, he was completely lost. Better to go with just the general sympathy route, “It's going to be okay, poodle…” He told her as he stroked her hair, and then winced as a few strands became tangled in the wound on his hand. He'd nearly forgotten about that.

       He pulled away slightly, and lifted his hand to peer at it, wincing again. It was looking pretty mangled at the moment. Buffy drew away from him, and flinched herself when she saw the condition of his hand, “Oh God…are you all right?”

       “Yeah…it's already stopped bleeding,” Spike assured her, “Be all healed up in a few days, so, no worries.”

       “We should still bandage it up,” She told him, and then tensed slightly before shoving on his chest and glaring at him, “Jesus, Spike…not now! Are you out of your damned mind?!”

       “What?” Spike asked, looking confused, and she rolled her eyes.

       “I know fighting makes you horny…but come on!” She hissed, and then frowned when she saw he was still looking bewildered. She glanced down to see she was holding his wounded hand…and the other one was hanging at his side. She then looked at the ground behind Spike, where Xander's body should have been lying.

       “Buffy? Pet? What's wrong?”

       The Slayer whirled with a sharp cry, nearly knocking Spike over as she crashed against him in her attempt to escape that hand that was grabbing at her ass. Spike heard the sound of laughter, and he righted himself as he glanced in the direction Xander's severed head had landed.

       “What's wrong, Buffy?” Xander's severed head asked, grinning evilly, “I thought Slaying makes you hungry and horny,” He ground his broken teeth together, causing more chips and cracks to form.

       “Okay…the blood was ick…but that's just GROSS!” Buffy kicked Xander's headless body away from her, and the unguided lower half fell over before it could right itself with its arms and then shoved itself to onto its legs.

       Spike grabbed the ax off the ground where Buffy had dropped it, and brandished it in his good hand, “Told you once, Harris…” Spike snarled as he kicked the unsteady body, causing it to fall backwards, “If you touch my woman, I'd cut your fuckin' hands off!” Spike brought down the ax, not bothering to avoid the spray of bodily fluids as he sheared Xander's right arm clean off.

       Buffy stood back as Spike brought the ax down against the flailing body over and over again, Xander's head letting out deafening howls and shrieks as it's body was destroyed by the ax-wielding vampire. By the time he was done, Xander's body parts were jittering on the ground still living and wriggling about, but unable to do any real harm, and Spike leaned against the ax, green and black fluid dripping off of his face and duster. He fought a bout of light-headiness from the blood loss and nausea.

       “You think you can stop us?!” Xander's head shrieked at him, and Spike turned his attention in that direction, “WE WILL EAT YOUR SOULS! WE WILL MAKE YOU ALL ONE OF US!”

       Spike glanced down at his ax, and Xander's bone eyes widened when Spike lifted it again and started striding towards him, “Wait…what are you doing? HEY! You can't do that! STOP IT! GET AWAY FROM ME! I'LL BITE YOUR FUCKING ANKLES OFF YOUR WORTHLESS BLOOD-SUCK--”

       Spike swung the ax downwards, cleaving Xander's head in half, his skull popping open like a grape, and greenish-gray matter spewing forth from inside his broken cranium. He turned towards Buffy, and he offered her a weary smile when she stared at him with wide eyes. “Boy never knew when to shut his mouth when he was a head…”

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       (Clutches chest, groans!) OH! Ended THAT one on a horribly evil pun! I am so very, very sorry that you had to endure it…but it…it was JUST too much to resist. Anyway, we all wanted to slap Spike when he was hanging out the window and had the nerve to pretend he was all shocked when he was attacked! I mean, come on, man. Really! Stupid co-ed wildebeest, indeed! However, Spike made up for his stupidity when he bitch-slapped Cordelia. (Whoo-hoo! That'll teach you to do REALLY annoying commentary during an episode of Angel! I wanted to see Lorne strutting his stuff! Not listening to you bitch about the pretty, floaty light land you were hanging out in! No wonder they kicked your ass out of that higher plane. You're damn whiny! What'd you expect? Waldorf-Astoria accommodations and a bitching rock band? DAMN!) Okay, lost myself on that tangent. Spike has a gun now and a LOT of bullets. Whee! Xander jumped Spike from the roof, and then got chopped into itty-bitty pieces…but not before nearly biting Spike's hand off and spraying Buffy with all kinds of unmentionable bodily fluids. (ICK!) Xander, even chopped in itty bits, continued to threaten Spike and Buffy (and groped Buffy's ass. Hey! He may be an animated corpse but he's still a guy!)…and Spike chopped his severed head in half. And then made a horrible pun. Which I won't repeat. Now, on to the story! (Heh…guess that means Xander isn't the `head' of the Scooby snack committee anymore.) Oh, stop groaning and read.

Part Nine

       “Oh…gross…” Cordelia scrunched up her nose as Spike and Buffy came back into the cabin, both of them absolutely covered in fluids she couldn't even begin to name.

       “Not a bloody word from you two,” Spike growled, dropping the gore-coated ax by the door and slamming the door shut. He wiped a bead of green slime off of his forehead and flicked it off of his hand in disgust, “Think I'm going to be ill.”

       Oz peeked out the window and saw the bits of Xander littering the ground outside and shuddered. He had to remind himself several times that Xander was dead and that he was far better off this way then running around with his body hijacked by a blood-thirsty demon. He looked towards the trapdoor, where Willow had gone silent during the hack-fest outside; she was probably rethinking the whole drawing attention to herself thing, since Spike and Buffy had both proven that, although they loved their friends dearly, they were fully capable of chopping them into little bits to survive. At least they had whatever those things were rethinking their strategies.

       “You guys okay?” Oz asked, and Spike grimaced as he lifted the strap of the shotgun over his head and dropped it on the couch before shrugging out of his duster.

       “Little bastard took a chunk out of m'hand,” Spike replied, wincing when Buffy tried to gently probe the deep wound, “Damned bugger was fast…at least, till Buffy whacked him in the back with the ax. Slowed him down right quick.”

       “Not enough,” Buffy countered, remembering the way he had launched himself at them, even with the ax buried in his back. Threw his balance off a little bit, but it didn't stop him for long. “They're strong.”

       “But they're killable,” Spike added as he yanked his t-shirt over his head, and used the dry back to scrub his face and arms clean of the noxious fluids that had issued from Xander's body.

       Oz lifted a hand up and removed a chunk of something from Buffy's hair and then dropped it with a squicked look on his face, “You got…uh…Xander in your hair…”

       “Oh! Ew! Ew!” Buffy swatted at her hair in disgust, “Get it out!”

       Oz helped Buffy to remove the bits and pieces clinging to her blond locks as Spike dumped the shotgun shells out onto the couch and loaded the double-barrel shotgun with two fire-engine red shells. He sighted along the barrel and then handed it off to Oz. “Know how to use this?”

       Oz nodded, taking the shot gun, “My uncle used to take me hunting…”

       “Good,” Spike grabbed up his duster, grimacing when he saw the slimey juices covering the beloved leather. “Great…my drycleaner is goin' to have my head when he sees this.”

       “Yeah…well…wait till you tell Xander's parents that you went psycho ax-murderer on their only son,” Cordelia muttered, and Spike glared at her.

       “Suck me dry, bitch,” He shot back, and stalked towards Buffy and his bedroom. Buffy sent Cordelia a withering look before hurrying after her angry boyfriend and Oz sighed.

       “That was uncalled for,” Oz told Cordelia, shaking his head, “He did what he had to do.”

       “Lot of good it's going to do us,” Cordelia muttered, drawing her legs up to her chest.

       Down below, Willow giggled.

       “Dozy cow,” Spike mumbled beneath his breath as he dropped his coat on the edge of the bed and began to strip out of his ruined jeans. He was getting so very tired of Cordelia's fatalistic and snide commentary; the urge to slap her again was becoming almost too tempting to resist.

       He looked up as Buffy slipped into the bedroom, and he sighed as he pulled a pair of jeans out of his duffel bag, as well as a pack of smokes. He had been trying to quit for Buffy, but at the moment, he'd kill for the nicotine rush. She'd have to deal with the dangers of second-hand smoke until they got the hell out of this cursed place. “That girl is working on my very last nerve.”

       “Mine too,” Buffy replied, stripping out of her own clothing and changing into a pair of fake leather pants that wouldn't get ruined, no matter what they were spattered with. Aw…the power of plastic pants. Water-proof and slime-proof. She shuddered as she ran a hand through her hair, pulling a face as yet another piece of Xander fell out onto the floor.

       Spike sat on the edge of the bed after pulling on another black t-shirt and popped the fag in his mouth, watching as Buffy attempted to pull her appearance together. It wasn't going to do well, from what he was seeing on his end, but as he wanted to live through the night, he didn't make a comment to that affect. He dug through his duster, looking for his lighter, and his fingers brushed against the velvet box down at the bottom of his pockets. His lighter was nestled beside it and he pulled both out.

       He looked up at Buffy, who was pulling a black, baggy sweater over a little white tank-top, her still slimed hair pulled back from her into a pony tail. She was prepped for some serious ass-kicking and he felt a grin of pride come to his face, despite their still hazardous situation. This was his mate. Beautiful, assured…and completely capable of kicking the crap out of whatever the hell they were facing.

       Buffy turned when she felt Spike watching her, and she scowled when she saw the unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. “Hey! You said you quit!”

       “I did!” Spike replied, and then grinned sheepishly when Buffy lifted a skeptical eyebrow, “Mostly.” He whined when she snatched the smoke out of his mouth, “Ah…luv…come on! Have a heart…exemption for near-death experience.”

       “Not a chance,” She tossed the cigarette away, not giving in to the power of his pouty lips. Spike snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him, and Buffy smiled down at him wanly, “That's not going to work either.”

       “No ulterior motives here, pet,” Spike replied, pressing his forehead against her abdomen. “So…how are you really doing, precious?”

        Buffy sighed as she threaded her fingers through his stiff, curly hair, and stuck out her tongue when she dislodged a piece of Xander from the slime-gelled locks, “Would you believe that I'm suddenly nostalgic for the Hell Mouth? I miss the old-fashioned demons that have the decency to die when you cut their freaking heads off.”

       Spike chuckled, nuzzling his face against her stomach, and then he lifted his head, peering up into her eyes, an all too serious look on his face. “Buffy.”

       She sighed heavily, and then sank into his lap, wrapping her arms about his middle as she laid her head against his shoulder, “I'm okay…really…I just…I just want to get out of here before I...I have to kill someone else I love…” She tightened her grip on him, and he caught her meaning all too well. She was afraid that she would have to kill him next. “I'm not going to lose anyone else tonight.”

       “And you're not, not if I can help it,” Spike assured Buffy, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she closed her eyes with a soft sigh as he leaned his head against hers. However, she opened her eyes when she felt him press something into her hand. She frowned down at the small, black velvet box and looked up at him in confusion.

       He shrugged a little self-consciously at her look, “I…was…uh…going to wait for the right moment…but I guess now is as good time as any…” He watched as Buffy looked down at the box before flipping open the box, and she stared down at the diamond ring in agonizing silence. “So…um…yeah…the timing really sucks but I promise, when we get out of here…I'll…do it the right way…” Buffy lifted her eyes as Spike stammered on nervously, “I'll do right by you, pet…can promise that much…I'll be good to you…you know I can…and I may not be a man…but…”

       Buffy handed him the box, and Spike's face crumbled, but she smiled at him somewhat shyly, “Put it on me?”

       Spike blinked slowly, and then a bright grin broke over his face as he fumbled with the ring box to remove the piece of jewelry and slipped it onto her slim finger. Buffy threw her arms around his neck when he was done, and kissed him deeply, “Love you,” She muttered when she broke the kiss, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and Spike grinned as he kissed the tip of her nose.

       “Love you too, pet…” He said, his voice sounding slightly rough, and she smiled shakily as she pressed her face against the cool skin of his throat.

       However, all too soon, they had to pull apart, despite their mutual wish to just cuddle up together and forget what was horrific things were happening outside of their little happy sphere. Buffy clasped Spike's good hand in her own, and took a deep breath as they headed back out to Cordelia and Oz, a new sense of purposing propelling her forward. Freaky ass demons and sunlight be damned. Every single one of them was getting out of this if she had to face off against all the armies of Hell to do it.

       “OW! Goddamn IT!” Spike clenched his teeth together as Buffy tightly wrapped the hand Xander had used as a chew-toy; his entire arm felt as though it was on fire, which was strange. Usually, the pain lessened, not got worse with time.

       Vampires were natural healers…even as a wound was inflicted, it would start healing simultaneously. It didn't look as though his hand had even started the healing process and it was beginning to worry him. As Buffy taped the bandage down, Spike flexed his fingers with a wince, trying to loosen the stiff joints.

       “Okay?” Buffy asked in concern and he looked up at her, smiling reassuringly.

       “Yeah…just hurts like a bitch,” Spike replied, “Should still be able to use it if I have too though.”

       “Good,” Buffy put away the first-aid supplies, and glanced towards Oz, who was standing guard at the window, shot gun held at ready in his hands. She then looked towards the closed trapdoor, “Is it just me, or is she being just a little too quiet?”

       “Who cares as long as she isn't bugging us?” Spike asked practically.

       “She hasn't said too much since the…Xander thing,” Oz supplied, “She still laughs sometimes…but other then that…nothing.”

       “Think she's planning something?” Buffy starting to sound a little paranoid, “Or is she…just waiting?”

       “Doubt it, pet…these things don't seem to have the brains God gave a gnat,” Spike assured Buffy, and out of respect for the dead, and his currently unbruised crotch, he didn't add that Xander hadn't seemed all that different in the brains department. Except, instead of his usual Twinkies craving, he had decided that Spike was a nummy treat and had a bit of a nosh.

       Buffy sighed heavily, not knowing whether to be relieved or not that Spike thought these things were pretty brainless. She knew from experience that brainless didn't necessarily mean non dangerous.

       She glanced towards Cordelia, who was still seated on the couch, but she was leaning forward slightly, her head bowed and hair covering her face. Buffy's body tensed immediately, and Spike glanced at her sharply, and then followed her gaze towards Cordelia and saw why Buffy had suddenly grown apprehensive. Cordelia was very nearly in the same position that Willow had been in just before she came over all demon-y.

       Spike hissed at Oz, getting the boy's attention, and Oz looked towards him and then Cordelia before immediately backing away, bringing the shotgun up and training it on the former cheerleader.

       Spike grabbed up the ax from where he had dropped it, and slowly approached Cordelia, Buffy at his side. He gestured Buffy forward, and she stepped up towards Cordelia as Spike lifted the ax, prepared to strike, just in case.

       “Cordelia?” Buffy gently shook her shoulder, and pressed her lips together when there was no response. She glanced at Spike and then slipped her hand beneath Cordelia's chin and lifted her head up to expose Cordelia's face, half-expecting to see the white, decaying features that denoted possession.

       Cordelia suddenly whipped her head out of Buffy's grasp and her eyes shot open. She let out a banshee-like wail and lurched to her feet.

       “AHHHHH!” Spike stumbled back, letting out his own startled yell, and then he swore as he lowered the ax, “Bloody hell, `Delia! Don't DO that! I nearly cut your brainless HEAD off!”

       “WELL! What the hell did you expect?!” Cordelia snapped at him, “Of course I'm going to freak out! I wake up and you're standing over me with an AX, dumbass!”

       Buffy collapsed onto the couch with a groan, “Well…that's like…six years off my already short life span…thanks a lot, guys.”

       “Six years off your life?!” Cordelia complained, “Hello! I'm the one who Spike almost ax-murdered! Major trauma here!”

       “Sorry,” Spike grumbled as he dropped down next to Buffy, crossing his arms over his chest, “Thought you gone evil on us.”

       “It's called napping, you bleached moron…but since I won't sleep ever again, thanks to you, Mr. Ax-happy, we won't have to worry about me waking up evil, now will we?”

       “Watch it, Prom Queen…I might still take the ax to you on principal alone, if you don't hold your damned tongue! I said I was sorry, didn't I?”

       “Come on, guys, cut it out,” Buffy said, giving both Spike and Cordelia a warning look. Spike rolled his eyes, continuing to complain beneath his breath till Buffy elbowed him in the side. “I said to stop it, honey.”

       “Fine, fine,” Spike sighed as he leaned back against the couch, Buffy pressed firmly against his side, his bandaged hand resting against her stomach. Oz shook his head as he sat down by the fireplace, leaning his back against the mantel, and he laid the shotgun across his knees. Cordelia sat beside Oz and glared steadily at Spike until Buffy narrowed her eyes warningly.

       The clock over the mantel ticked steadily in the stifling silence that had settled over the cabin. Spike turned his head to gaze at the trapdoor thoughtfully, his head cocked slightly as if he was listening for something from down there, but there was nothing to be heard but the normal creaks of the cabin and the ticking clock.

       Spike tapped his fingers against the arm of the couch as he leaned his head back against the couch cushions, staring up at the ceiling. He could feel Cordelia's gaze crawling over him like insects, which annoyed him to no end. As many times as he went over what had happened, he couldn't exactly figure out why she had decided that he was the sole culprit in what had happened. Sure, he had found the dagger, book and tape recorder downstairs…but no one person was really responsible for what happened, that he could see. However, she felt the need to blame somebody and had decided that Spike was the suitable scrape-goat. The bitch.

       Spike closed his eyes with a muffled groan, borne of weariness and immense boredom. For once, daylight couldn't come soon enough for his tastes.

       Buffy dozed fitfully, head pillowed against Spike's shoulder. She shifted slightly and opened her eyes sleepily when she felt Spike's fingers stroking along the skin of her stomach, underneath her sweater and tank top. She tilted her head up to see that his head was bent back over the top edge of the couch, eyes closed and his mouth was hanging open slackly.

       Buffy glanced towards Cordelia and Oz; Cordelia had fallen asleep, leaning against the werewolf, and Oz was looking in the direction of the trapdoor, absently rubbing his hands along the barrel of the shotgun. The fire had gone out, and Buffy shivered at the chill in the air. Oz shifted his gaze towards her briefly before looking back at the trapdoor again. Buffy looked over as well, and saw that Willow was holding up the door and was staring at the couple on the couch, a malignant smile on her face. It made a shiver run up and down Buffy's spine.

       What the hell is she grinning about? Buffy thought, snuggling closer to Spike in an unconscious reflex. He murmured in his sleep, and the arm around her shoulders tightened, and the bandages on the hand beneath her shirt scraped across her abdomen as it slid further up her shirt, brushing across the underside of her breast. She rolled her eyes as she pressed down against his arm, sliding his hand away from her chest. She didn't want to wake him, but now was hardly the time for him to get frisky in his sleep. Especially with creepy Willow-demon leering at them, as if expecting a free show or something.

       It was seriously creeping her out.

       Her attention was now as morbidly focused on the grinning Willow as Oz's was, and she narrowed her eyes slightly was what looked like excitement caused her to start giggling again. Buffy jumped when she felt Spike's hand cup her breast, and she let out a sigh of annoyance as she elbowed Spike in the side, and he jerked awake, staring at her with bleary, sleep-filled eyes, “Huh?”

       “Stop it,” She hissed at him quietly, and jumped when again when he squeezed her breast a little roughly, “Ow! Spike…come on…so not the time…”

       Spike continued to stare at her in confusion, his eyebrows drawing together, and then he looked down at the hand he had up her shirt. She let out a little shriek of pain when his nails suddenly dug into the soft globe of flesh, and she jerked away from him, yanking his hand out of her top, “OW! GOD! Spike! You ASSHOLE!”

       Oz jumped to his feet at Buffy's shout, upsetting Cordelia, who tumbled over, her eyes shooting open in alarm. Willow burst out into full-throated, maniacal laughter as she watched Spike strip away the bandages covering the hand Xander had mangled, and saw with some panic that small, black veins covered it, and his fingernails had become yellowed, pointed claws. “What the fuck…?”

       “Oh my God…Spike! What's happening to your hand?!”

       Spike could only shake his head in bewilderment as he stared at the changed appendage, noting that the wound Xander had inflicted earlier had closed up. Even with his heightened healing…that was impossibly fast. Oz and Cordelia drew forward, confusion and worry evident on their faces when they saw Spike's hand. “That can't be good, man…”

       “Thanks for stating the bloody obvious, Wolf,” Spike muttered as Buffy slid back up next to him. She took his right hand in her own and turned it around for her own inspection. Save for the claws and veins in his hand, nothing else appeared to be wrong with it.

       “God…that is gross,” Buffy made a face, and she glared at Spike when he flipped her the finger, about to tell him where he could shove that finger; however, when she saw the alarmed look on his face, she forgot what she was going to say, “Spike?”

       Before he could say a single word, his hand jumped up and grabbed her around the throat and squeezed viciously. Buffy's eyes went wide as she grasped at his arm, trying to pull him off. To her confusion, Spike was attempting to do the same thing.

       “Let go you DAFT BUGGER!” He snarled, and then he reached up to the hand choking the life out of his mate and pinched the nerves between his thumb and forefinger. The fingers on his hand let go, and he flung himself backwards away from Buffy.

       Cordelia rushed to Buffy's side as the Slayer leaned over the edge of the couch, retching and gasping out sobs as she fought for breath through her burning throat and Oz whirled on Spike and pointed the shotgun at the vampire…who appeared to be grappling with his own hand.

       Spike slammed against the wall and pinned his own arm there, and he glared at Oz, who was pointing the gun at him, “It's not me, you fool! It's my fuckin' hand!”

       Spike stumbled away from the wall suddenly, the black veined hand coming up to grab Spike's face and dug its claws into his skin, blood running down his face, “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”

       Oz hesitated and then lifted the gun, butt up and smashed it against the hand clutching at Spike's face. Spike howled in pain as the hand dropped away from his face, “OW! You broke MY nose, you idiot!”

       “Sorry!” Oz ducked as Spike suddenly lunged at him, possessed hand outstretched, and Spike slammed into the wall at the opposite end of the cabin, obviously having a hard time keeping a handle on the appendage that had developed a life all it's own.

       Buffy got to her feet, watching as Spike fell to the ground and used his knee to pin his own hand to the ground, and it clawed and scrabbled at the heavy denim protecting his leg, attempting to gain purchase. Spike grabbed one of the fingers and bent it backwards till it broke, and he let out another howl of pain. The fingers on that hand suddenly stiffened, and then went limp.

       Spike panted, eyed it warily, waiting for it to start attacking him again. However, after several minutes, there was no movement and Spike slowly eased his weight off of it. He breathed a sigh of relief when it didn't spring back to live when his weight was gone and he glanced towards where the others were huddled together, “Luv? You all right?”

       “Yeah…” Buffy rubbed her throat, “Is…is it dead?”

       “More so then usual, I think,” Spike replied, looking back down at his motionless hand. However, when he attempted to use the fingers of his own volition, there was no movement. However, his pain receptors weren't at all hindered, unfortunately.

       He stood up finally, and ran his good hand through his hair shakily, “That…was supremely fucked up.”

       “Yeah,” Oz agreed, lowering the shotgun finally, “You okay, man? Didn't mean to smash your nose…”

       “Yeah…uh…I'm fine. It'll heal all right…think you only fractured it, anyway…,” Spike leaned against the mantle, his lying his arm against it and closing his eyes wearily, “Not sure how good my hand is going to be though…can't move the damned thing.”

       Buffy approached him cautiously, and Spike opened his eyes at the uncertain footsteps coming his way. Buffy stopped a safe distance away, peering at Spike's now useless hand. She jumped when she saw a finger twitch, and it suddenly sprang into life, grasping the ticking clock on the mantle and slammed it against the side of Spike's head.

       Spike tumbled off balance, and crashed to the ground, half conscious, a laceration dripping blood from where the glass in the face of the now ruined clock had cut into his temple. The hand hopped up on the tips of its fingers and actually ran as far as Spike's limp arm would allow it, and attempted to reach the dagger lying near the tape recorder, it's screaming skull hilt very nearly within it's grasp. It then dug its nails into the wood floor and started to drag Spike's body closer to the weapon.

       Buffy pounced, pinning Spike's arm to the floor by the elbow and she swatted the dagger away from its grasp. The hand hopped up and down in what looked like soundless frustration, and then it tried to reach Buffy to get her off of Spike's arm. Buffy grabbed the heavy Necronomicon and started bashing the hand with it over and over again, “Stop being possessed, you stupid hand!” She shouted at it, “The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!”

       “Buffy?” Oz interrupted, and she glanced over her shoulder, “Um…this…isn't the Exorcist…and I don't think that would work anyway…what with Spike being a vampire…and pretty much…uncompelled by Christ in the first place…”

       She scowled at him and then peered down at the stunned looking hand, and her eyes widened. The black veins were started to spread, moving farther up his arm. “Utoh…that can't be good…”

       Spike groaned as he drifted back into consciousness. He saw Buffy pinning his arm down to the ground and he sat up on his other elbow, and swore when he saw what had his mate looking alarmed. Whatever the hell was possessing his hand was going to spread to the rest of his body. “Fuck!” He glanced around frantically, and then his eyes settled on the ax by the couch. “Wolf! The ax!”

       Oz snatched it up and ran towards the pair, confusion written on his face, “What do you want me to do with it?!”

       “The HELL you think!?” Spike snapped at him, “Cut it off!”

       “What?!” Buffy and Oz shouted at the same time. “Spike, man! I'm not cutting off your hand!”

       “DO IT!” He roared at them in exasperation, “DO IT NOW!”

       Oz glanced at Buffy, who had gone deathly pale and started to lift the ax into the air, and closing his eyes. “All right…”

       “WAIT!” Oz paused, hope suffusing his face; he seriously didn't want to do this, “Keep the eyes OPEN! I don't want you swinging and taking the Slayer's head off instead, you prat!”

       Oz forced his eyes to remain opened as he hefted the ax over his head; Buffy, however, squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered. Spike's possessed hand went into a panic and tried to crawl away but Buffy's weight was still pinning the arm to the ground and as long as it was attached, it wasn't going anywhere.

       Spike's entire body tensed in anticipation of the blow as Oz took a deep breath and swung the ax in a downward arc with all of his strength.

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       The horror! The drama! THE OWIES! Okay, after Spike and Buffy chopped Xander up into little bits, they went back inside and bitched about the Xander bits on their clothes and in their hair. (They might say they want Xander to be a part of them, but not specifically THOSE parts!) While changing, Buffy tells Spike he isn't allowed to smoke and after whining and pouting, he proposed, (Not exactly a proposal that will make it in Modern Bride as memorable, unless you mention the demonic possessions,) and Buffy said yes and now they're all engaged. (Buffy still wouldn't let Spike smoke, for those of you wondering.) Cordelia was being a bitch again and Buffy got all paranoid about quiet Demon-Willow. Cordelia fell asleep and then woke up and screamed when she saw Spike standing over her with an ax and Spike screamed too, cause he was all freaked out. After more snarkiness from Cordelia, the gang settled down for the long haul. Buffy woke up when Spike got frisky in his sleep, and then he got a little bit rough. When they looked at Spike's hand it was all gross and demon-y looking…and then it came alive and tried to strangle Buffy! AAHHHHH! Spike got the CRAP beaten out of him by his own hand, and then thought it was dead…but of course, it wasn't (The dumbass…) Where we left off, Oz was was just bringing the ax down to do a little pre-emptive amputation…

Part Ten

       “AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!”

       Spike's body lifted in a taut bow as he screamed, his demon features roaring forward.

       The somewhat blunt blade of the ax severed through bone and sinew to slam into the wood floor below, and Cordelia screamed, covering her eyes as Spike's hand flew through the air and struck the wall behind her head. It bounced off, landing behind the couch.

       “GOD-FUCKING-BLOODY-DAMMIT-HELL!”

       Spike writhed on the floor in agony, nearly sobbing from the pain, and Buffy stripped her sweater off to wrap it around the stump spurting blood all over the place. She pressed her hand against the sweater, attempting to stop the bleeding, and then Oz was at her side, lifting Spike's arm straight up in the air to slow the blood flow, and slid his hand in the place of Buffy's.

       Buffy immediately twisted around to attend to Spike, cupping his head in her hands, “Oh, God…baby…honey…it's all right…shhh…shh…it's all right…”

       Spike's pained thrashing slowed after several moments, but he was still clenching his teeth against the pain, his jaw aching from the strain of it. He pressed his face into Buffy's chest, letting out a sobbing gasp. “Jesus…fuckin'…Christ…that hurt…”

       Buffy let out a strained laugh, shaking her head slightly as she looked over towards Oz. He was looking kind of ill, but he was also holding himself up rather well. He had taken the first aid kit Cordelia had handed him and was already wrapping Spike's stump in a thick swaddle of bandages.

       Buffy petted Spike's head as he continued to shake, and it sounded as if he was having trouble breathing, despite not needing to breathe in the first place. It was more of a reflex then something he did consciously. Whenever he sustained a serious injury, or had exerted himself, he'd breath heavily for several minutes afterward.

       “You're so brave…” She whispered to Spike, and he sobbed-laughed against her.

       “Screw bravery…I need a goddamn drink,” He muttered in response, “Or you could just knock me unconscious till the pain goes away.”

       “No can do, babe…going to have to deal sober and conscious.”

       “You suck.” Spike groaned as he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, and then stared at the place where his hand used to be. He shuddered when he realized he could still feel a phantom pain in his fingers, even though his fingers were no longer there. It was disconcerting to say the least.

       “Come on, up you go,” Buffy and Oz helped Spike to his feet, since the vampire was having trouble supporting himself on his own legs. “Cordy…could you get him a couple blood packets out of the fridge?”

       Cordelia disappeared into the kitchen without a word, amazing Spike, but he was unable to appreciate the wonder of Cordelia keeping her mouth shut, since he felt like he was going to pass out at any moment. While it would be welcome, he knew it was less then an ideal time to do so. Buffy and Oz guided him towards the couch, and he collapsed onto it heavily.

       Cordelia returned with four packets, and Buffy forced Spike to drink them all, despite his protesting stomach. However, after he had fed, he felt a bit more clear-headed, and was able to focus more clearly on what was going on around him. He tossed aside the last empty packet, and then glanced around.

       “Where'd it go?”

       “Where'd what go?” Buffy asked, checking the dressings on his stump, “You mean your hand?”

       “It landed behind the couch,” Cordelia replied, scrunching up her nose as she shot a look at Oz, “It nearly smacked me in the head. As if I wasn't traumatized enough tonight.”

        “Should we put it on ice?” Buffy asked worriedly and pointedly ignored Cordelia's thoughtless comment, “Maybe…we could sew it back on later…”

       “Not going to happen, luv,” Spike told her, “Arm will have healed over before it could be done…'fraid it's a lost cause.” He smiled at her a bit self-consciously when her face fell, “Hey, now…it doesn't bother me none. Just be a tad difficult during quarter-staff training. Anyway, I think prosthetics have come quite a long way since my day…and hey! I can punch someone without worrying about breaking my fingers.”

       “Stow it,” Buffy told him, “You're too pragmatic to pull off false optimism.”

       “Ooohh…big words,” Spike teased, smiling as Buffy punched him in his uninjured arm. However, it had the desired effect since the worried and fretful expression dissolved off Buffy's face to be replaced by annoyance.

       Oz shook his head as he dropped to his knees and peered beneath the couch, squinting. He couldn't see anything in the dark, despite Cordelia's claims that Spike's hand had landed behind it. He slid his hand beneath the couch, and then grunted, moving forward even more, till he was reaching under up to his shoulder.

       “What are you doing?” Buffy asked, finally noticing what Oz was up too, and he looked up.

       “Trying to find Spike's hand,” Oz replied, still feeling along the bottom of the couch.

       “Be careful…” Cordelia warned, “It could still be alive…”

       He suddenly jerked forward, “OH GOD! IT'S GOT ME!”

       Cordelia screamed, and Spike leapt to his feet as Buffy grabbed Oz by the shoulders and yanked him away from the couch. Oz suddenly started laughing, and Buffy stared down at him in bewilderment. “Sorry…” He finally said, still chuckling, “Couldn't resist…”

       “Oz!” Buffy smacked him in the back of the head, “GOD! That wasn't funny! You freaked me out! What in the hell is wrong with you!?”

       Oz looked towards Spike, whose eyes were narrowed dangerously, and a growl escaped from the angry blonde, and he sighed, “Sorry…I…I was just…” He shrugged, “Lightening the tension…didn't work obviously…” He stood up, and wiped his hands on his pants, somewhat disheartened at his attempt to joke around. Xander had been better at it then him.  He looked towards Cordelia, “Anyway, it's not underneath there…you sure it bounced beneath the couch?”

       “Yes, I'm sure it fell down there and you know it!” Cordelia snapped at him, wrapping her arms around herself, “Stop screwing around, it isn't funny, dog-breath.”

       “It's not underneath there,” Oz insisted, “I'm not kidding,” He glanced around the edges of the couch, “It probably…just rolled or something…”

       “It's a hand…they don't roll,” Spike replied, and started to pull the couch away from the wall. Buffy came over to help him, since he was having difficulty doing it one-handed. They both stared at the empty-space exposed behind the couch and exchanged a look.

       “Okay…hands don't roll…but I'm pretty sure this one can walk,” Buffy said, and Spike kicked the couch back against the wall, and whirled around, his keen eyes searching the shadows of the cabin corners.

       “Oh God,” Cordelia whimpered, and backed away from them, and looked around in wide-eyed paranoid, “Where did it go?! WHERE DID IT GO!?”

       “Cordelia, SHUT IT!” Spike snapped at her, holding up one hand for silence. He cocked his head, listening for movement. He heard the slight scrape of fingernails against plaster, and he frowned, looking at the interior walls, which were made of plaster. He didn't see anything, but then he noticed a hole near the ground, by the bookcase. “I think it's in the walls…” He immediately grabbed up the shotgun Oz had set aside before and laid the barrel across his right arm. He walked towards the hole near the floor and knelt down, his eyes narrowed as he peered into it. Something moved inside with a scrape of nails, and Spike immediately pulled the trigger, the gun jumping up in his arms with the recoil and the blast blowing a hole the size of a dinner plate in the wall.

       Blood trickled out of the hole he had created, and Spike turned with a huge grin on his face, “Got the bastard.”

       Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, “God…I hate that hand…” She glanced at Spike, and stammered, “Um…I liked it when it was attached to you…and not strangling me.”

       “Yeah…I figured that much, pet,” Spike replied in some amusement as he straightened. He ejected the spent shell, reloaded the shotgun and then snapped it shut again.

       “God…this place sucks!” Cordelia spat out in disgust.

       “Think the feelings mutual all `round, princess,” Spike replied, picking up one of the boxes of shells. He glanced at his duster, which was hanging near the front door. It was still caked in gore, but it had bigger pockets then his painted-on jeans. He grabbed it and shrugged it on and then shoved all the shells he had had into them. There was no telling what the hell else this place was going to throw at them, but he was going to make damn sure he was prepared for it. Even it happened to be his body parts being thrown at them.

       “Spike? Your hand didn't happen to have a tail, did it?”

       “What?” Spike turned, and saw that Oz was standing near the enlarged hole in the wall, courtesy of the shotgun blast, and he held a thick, pink tail in the air. “The hell?”

       “There's a bunch of pieces of fur in here, man…and what looks like innards.” Oz dropped the tail on the ground, “You bagged one hell of a big rat…but I think this means your hand is still on the rampage.”

       “Oh God…” Cordelia looked around in a panic, “Where is it?!”

       “Cordelia, calm down,” Buffy ordered, looking around, trying to take her own advice. There was something definitely wig-worthy about little homicidal hands running around, unchecked. “Hear anything, Spike?”

       Spike shook his head, “Not a bloody thing.”

       “Well…maybe it couldn't live off of Spike,” Oz suggested hopefully, “Crawled off somewhere to die?”

       “It's a hand, not a dog,” Spike suggested irritably, “Jesus…the fun just never stops in Harris' Party Cabin of Death, does it?”

       “We have to find it!” Cordelia cried shrilly. “We have to LOOK for it!”

       Spike gritted his teeth together in annoyance. What in the hell did she think they were doing? Throwing a goddamn tea party? However, to his credit, he didn't voice the myriad of sarcastic replies floating around in his mind. “Yeah, princess…we know.”

       Buffy looked towards Cordelia as the girl's head swiveled back and forth on her shoulders, eyes wide as she turned about in a circle, as if half-expecting Spike's hand to leap out her at any moment. Which was a distinct possibility, actually; even so, she had to calm down and keep her wits about her. Buffy took Cordelia by the arm and led her towards the couch, “Cordy…just…sit here, shut up and don't move, all right? The rest of us are going to look for Spike's hand.”

       “What?! You're going to leave me alone?!”

       “Not really…no…” Buffy replied, sighing as she glanced around, and her eyes settled on the fireplace poker near the mantle. She grabbed it and handed it off to Cordelia, “Here…use this if you have too…and we won't be more then fifteen…twenty feet away from you. Just…scream if you need us.”

       Cordelia nodded nervously as she clutched the poker tightly and drew her feet up onto the couch and off the ground. She watched as Buffy grabbed the ax, and Oz grabbed the large dagger he and Spike had found down in the basement, and the three of them moved off together towards the kitchen to start searching for Spike's escaped hand.

       She was alone, save for Willow, who lifted the trapdoor again to peer up at the lost little lamb separated from the herd.

        This was a colossally bad idea.

       Cordelia set her feet on the ground, about to run after Spike, Buffy and Oz, subscribing whole-heartedly to the credo that there was safety in numbers. She froze, however, when she thought she heard the sound of fingernails scraping across fabric.

       Cordelia slowly turned her head, her mouth falling open in a soundless gasp when she saw fingers clutching at the edges of the couch back, and then Spike's disembodied hand pulled itself up and on top of the couch.

       “G-guys?” Cordelia's voice came out in a squeak, rather then a scream as she had intended. Spike's hand hopped up on its finger tips, and then in an impossibly fast move, it sprang at her.

       She was finally able to start screaming.

       Spike, Buffy and Oz immediately came running into the room and they all skidded to a stop when they saw Cordelia running around in circles in the middle of the room, slapping ineffectually at the hand clinging to her hair as she flailed about.

       “'Delia!” Spike darted forward to try and aid her. Unfortunately, she was still clinging to the fireplace poker and as she turned in his direction, she accidentally struck him in the side.

       He was thrown off balance, and he yelped in pain when he landed on his hand, knees and still tender stump. The gun clattered out of his grasp, and he lunged forward to grab it, Cordelia's panicked screams making his ears ring.

       “Cordelia! STOP MOVING!” Buffy shouted, ducking her arms and the waving fire place poker. She couldn't get near enough to help her because of her terrified thrashing; if she wasn't careful, Cordelia was liable to smash her head in with the poker, and she regretted giving it to her for protection.

        Spike managed to snag the gun and her clambered back to his feet; however, during his lunge, he hadn't realized how close he had gotten to the trap door and with a triumphant scream, Willow sprang at him, pulling herself as far out of the trapdoor as she could and she managed to grab his ankle.

       “SHIT!” Spike was nearly jerked off his feet, and he looked down to see Willow was shoving her head through the hole in an attempt to bite at his ankles. He brought the butt of his rifle down against her face, but she only laughed and intensified her efforts to pull him closer.

       Spike used his free leg to stomp down on the top of the door, using it to squash her head against the floor. “Let me go, you BITCH!” He snarled as he stomped harder, and then he pressed all of his weight against the door. Willow squealed and let go of him as her skull suddenly gave with a loud crack, and her eyeballs started to bug out grotesquely. Spike slammed on the door one more time and then paled when one of her eyes actually flew out of her skull with a sickening `pop.'

       It went flying across the room, just as Cordelia was doing another turn, her mouth opened in that unceasing scream. “Watch--” He flinched as the air-borne eyeball soared into Cordelia's open mouth, and she gagged as it slammed into the back of her throat.

       Cordelia finally dropped the poker as her hands went to her throat, and she was forced to either choke to death on the eyeball or swallow.

       She swallowed.

       Willow cackled in delight as Spike's hand dropped off of Cordelia's head and ran for the hole in the wall, unmolested. Everyone was too busy staring at Cordelia with horrified expressions on their faces.

       Cordelia clawed at her throat, and started screaming again as soon as she was able. She shoved Buffy away when the blonde tried to come near her, and then sprinted for the front door and flew open the lock.

       When Spike saw what he was doing, he grabbed her around the middle and attempted to drag her away, but she brought her leg back and slammed him in the crotch, and he let go with a strangled cry of pain.

       “Cordelia!” Oz jumped forward, “You can't go out there!”

       “I DON'T CARE ANYMORE! I DON'T CARE!” She shrieked at him as she threw open the door, “I'M GETTING OUT OF HERE!”

       She sprinted out into the darkness and towards the path that Xander had indicated earlier on in the evening as the way to get to town.

       “CORDELIA!” Buffy tried to go after her, but Spike grabbed her leg as she passed him, and she tried to shake him off.

       “Stop it!” He snapped at her, forcing himself to his feet, wincing as his jeans chaffed across his swollen and throbbing balls.

       “I have to bring her back!”

       “Forget her! She's as good as dead,” Spike snarled at her, kicking the door closed, “And if you go out there, you're dead too! Don't be a fuckin' idiot, Buffy!”

       Buffy glared at him and then threw his arms off of her, but she didn't attempt to leave the cabin to go after Cordelia again. She was pissed, but she also knew he was right. “Dammit!” She snapped in frustration, raking her hands through her bound hair, “What in the hell was she thinking?!”

       “Stress finally got to her,” Oz said, shaking his head, “She snapped under the pressure…she just pretty much committed suicide…and what's worse…I think she knows it too…”

       “Oh…God…” Buffy moaned softly as she sank down to the ground, and Spike sighed as he collapsed wearily next to her. She didn't shake him off when he wrapped an arm around her, and she laid her head against his shoulder. “There's no way we're getting out of here alive…is there?”

       Cordelia lost the path almost as soon as she was out of sight of the cabin.

       She sobbed brokenly as she tripped and stumbled over branches and veins littering the forest floor. There were several holes torn in her blouse, and blood ran down her arms from where the clutching branches had torn at her clothing and skin during her frantic flight.

       She was finally forced to stop about a half mile from the cabin, and she bent over her knees, her lungs burning from the strain they had been put under, and sharp pains stabbed into her side, just below her breastbone.

       After she had caught her breath, and had even started to calm down some, she lifted her head, and looked about her. On all sides, the oppressive forest pressed close, the low-hanging mist drifting among snarled and knotted tree trunks. Behind her, there were no signs of any sort of hiking path, nor could she even tell if that was even the direction she had originally come from.

       She straightened slowly, the panic of what had happened back in the cabin wearing off as a new sort of panic hit her.

       She was alone, lost in the woods…and whatever the hell was haunting them could be watching her at the very second.

       She heard the sound of a howl off in the distance and she whirled in the direction it had come from, a gasp passing over her lips. Behind her, something hissed along the ground and she turned around again, nearly tripping over her own feet as she did so.

       Nothing moved in the woods.

       The sound of crashing trees suddenly filled the air, and she gave a small shriek, spinning about and starting to run again. However, before she had even gotten ten steps, her legs were yanked out from beneath her, and she rolled onto her back as she felt something tearing into the flesh of her ankle. She looked down to see a vine had wrapped itself around her leg. Before she could even attempt to break loose, she was suddenly being dragged through the woods by her leg, and she screamed, throwing her hands up in front of her face as she careened along the forest floor.

       She dropped her hands to the ground and attempted to grab at the soil and the swiftly passing branches, hoping to still the nauseating joyride through the forest, and she screamed as one of her fingers broke when she had grabbed onto something.

       She lifted her head when she heard water, and then she was being dragged through a swamp, water filling her screaming mouth, and she coughed and choked as it flooded into her lungs. The water didn't slow the vines dragging her any, and when she had cleared the swamp, she was covered in an assortment of weeds, and dirt and leaves clung to her wet body.

       She gasped as she slammed against the side of a tree trunk, ribs cracking when she struck it, and her screams subsided into terrified, choked sobs for help. Her ride sped up suddenly, the trees whizzing by her in a dizzying blur, and she lifted her head, eyes going wide as she started screaming again.

       She was heading right into a collision with a tree, and she watched in horror as a gaping maw opened up in a sadistic, booming laugh, mouth opening wide to accept her.

       Her screams cut off abruptly, and the forest was once again plunged into silence.

       Off in the distance, an animal howled.

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       Spike's hand got chopped off (OUCH!) And yes, I'm one merciless bitch, ain't I? Sorry to those people begging me to spare poor Spike's hand…but sorry! Had to do it. No other way. However, even after that little set-back, Spike was up and ready to commence kicking demon ass! (There's a moral here, if you look hard enough. Oh! And I also wrote a poem! *Ozzie Borden took an ax/And gave Spike's hand a mighty whack!/And when Ozzie was all done,/The Hand came back and killed everyone!*)  Yes, I'm demented. If you've read this far and only realized this now, then I don't suggest procreation. Anyway, what was left of the SG separated AGAIN and left poor Cordelia all by her lonesome. Spike's hand took the opportunity to jump her screechy ass, and everyone came running to save her! (Why, is beyond me. I was cheering on the Evil Hand by this point.) Cordy knocked Spike down (Stupid Cordy) and Willow grabbed him. He hit upon the brilliant idea to squash her head, and her eyeball went flying right out of her head, and Cordelia SWALLOWED IT! EW! (ED fans will recognize this as the ABSOLUTELY most classic scene of horror movie history.) At about this point, Cordelia had a nervous break-down and RAN out of the cabin and into the woods. Yeah…good planning there, genius. She was, of course, caught by some demonic trees and dragged through the forest on a freaky ride that would never be endorsed by Disney. She's going to have some WICKED leaf burn, is all I can say.

Part Eleven

       Dawn was approaching.

       Spike sniffed the air, his internal clock telling him that the sun would rise in about two hours…but it would probably be about three hours before the sun could spread its light over the mountainous horizon. It felt like he had already been waiting an eternity for daybreak.

       They hadn't seen nor heard anything more from his possessed hand once it had disappeared into the wall. He had volunteered to take watch while the others slept, since he had a better chance of hearing it coming then anyone else. Except for some scratching in the walls, there had been nothing. However, Spike didn't harbor the hope that it had lost interest in them. It had already proven it was quite capable of watching and waiting.

       Spike looked down at Buffy, who was wrapped up in his duster and leaning against his side; she had dozed off against his side. Despite the warm leather surrounding her, she shivered in the chill of the air. The fire had died out a few hours before and the last of the warmth in the room had seeped away.

       He gently shifted her so that she was lying down across the couch, managing to do it without waking her. He stood up and stretched his sore body, sending a glare towards the trapdoor when he heard Willow moving down below.

       Oz was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, but he opened them when he heard Spike stand up. “Something wrong?”

       “No,” Spike answered, rolling his head on his stiff shoulders, “Just thought I'd get some wood for a fire…Buffy's cold.”

       “Think it's safe?”

       “Probably not,” Spike replied, grabbing his shotgun and tossed it at Oz, “But you're going to be keeping look-out for me.”

       “Shouldn't I cut the wood?” Oz asked, gesturing at Spike's handless arm, and the vampire scowled.

       “One-handed, I can still get it done faster then you,” Spike snapped irritably, and Oz made a mental note that indicating Spike was in anyway hindered by his handicap was a good way to get one's head bitten off by a pissy vampire. “Just stand in the doorway and keep an eye on the Slayer and me.”

       “Oh…dual responsibility…great.” Oz looked down at the shotgun, wondering if he should warn Spike that he had fried most of his brain functions smoking weed. People usually thought he was so quiet because he was so stoic or because he was a good listener. Truth was, he was quiet because he was usually stoned right out of his gourd. Hell…he had to survive Willow's constant babbling after all. High school, it was cute…by college it had started to get irritating.

       “Good man,” Oz looked at the stump Spike used to pat him on the back, but to his credit, he waited till Spike was out the door before shuddering and making a grossed-out face.

       Spike headed over to the woodpile, immediately getting started as Oz set up sentry at the door. He grabbed a block of wood and set it on the chopping block, and swung the ax up and over his head. Oz watched, impressed that even with one hand, Spike was able to break the wood into several pieces with one swing.

       Oz leaned against the frame, shifting his attention from Spike, to the interior of the cabin and back to Spike again. After a while, he shifted impatiently, “Isn't that enough?” He asked, indicating the large pile of wood already piling up by Spike.

       Spike swung the ax down and embedded the blade in the chopping block, and went to grab more blocks of wood, “I want to be prepared in case the lights go out…” At Oz's look, Spike sighed, “You two are gettin' out come morning, but I'm stuck here, remember?”

       “Oh…” Oz shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. He looked into the cabin when he heard something moving in the kitchen, and he took a few steps into the cabin.

       Spike turned, arms full of wood, and he dropped it near the chopping block and reached for his ax…only to come up with empty air. “What the…? Wolf, did you…” Spike looked up to see that Oz was no longer in the doorway, “Oz?”

       He suddenly dropped to the ground when he heard the `swish' of blade slicing through air, and rolled onto his back to see Cordelia standing over him, holding his missing ax, her lips drawn back over her teeth and white, bloodless gums; leaves and twigs tangled in her usually well-kept hair. She shrieked as she brought the ax swinging down towards his head, and Spike yelped as he rolled again, narrowly avoiding catching the blade in his forehead.

       “OZ!” Spike shouted as he finally got to his feet, jumping back as Cordelia charged him, swinging wildly. He was having a hard time dodging her attack, since he was stumbling over pieces of chopped wood. “Last bloody time I ask the little stoner to watch my soddin' back!”

       “Spike!” Buffy appeared in the doorway, nearly colliding with Oz, who was running up with the shotgun. Spike ducked beneath Cordelia's swing, and darted towards the porch, grabbing the shotgun out of Oz's hands.

       “What happened!?” Spike snapped at Oz, “Did you get distracted sniffing your own crotch and forget you were supposed to be keeping watch?!”

        “Spike! Watch out!” Buffy shouted.

       Spike whirled as Cordelia leapt at them, brandishing the ax with a fearsome battle cry. Spike calmly brought the gun up and Buffy winced as the gun went off with a blast, catching Cordelia square in the chest. The former cheerleader performed some acrobatics that would have made her old coach proud as she flipped backwards in the air for about ten feet before crashing in a tangle of mangled limbs onto the ground.

       “Think she's dead?” Oz asked, and Spike rolled his eyes.

       “They're never dead,” Spike replied, ejecting the spent shells, and grabbed the ones Buffy handed him from his duster pocket. He snapped the barrel shut again and started towards Cordelia, “But don't worry, kiddies…daddy's putting this rapid bitch down…”

       “I wish he wouldn't refer to himself as my daddy…,” Buffy muttered to Oz as they followed Spike at a safe distance. “It's seriously creepy.”

       Spike snorted as he handed the shotgun back to Buffy, collecting the ax Cordelia had dropped when flipping through the air like a demonic Kerry Strug going for the gold.

       “Didn't hear any complaints last time I did it,” Spike pointed out, “'Course…could have been you were too distracted during the multiple orgasms…” He paused when he came to Cordelia's body, “What the bloody hell is this now?!”

       Buffy peered around her fiancé to see that Cordelia's face was normal…not the sickly, grayish cast that the possessed sported. Her face was slightly pale, and splattered with blood from the shotgun wound in her chest, but there were no signs of decay or anything else. “I'm…not the only one who saw that she was a freaky possessed demon, right? I'm not going crazy or something?”

       “She was definitely possessed,” Spike replied, “White eyes and everything…” He poked the body with the ax, but she didn't move.

       “Do…you think whatever possessed them has moved on or something?” Oz asked hopefully, and Spike shrugged.

       “Don't know…but I'm still chopping her arse up to be safe,” Spike said, lifting the ax up.

       “Wait! What if she's normal again? We can't kill her if she's not possessed anymore!” Buffy protested and Spike gave her a look.

       “Pet…in case you haven't noticed, I blasted a hole the size of a platter in her chest. Even if she was normal again, she sure as hell isn't getting up after that. Look! You can see the ground through her!”

       “Oh…right…” Buffy looked sheepish. “Okay…sorry.”

       Spike brought the ax down towards her neck, and Cordelia's eyes opened suddenly as her hands came up to catch the blade. Her aim was a little off, and the ax became embedded in her wrists instead, but it saved her from decapitation. She screeched as she wrenched the ax out of a startled Spike's grasp, and he stumbled, thrown off-balance.

       Buffy fumbled with the shotgun, bringing it up to shoot at her again, but Cordelia slammed the handle of the ax against the barrel, knocking it out of her hands. “Whoops!”

       Cordelia tried to get back to her feet, but Spike kicked her in the back before she could straighten and she stumbled forward…right into Oz.

       As they crashed to the ground, fused together, she scrambled up his body and lunged for his face. Oz screamed as her teeth sank into his cheek, and she shook her head, tearing his flesh.

       Spike tore Cordelia off of Oz and flung her several feet away from them as Buffy recovered the shotgun.

       She braced the butt against her shoulder and pulled the trigger. Her shot went wild, missing Cordelia completely and Spike had dropped to the ground to avoid getting shot in the head. Buffy yelped in pain and fell backwards as the recoil caught her off-guard, and the gun slammed back into her small body. “OW!”

       Spike scrambled for the ax as Cordelia started running at them; he grabbed it, and whirled, blade slicing through the air smoothly. He swung low, catching Cordelia just above the knees, and she went down as her legs were literally cut out from beneath her.

       Oz sat up, one hand pressed against his face, and he felt nauseated as he watched Cordelia's legs run for several yards without her before finally toppling over.

       Spike was watching the same thing, but he looked a bit amused, “Damn…that was kind of…neat…WHOA!” Spike went down as Cordelia grabbed his legs and pulled them out from beneath him. He crab-walked backwards away from her as swiftly as he could move as she wriggled along the ground towards him, hissing. With her inhuman white eyes and her biting fetish, she was like a truly hideous viper, minus the fangs and scales. “Buffy! Little help!”

       “I'm TRYING!” Buffy fumbled with the shotgun, trying to figure out how Spike had opened it for reloading. Finally, growing frustrated, she simply turned the gun around and used the butt to beat Cordelia over the head with it, “Stupid Giles never teaching me how to use stupid guns!”

        Spike rolled his eyes as Cordelia's attention was drawn away from him by Buffy and he pounced on the ax once more. He brought it high over his head and brought it down on one Cordelia's arms, but he was having trouble controlling it one-handed. It embedded itself in her shoulder instead with a liquid `thack' and he snarled in exasperation as he yanked it loose. Buffy was still beating Cordelia with the gun and he held the ax towards her, “Trade!”

       Buffy took the ax and handed him the shotgun and started striking Cordelia over the head again, but with the blunt edge,

       “Luv! The pointy end! You have to use the pointy end!”

       “Oh, right…sorry!” Buffy rolled the ax over and closed her eyes, turning her face away as she began to chop at Cordelia's arms, trying to block out the screams issuing from her mouth, and the noxious fluids flying up from her carcass. Spike wrinkled his nose, stepping away from the flood of blood shooting up into the air. The screaming ceased suddenly when Buffy sheared Cordelia's head off right through her mouth.

       Soon, Cordelia was nothing more then a quivering mess, but Buffy kept chopping until Spike grabbed her arm, “Luv…she's dead!” Buffy paused but she then brought it down several more times when Cordelia's mangled torso wriggled, “Buffy! Stop!”

       “So-sorry…” Buffy stammered, backing away from the corpse with a shaky exhalation, “Sorry…she…she moved…”

       “Yeah, I know, pet…” Spike soothed, and then looked for Oz. The werewolf was still sitting on the ground, looking rather ill as blood dripped down his face from the tear in his cheek.

       “Jesus…I hate these things, they're filthy biters…” Both Buffy and Oz gave Spike a look, “What? I have an excuse for the biting!”

       “Come on, Oz…” Buffy bent and helped the boy to his face, “Let's get you bandaged up.”

       “That's it,” Buffy finished taping the bandage over Oz's cheek, and peered into the now nearly empty first-aid kit, “This is the first time I went through an entire kit in one damn night!”

       Spike straightened, a new fire roaring in the hearth, driving away the chill that had suffused the cabin. A stockpile of wood was stacked in the corner, and Spike figured that if push came to shove, it could last him at least three nights if the power cut out unexpectedly. If he survived that long alone.

       Oz touched his cheek with a wince, “Thanks,” He told Buffy, and then glanced at Spike. The vampire had been silent since coming into the cabin, refusing to speak to him. “Spike, man…I'm really sorry…”

       “Sorry?! Sorry?!” Spike glared in his direction, “Great…you're sorry…that makes me almost gettin' my head chopped off because of you all right then, doesn't it?!”

        Okay…maybe the silent treatment had been better then the shouting.

       “Spike…” Buffy attempted to sooth his temper, “It was an honest mistake…”

       “That fuckin' honest mistake almost cost me my life!” Spike snapped, “We're supposed to sticking together in this, but we obviously can't trust him to watch our backs for ten bloody minutes!”

       “Hey!” Oz narrowed his eyes at Spike, “You asked me to keep a watch inside and outside because you didn't want to wake up your girlfriend! And I heard something in the kitchen! Sorry, but I thought I could leave you for two seconds, since you're always bragging about those super-vamp senses, to check it out!”

       “You could've at least warned me you were taking off! But no! You just upped and ditched me when I thought you had my BACK!”

       Buffy rubbed her temples as a headache started to form, trying to block out the shouting match ensuing between the two children. Oz barely talks the entire time she knew him…and he decided to get verbal now?

       “I said I was SORRY!” Oz yelled back, “And anyway, it's YOUR fault we're in the mess in the first place! If you had just changed the fuse instead of screwing around downstairs, we wouldn't have found the book and tape recorder!”

       Spike snarled in Oz's face dangerously before whirling on his heel and stalking towards the bedroom. He slammed the door behind him hard enough that it made the entire cabin groan in protest.

       Buffy watched him go, and considered following, but then decided against it. She was intimately familiar with that look. It was the one he got when he when Angel popped up without so much as a call and tried to insinuate himself into her life again before prancing off back to LA, dramatic leather coat fluttering in the wind behind him.

       Oz looked immediately regretful at what he had said and started to go after him, but Buffy caught his arm and shook her head, “Believe me…you don't want to be in the room alone with him when he's like that,” Buffy warned him, “He was about half a second from snapping your neck like a twig.”

       Oz paled slightly, and he was about to reply when Buffy tensed, and then shuddered. He followed her gaze to see Spike's hand brazenly walking past the hole in the wall. It paused, and then stood up on it's stump end, and coyly waved it's fingers at them before shooting back into the safety of the walls.

       “I really hate that thing,” Buffy muttered beneath her breath.

       “Get back here, you little bastard!”

       Buffy ran across the cabin, chasing after Spike's amputated hand, growling in frustration when it turned on a dime and shot between her legs.

       Oz nearly crashed into her as he came running from the opposite direction, the attempt to trap the hand between them fruitless. About ten minutes after it had waved at them, it had ran out of the wall and began leading them on a chase all throughout the cabin, and appeared to be having a gay old time of it too. The damned thing was tireless, but at least it wasn't able to run into the wall anymore, since Buffy had shoved the couch in the way of the hole. However, it was fast and pretty agile, as it had been when attached to Spike and not possessed.

       Buffy yelped when the hand jumped off of a shelf and smacked her in the ass, and she spun around, whacking it off of her. It flew against the wall and she grabbed the fireplace poker and threw it like a javelin.

       The hand spread its fingers as the poker flying at it and embedded into the wall, right between its middle and index fingers. The hand shook in momentarily shock at nearly being impaled but then it was hopping up and running across the floor and towards the kitchen. Oz went after it and then ducked as the hand started throwing dinner plates at him, Frisbee style from the counter.

       He jumped out of the doorway and looked at Buffy in frustration, “I don't care if Spike's pissed at me or not…we need that gun to blast his evil hand away.”

       “Got it,” Buffy sighed as she headed towards the bedroom, and Oz watched the kitchen doorway, ready to pounce if the hand attempted to get out.

       She knocked on the door before pushing it open, and she immediately started coughing when a billow of cigarette smoke rushed out of the room. “Dammit! Spike!” Buffy glared at the cigarette butts littering the floor. It looked like he had spent the last twenty minutes inhaling enough smoke to give even Joe Camel lung cancer.

       He was sitting on the bed, facing away from her, a cigarette smoldering forgotten in his hand. The ash was tilted dangerously, ready to fall off at the slightest movement. “Spike, your stupid hand is driving me nuts! It's running all around the house, and it keeps grabbing my ass!”

       He didn't answer her, and she let out a growl of frustration as she stalked towards him, and grabbed his shoulder, “Fine, I know you're pissed at Oz, but he's sorry he said what he said…and I don't think it's your fault. So will you please come out and help us catch your little pervert of a hand?”

       “Get. Out.” Spike growled out shortly, and Buffy finally noticed the tense lines of his back and shoulders, and the way he was sitting rim-rod straight.

       “Spike?” Buffy said worriedly, crossing in front of him, “What's wrong?” She frowned when she saw he had his eyes squeezed shut, and that his vampiric face was rippling beneath his skin; whether he was trying to force it forward, or force it back, she couldn't tell, “Spike?”

       “GET OUT!” He roared at her, eyes finally shooting open, and she screamed when she saw his eyes were white, his pupils nothing but small, tiny pinpricks. Spike lurched to his feet and Buffy sprinted out of the bedroom as he started to reach for her. She slammed the door shut as Oz came running after hearing her scream.

       She held the doorknob, and braced her feet against the floor as Spike tried to pull the door open from his side. Oz took one look at her anguished, wild eyes and he groaned, “Oh…God…not him too…”

       “Find something to keep the door closed!” Buffy snapped at him, and then screamed when Spike's arm suddenly smashed through the wooden door and his hand fastened around her throat. She was yanked forward into the wood, and she yelped as it collided with her forehead. She crashed to the floor with a moan as Spike let go of her and shoved the door open.

       “Crap!” Oz started to run for the ax, but Spike grabbed him by the back of the shirt and lifted him above his head. Oz then found himself soaring through the air as Spike tossed him easily. He bounced off the wall and Oz shrieked as his wrist snapped when he landed on it as he struck the floor.

       Spike flashed his fangs as he stalked towards the downed werewolf, and Oz struggled to his feet, cradling his shattered wrist to his chest. “Hey…Spike…come on, man…” Oz stammered, “You know, what I said before…I was just kidding…” He watched as Buffy climbed shakily to her feet over Spike's shoulder, and attempted to keep Spike distracted while she pulled herself together. Hopefully, she'd do it in time to save his ass. “You don't wanna do this, man…”

        “Don't I?” Spike smirked at him, his white eyes shining eerily in his pale face, and Oz gagged as Spike grabbed him around the throat and lifted him off the ground. Oz kicked his short little legs, and then lashed out with his foot, catching Spike in the stomach. The possessed vampire only laughed and then tossed him again, this time into the fireplace. Oz's head cracked against the side of the mantle, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

       Spike sneered as his tongue flicked over his white lips, and then he whirled, hand coming up to grab the ax flying at his head. He wrenched it from a startled Buffy's grasp and he waved his stump at her disapprovingly, “That wasn't nice, baby…” He said before grabbing her by the hair and flinging her back against the wall.

       She gasped and ducked as Spike swung the ax towards her head, and he laughed as he pulled it loose from the wall and turned on her, “Come on, darlin',” He purred as he hefted the ax into the air, “Let's bury the hatchet…”

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       Ohhh! Now things are getting REALLY bad up in the cabin! During Cordelia's ill-timed flight into the woods, things were settling down into the cabin before Spike decided to stock up on wood while he could. We found out that Oz is a stoner (I don't think anyone was that surprised) and while he was supposed to be watching Spike's back, he wandered off. Cordelia finally came back, possessed! (But she was still screaming her head off and generally annoying the crap out of us) until Buffy hacked her into pieces…but not before nearly cutting Spike's head off, and Spike chopping her legs off, which then continued to run long after her body was off of them. (This is based on an actual childhood trauma, except substitute chicken legs with Cordelia's. That's all I'm saying about that!)  Oh, and Cordy also chomped on Oz's face a little (ouch.) After the chopping party, what was left of the gang went back into the cabin, where Spike and Oz had a fight and Spike stalked off for some illicit smokes (a hell of a lot of them) and Buffy and Oz chased Spike's psycho hand around the house some more. Buffy finally went to get Spike when the hand started throwing Frisbee plates at Oz (He could probably catch one in his mouth,) and Spike was acting all weird and growly. Then he opened his eyes and he turned out to be Possessed!Spike! AHHHHH! After beating up on Oz and tossing him around like a dwarf at the county fair (Yet another childhood trauma, but I'm not getting into that,) Spike got the ax away from Buffy and is now trying to bury the hatchet…in her SKULL!

Part Twelve

       Buffy screamed as she scrambled back, the ax falling down towards her. She didn't move fast enough, and the blade seemed to slow as it came crashing down, seconds away from cleaving her head in half. However, at the last possible second, Spike pulled back a few inches, and she felt the very edge of the ax breeze across his nose.

       Spike continued with his swing, spinning halfway around before he let go of the handle, and it flipped through the air before striking near the base of the opposite wall. The disembodied hand crouching underneath the entrenched blade trembled before running out from beneath it, blood spurting from the now missing tip of its middle finger.

       It beat a wise and rather hasty retreat for the kitchen, which just proved, while without a brain and any real legs to speak off, it was still smarter then anyone else in the cabin.

       Buffy, being a prime example of having an extreme case of the stupids, did not run the hell in the other direction nor made a sprint for either ax or shotgun; instead, she watched as Spike clutched his head in his hands, (Well, hand and stump, respectively,) and roared as if in great pain. Defending herself against her possessed boyfriend was a good idea…sitting there and watching him going through Exorcist-spasms and wondering if she should try to comfort him was a bad idea.

       Which he proved as he whirled around on her again, all better…well, as in he wasn't screaming in pain, but he was still possessed with a homicidally-inclined demon, other then the one he'd been possessed with for well over a hundred years, of course. Before Buffy could react, he had pounced on top of her and pinned her to the ground, fangs dripping with thick saliva that was roughly the color of old dishwater. Ugh…and she had stuck her tongue in that mouth.

       Buffy finally struck out, punching Spike in the mouth and then flipping her body up against his, using all her strength to roll him over her head. Once his weight was off of her, she rapidly crawled for the ax, but before her hand could close around the handle, Spike was on her again and he chucked her away from the ax. Buffy struck the side of the couch with a sharp cry, and rolled onto the floor with a pained groan. She was being tossed around more then she liked normally, and this wasn't even foreplay.

       Spike pulled the ax loose from the wall, and he cheerfully let it swing back and forth in his hand as he casually made his way towards Buffy again. This time, it looked like he meant business. Buffy looked around frantically for a weapon, and then remembered the fireplace poker. It was still sticking out of the wall. She jumped to her feet, and was prepared when Spike lunged. Bracing her hands on the side of the couch, she leapt into the air, planting both feet against his chest and sending him flying backwards.

       She ran for the poker, and whirled, brandishing it above her head menacingly. However, Spike was too busy writhing on the floor and screaming again to be threatened by her little piece of metal that would probably crumple upon contact with his extremely hard head. She watched in confusion as he threw his head back and roared loudly, and she swore she heard the glass in the windows rattle.

       She watched as white suffused with glowing amber in his eyes, and it finally clicked.

       Spike's demon was fighting the possession of it's host against the new-comer…and it didn't look like Spike was winning.

       She lowered the fireplace poker slowly, watching his eternal battle with a conflicted look on her face. She should attack him now, when it was weakened and distracted, but she couldn't do it…not when Spike had half a chance to fight it off.

       Spike's leg suddenly shot out, sweeping her legs out from beneath her, and she crashed to the ground; again. This was starting to get ridiculous. She hadn't spent this much time on her back because of Spike since…Friday…but he hadn't been trying to kill her then.

       Her eyes went wide and then slammed them shut with a harsh gasp.

       With a roar, Spike brought the ax down and Buffy screamed as it struck with a bone-jarring thud.

       She opened one eye and then the other to see that Spike had once again exerted enough control to avoid her and to drive it into the floor instead. Glowing, amber eyes stared down at her, his facial ridges finally visible.

       Spike let go of the handle of the ax, and shakily collapsed to his knees as Buffy sat up and crawled backwards away from him. “Sp-Spike?” She asked with a stammer.

       She screamed when he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing her about the throat, blue eyes burning into hers. “You fuckin' IDIOT!”

       “Sp-Spike?!” Buffy gasped out, sure he was going to kill her.

       However, he only released her throat, still glaring at her, “Should've killed me,” He spat out angrily, “I gave you plenty of bloody chances and you didn't do it!  You stupid, silly bint!”

       His diatribe was ineffective, as Buffy threw herself into his arms, knocking him back against the floor and raining kisses across his shocked face. This was hardly the response he was either expecting or really wanted. In the last ten minutes alone, he had almost killed her more times then he had before he had become completely Buffy-whipped. Only his very minimal control had kept him from taking her damned blonde head off of her shoulders.

       He was sorely tempted to shake her till the stupidity leaked out of her ears and all over the floor. However, as his duster had already gotten a soaking it wasn't very likely to recover completely from, he refrained from doing so…but just barely. He sat up with a grunt, and begrudgingly wrapped his arms around her when she hugged him to her tightly.

       “Didn't want to lose you too,” She mumbled, and he gave in with a sigh as he buried his face in her throat, inhaling deeply. There was still the slight tang of fear in her scent. She suddenly tensed in his arms, and he reacted instantly. He rolled with Buffy just before a gunshot rang out, and he yelped as pain flared through his arm.

       “Shit!” Oz looked around for more ammo before remembering that all the ammunition was in Spike's pockets.

       “Oz! No!” Buffy jumped to her feet, “It's okay…Spike's okay now…”

       “Buffy, get away from him, it's a trick! Spike's gone now…”

       “See?” Spike said, feeling validated, “He would have killed me when he had the chance.”

       Oz frowned in some confusion, lowering the barrel of the gun, “That…doesn't sound like something someone possessed would say…” His frown deepened, “Unless…he wants us to think that doesn't sound like something someone possessed would say…but then he might have known we'd figure out that we thought that he wanted us to think that wasn't' something someone possessed would say…”

       “If you don't stop now, your head is going to explode,” Spike said, grimacing as he inspected the new hole in his duster. There was a thin scratch on his arm, but other then that, Oz's shot had gone completely wild. “You better bloody well hope this can be mended, or I'll stuff it down your throat,” Spike growled at Oz.

       “Okay…I'm convinced,” Oz sighed shakily as he went to collapse on the couch; he doubted even the most cunningly possessed Spike would complain about his coat instead of mentioning the being shot at part.  “What happened?”

       “Spike's demon kicked the other demon's ass,” Buffy said with some pride, and Spike shook his head in some amusement as he stood.

       “M'not partial to sharing,” Spike replied, holding out his hand for the shotgun, “Give over…swear I've never seen a worse shot…I was five feet away and you couldn't hit me with the bloody shotgun?”

       “Hey, my lousy aim saved your ass,” Oz pointed out as he handed over the shotgun, “Plus, someone gave me a concussion, and I'm seeing double at the moment.”

       “Likely excuse,” Spike reloaded, and then glanced around, “Damn…that little bastard buggered off again…anyone see where my hand went?”

       Buffy and Oz both shook their heads, and Spike let out a growl of frustration. Apparently, his hand had the same survival instincts he did. It was proving almost damn near impossible to kill. “Bloody great…” Spike glanced warily towards the trapdoor, half-expecting to see Willow peeking up and giggling again, but there was nothing. No hand and no Willow…made him half-suspect the things were planning something.

       “They're starting to plan,” Buffy said, as if reading his thoughts, “I think your hand was distracting us or something while you were being all possessed…”

       “Doesn't much matter anymore,” Spike moved towards the door and opened it as the sun peeked over the horizon. He watched as the mist that had stayed all through the night suddenly started to roll-back, as if retreating before the coming dawn.

       Buffy and Oz came to stand at his shoulder as the world was painted in pink and bluish hues; the forest lightened, becoming less ominous, and for once, Spike didn't feel anonymous eyes watching him from their depths.

       “This is it, kiddies…” Spike stepped away from the door before the sunlight could reach him, “Time for you to fly.”

       “You suck!” Buffy snarled as she watched Spike and Oz packing supplies into a backpack, “Even if those…those things don't get you, you'll be dead in a week! You don't even have enough blood to last you through tomorrow! We gave you most of your packets when Oz chopped off of your hand.”

       “That's what rationing is for,” Spike replied without looking up at her, “And that's none of your concern right now. Your concern is getting your skinny arse out of here while you have the chance.” He turned to address Oz, “When you're not in wolf-state, how fast can you run?”

       “Faster then normal humans,” Oz replied, shrugging the backpack on, “Full moon is in two days, so my senses and abilities are heightened right now…”

       “Good…you take the Slayer, and you run…try to cover two days distance in one day, if you can. If you get caught out in the woods at night, you're done for…” He stepped back and looked at Buffy, his eyes deadly serious, “You're in this for survival now…if one of you can't keep up…keep running. Don't stop…even if your bloody heart bursts in your chest, don't stop…”

       “What?! Bu--” Buffy looked at Oz when he nodded in agreement, “Oh, come on! You can't be serious…”

       “This isn't a game, Buffy!” Spike snapped at her, “You of all people should get that! This is do or die, now, baby.”

       Buffy narrowed her eyes and he could just see her whetting her tongue for a particularly scathing remark. To stop it, he yanked her up against him, and covered that smart mouth with his own. Oz looked away a bit uncomfortably as Spike and Buffy practically mauled each other right in front of him. ]

       “Um…guys?” He had to interrupt as Buffy hopped up and wrapped her legs around Spike's middle. Spike stumbled back against the counter, and swept his stump out, sending pots and pans scattering to the floor. Once it was cleared, he set Buffy on top of it. “GUYS!”

       Buffy snapped her head back at his shout, and stared at the werewolf uncomprehendingly. “Huh?”

       “Sorry to interrupt the touching good-bye, but if we want to be out of here before nightfall, we should get moving.”

       “Too right,” Spike lifted Buffy off of the counter again, and kissed her forehead tenderly before reluctantly releasing her. He threaded his fingers through hers and gently tugged her towards the back door.

       “This is so goddamn stupid,” Buffy complained softly as Spike helped her shoulder a backpack on. “You're not going to last another night out here…let alone weeks.”

       “Thanks for the vote of confidence, pet,” Spike said sarcastically, “Sure that one will get me through the long cold and lonely nights.”

       “William…” Buffy gave him a look, not appreciating his special dry brand of humor at the moment.

       “We're going to lose the light if we don't move,” Oz broke in impatiently, “Buffy, we gotta get out of here.”

       “Go on, luv,” Spike's voice dropped to a whisper, “I'll be just fine, you'll see.” He lifted her hand to his lips, placing a kiss against the palm, and then flicked the diamond ring she was wearing to draw her attention to it. “Gotta promise to keep, don't I? Not fancyin' your mum comin' after m'hide cause I jilted her daughter.”

       “I'm coming back for you,” Buffy said softly, closing her eyes as she pressed her lips quickly against his, “Your ass better be alive when I do.”

       “Hasn't been alive in a long time,” Spike grinned evilly and shoved her forcefully out the door. “Now, GO!” He hissed.

       Buffy bit her lip, but then Oz was tugging at her arm and she started to run.

        Spike groaned softly as he collapsed onto the couch, resting a can of warm beer between his thighs. He listened for several minutes, trying to hear if either his possessed hand or Willow were moving about, but there was not a sound. He cracked open the beer, grimacing as the foam overflowed, soaking his fingers and pants.

       He held it up towards the trapdoor, “Cheers, Red,” He muttered beneath his breath, sighing heavily as his shoulders sagged wearily, sipping the beer slowly. He knew he should take the opportunity to sleep, but paranoia prevented him from even closing his eyes for more then a few minutes at a time. Nothing to do for it then, but to get a little drunk and wait for the coming night…very possibly the last one of his unlife.

       He was not looking forward to it, needless to say…and this certainly wasn't the end he had envisioned for himself. He had been planning on going out in a full-out battle between some `unstoppable' force of evil, standing over the body of his beloved, finishing her fight and stopping it in the nick of time. Afterward, he'd wait for the coming sunrise to shroud his true love's corpse in his ashes, together with her in death, as he was in life. It was rather poetic, really.

       However, plans change…and very rarely for the better.

       Spike sipped his beer contemplatively, glancing at the shotgun lying across the cushion beside him. He didn't want to go out like…this…out in the middle of bumble-bloody-fuck, alone and without any idea of how to fight something he didn't understand and couldn't see.

       Even if Buffy made it out of the woods before nightfall, she couldn't be back for him, with reinforcements, for several days…probably more, since the Watcher would need to research whatever the fuck was out there; his blood would run out and with his demon weakened by hunger, he wouldn't be able to fight off another possession. He'd be…whatever the fuck these things were. And that was his best case scenario. He didn't want to even start thinking about his worst case.

       Spike toed one of his boots off and his hands were shaking a bit as he positioned the gun between his legs; with some difficulty, managed to fit his big toe over the trigger.

       He leaned back against the couch as he fit the barrel just right, smack in the middle of his throat. He had one chance at a good, clean shot that would take his head clear off of his shoulders, and render him dust; if he screwed up, he'd be forced to exist with half a head for the rest of his life and probably would become half-crazed to boot.

       Spike flexed his toe gingerly on the trigger and closed his eyes.

Previously on The Evil Dead:

       Oh wow! That last part had EVERYTHING! Psycho!Spike, Stupid!Buffy, and Can'tshootworthshit!Oz, oh, and don't forget Super!Duster! Okay, so, Spike goes COMPLETELY wacky, and not in the laugh-out-loud 3 Stooges way. While, trying to kill Buffy when possessed, the other demon living in him managed to fight off the new demon. And Buffy…stood there like a daft stupid bitch, picking her nose and going…huuuhhh…shiny ax! Okay, so, I can relate with her. Spike's her little thigh-master of love, she didn't want to kill him, but all I know, if some guy, no matter HOW tight his ass is, is coming after me with a damned ax, I'm going to lay some hurt down! Ka-pow! Adam West style, DAWGS! Anyway, after Oz tries to shoot him, (He missed, of course…'cause he's a little stoner. Pfft. You know, my brother was stoned AND drunk but he still shot a Snapple bottle out of my hand with a pellet gun! And hey! They eventually removed the glass from my brain.) After a touching good-bye scene that ALMOST led to sweaty donkey sex on the counter in front of Oz, Spike and Buffy parted ways. Left alone, and with no real hope of survival, Spike decides to do what so many poets before him has done. Namely, be alone and afraid, as well as generally depressed, and then blow his own head off with the ole toe on the trigger bit. (Gets out mop and bucket, grumbles) Bastard better do it right. I'm still cleaning up the mess he left behind after chopping his damned hand off. I so don't feel like mopping up gray matter right now. Anyway…back to the EVIL DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!

       Additional Author's Note: Okay, people have been asking me why this next chapter took so long to come out. I blame school, work…and sci-fi movie reviews. Heh.

Part Thirteen

       Oz panted, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as he dodged tree trunks and ducked beneath overhanging branches. Buffy kept pace with him with very little trouble, and he knew, if she wanted, she could have outrun him by now. He was probably just holding her back at this point, but he didn't complain. He would hate to be left alone at a time like this.

       The forest was surprisingly serene; birds were chirping, animals rustled in the underbrush…it was almost like a Disney movie. Just with rotting zombie-things and possessed trees that came to live when the sun went down.

       Buffy moved five feet ahead of him, leaping over a downed log that had fallen across the hiking path, and Oz followed suit, only to crash into Buffy, who had stopped her running on the other side.

       They collapsed in an untidy pile in the dead leaves, and Oz groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, giving Buffy a look, “Gee…thanks for the warning, Buff.”

       “Sorry,” Buffy hopped to her feet, looking back the way they had come, absently tracing the scars along her throat.

       “What are we doing? Taking a breather?” Oz asked, bending slightly and bracing his weight against his legs, grateful for the break.

       “Um…not so much…no…” Buffy bit her lip, “I'm going back.”

       Oz stared at her like she had sprouted a second head, which had started immediately quoting Shakespeare with a heavy lisp. “You're what?”

       “I'm going back,” Buffy replied, her voice more firm this time. “You keep on going, try to make it out of here…but I am not leaving my mate here to die alone.”

       “Are you nuts!?” Oz asked in amazement, “Did all that bleach melt your brain?!”

       “I do not bleach my hair!” Buffy protested, and then flushed, reminding herself that wasn't the point. “Anyway, it's my choice! I'm staying!”

       “Fine! You're an idiot, you know that right?” Oz said, shaking his head in disgust as he straightened, “You stay, but I'm getting out of here while I still can.”

       “I'm not going to stop you,” Buffy turned back towards the cabin, clambering back over the log. She froze when she heard the shotgun going off in the distance, her eyes widening. “Spike!”

       Oz watched as Buffy darted off of the log and back towards the cabin. He hesitated, glancing down the path to salvation; with a final look in the direction Buffy had disappeared, he swore and continued on the hiking trail to civilization.

       By the time Buffy made it back at the cabin, her arms and face was covered in thin, red scratches from the tree branches that had raked along her skin. She stumbled up the porch and slammed against the locked door, momentarily dazing herself. After the little birdies flew off and stopped chirping around her head, she threw open the door. Her eyes immediately widened and she screamed shrilly.

       “JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST!” Spike, startled, fell off the couch, dislodging the shotgun that had been lying between his thighs. It discharged as it hit the ground, and Buffy's screaming abruptly cut off. Spike lifted his head, expecting to see Buffy-spatter all over the wall, but instead, she was staring at the hole in the middle of the door, roght beside her head, and hyperventilating.

       “You STUPID bitch!” Spike snarled as he got to his feet, “Are you TRYING to get yourself KILLED!?”

       “You…you…” Words failing her, Buffy gestured at the gun, him and the hole in the door, mouth opening and closing much like a fish's.

       Spike closed his eyes and counted backwards from one hundred. However, by the time he was done, Buffy had neither regained her voice, nor had it made him less brassed off. He opened his eyes again and glared at Buffy, “What part of `get the fuck out before you die,' did you not understand, you dozy bitch?”

       “You…were going to kill yourself!” Buffy finally managed to speak again, channeling her inner `pissed-off-girlfriend.' “What part of `I'll come back for you,' did you not understand, asshole?!”

       “The part when I'm still alive by the time you got here!” Spike snapped angrily, cursing the fact that he had chickened out on killing himself and had instead jerked his head away at the very possible last second and fired up at the ceiling. He had attempted to once again take his life, but at that point, Buffy had burst in and he nearly ended up blowing her head off instead. “I can't believe you soddin' well…oh…fuck. Buffy…don't start tha-please, baby…I didn't mean to shout…”

       He immediately melted when big, fat tears started to roll down Buffy's face, and he sighed heavily as he gathered her into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Soddin' `ell, Slayer…why can't you ever bloody well listen to me?”

       “Because you're a stupid idiot,” Buffy sniffed before she socked him in the gut, “I can't believe you were trying to KILL yourself! With a gun! Guns don't kill vampires, stupid!”

       “Pretty sure that a shotgun blast directly to the face would have pretty much liquefied m'head, luv…” He nearly groaned when her lower lip jutted out and started to wobble, and her big, hazel eyes threatened to spill even more tears, which he just couldn't handle, Big Bad or not. “And don't try to change the subject. Why isn't your cute arse halfway back to town by now?”

       “Don't try to soften me up with compliments about my extremely cute butt,” She grumbled, “It's not playing fair.”

       “Fuck fair. Why are you here?” Spike insisted in irritation, “You're supposed to be getting out!”

       “I'm here because I'm not leaving you here to die!” Buffy snapped at him, “But I'm starting to change my freaking mind already!”

       Spike ground the palms of his hands against his eyes, wondering why he loved such a stupid woman. He kept threatening to shag the brains out of her…and apparently, he had succeeded…far…far too well; by that reasoning, he decided that the ample oral sex ruined her survival instincts as well.

       *Author's Note: That's right, kiddies! Sex with Spike is SO spec-fuckin'-tacular that it'll make you stupid. Don't say I didn't warn ya!*

       “Woman…if you do not leave this bloody instant, I will not be held responsible for ripping off your goddamn head off and then ripping your spine out through the teeny-tiny little hole in your neck!”

       “You have serious anger-management issues…you know that, right?” Buffy replied, woefully undaunted by his threats. She tossed her hair over her shoulder before grabbing up the shotgun where he had dropped it and tried to dislodge the shell. Spike jumped in the air when it went off, plaster raining down on them from above; she gave him a sheepish smile before handing the gun over to him again, “Um…maybe you should hold onto that.”

       “Yeah,” Spike eyed her warily as he tucked it safely away from her grasp, and gritted his teeth together as she flopped down on the couch and demurely crossed her legs. In response, he brought his hands up to his face and screamed into them in frustration.

       “Seriously, Spike…maybe we should look into one of those counseling things for you…” She said as she discreetly dug her fingers into the side of the couch in case Spike decided to physically remove her from the cabin.

       “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!” Spike dropped his hands to roar at the ceiling, “Fine! I've murdered probably hundreds of thousands of people…but there's NO WAY IN FUCKING HELL I DESERVE THIS, YOU BLARMY BASTARD!”

       “Oooohhh…God's gonna be mad at you,” Buffy teased lightly, and then `Eeped' when Spike turned his deadly glare on her. After a few moments of a mutually stubborn staring contest, Spike finally threw up his arms with a snarl and stalked from the living room. Buffy listened as he slammed about in the kitchen for no other purpose other than to break shit.

       “Stupid…bloody…stubborn…she-bitch...wouldn't know what common sense was if it walked up and grabbed her fuckin' ass! `Gee, Spike…I don't know why running away is such a good idea…I'd only live and stuff…and that's just like, bad.'”

       Okay, Spike doing a valley girl accent? Wiggy, Buffy thought in some amusement as she waited for her husband-to-be to stop his vitriolic rant in the kitchen and return to some semblance of self-control. Once he did that, they'd be able to begin working on the problem at hand. In the meantime, she picked up the Necronomicon Ex Mortes, then remembering what it was made of, made a disgusted face and dropped it back on the couch. It wasn't like she could read the creepy squirrel diaries anyway. She was more of the `burn, stab and behead' type of girl rather than research girl anyway.

       “Spike! Would you STOP bitching and get your ass out here so we can make a plan or something useful like that?!” Buffy finally yelled when the shouting and smashing kept up for about ten minutes, “We are kind of on a time limit here.”

       Spike stomped back out of the kitchen with a petulant pout on his face, “I had a fuckin' plan, you damned cow. It involved m'brain spatter on the wall, and your arse back in town, safe and sound. `Course, I forgot…Slayer's always gotta do her own damned thing, fuck what's good for her.”

       Buffy narrowed her eyes and she pressed her lips together so that they were nothing more than a thin line of pink. “Done?”

       “Not by a long shot…” He snapped, but than finally relented when he saw the familiar glimmer in her eyes that always appeared before she added another vamp's dust to the wind, “Yeah…fine whatever…guess I'm done or dead…”

       “Pretty much,” She agreed, “Now…we gotta figure out how to take this things out…”

       Well…no fuckin' duh, Spike thought, but didn't voice out loud, as he was secretly fearing for his bits and pieces. Buffy was irritated enough to strike out at what was nearest to her. “What do you suggest than, princess?” He asked her, trying desperately to keep the snark out of his tone, but was largely unsuccessful as he usually only used the moniker `princess' when he was annoyed with the recipient. Incidentally, it was also Cordelia's most common nickname, besides Cheerleader.

       Though Buffy was well aware of this, the fact that Spike made a conscious effort to not show his anger in any other way kept her from jumping down his throat. Besides, she adored the stubborn bastard and understood that he was just pissed off because, once again, she ignored his possibly prudent advice and did what she wanted to do instead.

       “I don't know…we do research…figure out ways to kill this thing…you know, what we usually do…”

       “Right…” Spike rolled his eyes, “Research with what, Buffy? Do you see any bloody books or stray Watchers hanging around here?! This isn't Sunnydale! This is the middle of the fuckin' woods!”

       “Well! Read the demon-squirrel book or whatever! Maybe it says something about how we can kill whatever's out there.”

       “Kill it with what, Buffy? A shotgun you can't shoot worth shit with and is going to eventually run out of shells, and a damned ax. I'm sure that the Ca'n Dar are shakin' in their soddin' boots,” He scowled then, shaking his stump in her face, “And look at this! I'm almost completely fuckin' useless!”

       “You're not useless…”

       “I AM FUCKING USELESS!” Spike snarled, throwing both arms in the air in frustration, “Whatever the hell is out there can possess us apparently at will! How long till it gets a hold of me, and I bury an ax in you when you're sleeping! Or worse! What if it gets you?! Do you think I really want to chop you into tiny little bits?! Even if it is to release your soul? I'm not that noble, don't want to be that noble…” Buffy watched, her heart almost breaking, as his face seemed to take on all the years that had passed in his long lifetime.

       He dropped down on the couch beside her, and he tipped his head back, closing his eyes as a wave of exhaustion settled over him. He was definitely feeling too old for this shit. He felt the couch cushions shift slightly and then Buffy's weight settling on his lap. He cracked open one eye, by instinct wondering if she was getting frisky, but immediately discarded that idea. This was hardly the time or place and his Slayer definitely didn't have that naughty gleam in her eye that he loved so. She laid her golden head on his shoulder and he lifted his right hand to stroke his fingers through her hair before remembering that he no longer owned any fingers on that particular hand. He started to drop his arm again, but Buffy snagged it and pulled it around her waist and absently played with the rust-colored bandage.

       “You are, you know…” Buffy whispered quietly, brushing her lips across the cusp of his ear, “Noble, I mean.” Spike snorted, obviously skeptical. “You are. You changed so much. You changed your entire nature, you fight for the side of light…and you became a good man…a man I'm very proud to marry.”

       “S'not nobility, luv…not by a long shot,” He argued, “All pure selfishness. Wanted to get in your pants, is all…” He chuckled beneath his breath when Buffy elbowed him in the side. “Well…we'll have to agree to disagree then…but `ppreciate the sentiment, nevertheless.”

       She released a huff of breath that made that tickled his ear, “You're impossible,” She whined petulantly before nuzzling his throat affectionately. “I love you…no matter what happens.”

       “Damn well better…for the crap I'm going through for your sake,” Spike groused beneath his breath. He then gave a heavy sigh, and reluctantly dislodged Buffy from her comfy perch after pressing a quick kiss to her lips. They had a bit of planning to do.

       Buffy watched as Spike got to his feet, and with a shake of his shoulders, straightened his duster and spine, his cool blue eyes flitting around the interior of the cabin appraisingly. Already, he seemed to have a new wind and perhaps even a new determination to survive the night, for which she was very much grateful. She hated seeing him so depressed emotionally that he would prefer death to living. It scared the hell out of her; the first lesson she had learned from Spike was that he never gave up, no matter the odds. One needed only look at his courtship of her. He had no reason to believe that she would ever love him, but he kept coming and coming at her, always in radically different directions and so damned tenaciously that she either had to kill him or to love him in order for him to finally stop. Needless to say, she had simply given in. Killing him would have just ruined a perfectly good stake.

       Spike was kneeling beside the toolbox and rifling through its contents, not coming up with much more than a screwdriver, some nails, a hammer and different size wrenches. He could use the hammer and nails to board up the windows and doors, the screwdriver would probably come in handy for stabbing the living dead, and he could probably use the wrenches to hit stuff. He made a face as he slammed the box shut and glanced over his shoulder to see Buffy lifting the tape recorder that had started this mess onto the desk in the corner.

       “Do you think there's anything else on this tape that we can use?” Buffy asked him, “I mean…maybe he recorded something useful about the squirrel-diaries for us.”

       “Not too sure about that, pet,” Spike replied, “I doubt the guy was worrying about translating after his wife came over all possessed…certainly, that'd be the last thing on my mind.”

       “Well, it's worth a try,” Buffy said as Spike started looking about the cabin, a perplexed look on his face.

       “Where we'd put that dagger? The one the Wolf and I found in the basement?”

       “The creepy ass one? It's near the fireplace with the book,” Buffy told him as she reset the thread on the reel, “Wonder what it's used for. It's all ceremonial looking. Perfect for sacrificing virgins.”

       “Huh…funny…I was jokin' about that in the…” He frowned suddenly, “It is all ceremonial, isn't it?”

       “That's what I said,” Buffy replied, rolling her eyes as she cast an amused glance at her fiancé.

       However, he didn't see it as he was already flipping through the book. Near the end of the book, he found a picture of the dagger, or at least, he thought it was the dagger, since half of the page was missing and all he could see was a blade.

       “There's pages missing,” Spike announced, thumbing the edges of pages that were gone, “Several, in fact.”

       “Oh, great…with our luck, it'll be the ones telling us in explicit detail how to kill this thing,” Buffy said sarcastically, “Witness me not dancing for joy.”

       Spike couldn't help but agree with her; they were very obviously on the low end of the luck spectrum at the moment. “Fuckin' useless book,” He muttered beneath his breath as he came up beside Buffy and deposited the creepy tome and dagger on the table beside the recorder. He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning slightly as something in the back of his mind niggled and wriggled, wanting to come to the forefront. However, he was unable to put voice to the doubts festering in his mind at the moment, was unable to even begin grasping at them. Exhaustion was clearly taking its toll on his thought processes.

       “Do you think you can translate the book?”

       “Yeah, sure,” Spike answered, “If I had a few months to do it in,” At Buffy's irritated look, he shook his head, “I've got no point of reference to work off of. I'd have to start from scratch.”

       “Well, we could use the tape recorder,” Buffy pointed out, “The guy was using it to transcribe the book, right?”

       “Yeah, sure…and God knows what the hell else we might summon,” Spike pointed out, “Think we got enough to worry about…”

       “Well! There has to be something!” Buffy said in desperation, “The professor  probably tried to figure out a way to stop this thing…” She glanced at Spike when his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened so much that it look like they were going to fall out of his skull, “Oh God…what's wrong now?”

       “Fuckin' hell…” Spike shook his head slowly, “We are colossally stupid.”

       “Hey!” Buffy cried, sniffling in insult, “Speak for yourself.”

       “Buffy…think about it. The professor summoned the same evil force as we did. How could we summon it if it was already here?”

       “Shit…” Buffy breathed, deciding that Spike was right. They were very stupid to not have figured that out yet. “He did something to get rid of it…and we brought it back.”

       “Which means the missing pages…he probably had them,” Spike looked back down at the tape recorder, still not wanting to play it and risking putting themselves in even more hot water than they were in currently. “We need to find those pages.”

       “Where would they be?” Buffy asked, and then shook her head violently when Spike looked towards the trapdoor to the basement. “No! No way in hell!”

       “Do we have any other choice?”

       Buffy groaned in defeat, “God…sometimes I really hate being the Slayer.”

Previously on The Evil Dead

        Okay, so…not so much action as dialogue in that last chapter. How `effin boring is that?! I HATE it when a perfectly horrible horror movie ruins an otherwise painfully enjoyable viewing experience by doing something stupid as adding meaningful dialogue! What the hell is wrong with those people?! We just want gore, maybe some gratuitous nudity and an oh-so predictable twist-ending. Oh, and we want to see their annoying characters get scissors driven through the base of their skull (See House by the Cemetary, directed by Fulci.) Is that so much to ask? Umm…where was I? Oh yeah…my original *coughripoffcough* Evil Dead story. Heh. Anyway, yeah, stupid dialogue, but don't worry, I'm getting back to the action soon, I hope.

        Okay…so, who thinks that Buffy is a TOTAL idiot for going back? Sure, Spike's a hottie, no denying that…but in the immortal words of my man, Inferno, `FUNK DAT!' I don't care HOW cute a guy is and how much I love `em…if there's demons possessing people and/or the eating of flesh/brains/or anything part of m'body, I'm LEAVING HIS ASS AND GETTING THE HELL OUT OF DODGE! If I had a lickably delicious guy like Spike, who as also wonderfully devoted and such, I'm sure I'd feel REALLY bad about ditching him…but hey! At least I'm alive to feel bad. Hey, it might sound heartless, but someone's got to write a heartbreakingly touching eulogy for him. Can't just leave that task to just anyone.

Part Fourteen

        Stupid, stupid plan, Buffy thought as she watched Spike preparing to once again embark into the basement on a fool's mission. He insisted that he'd be the one who went down there, while Buffy kept watch from above, to prevent Willow from escaping; if she was even awake, that is. They hadn't heard a peep from her since daybreak, but whatever had taken over her friends had a nasty habit of biding their time and waiting to take advantage of them every chance they got.

        Spike had been debating over whether or not to take the ax or shotgun downstairs, since he was unable to use both. However, there were problems inherent with each. The shotgun wasn't nearly enough to kill these things, as evidenced by what happened with Cordelia. Even with the hole in her chest, she had kept coming at them. The only way to kill them was dismemberment, but unfortunately, it would be hard to swing the ax with enough force to sever limbs and cause massive damage due to the enclosed space of the basement. Whether he took the ax or shotgun, he would still be somewhat vulnerable due to the above limitations.

        However, for once, fortune was on their side. Recalling the chainsaw he had seen in the tool shed when he had fetched the chains to fasten the trapdoor, Spike had donned a blanket and proceeded to the shed. Once again, however, there were problems due to his missing hand. While he could wield a chainsaw in the basement, despite the small space, it would be almost impossible to control it with only one hand He didn't want to be flailing it all about the place without doing any real damage to Willow, and there was no way in hell he'd let Buffy go down there. He was too worried that she'd allow her personal feelings about Willow get in the way of what needed to be done. Slayer or not, her heart when it came to her friends had gotten her almost killed many times over.

        Therefore, there was a problem before him and it desperately needed to be solved. “Hand me that wrench, pet.”

        “This is so stupid,” Buffy finally said as she handed Spike one of the many wrenches from the toolbox, wondering if she had even picked out the right size. Since Spike made no complaint, she assumed she had. “There is no way in hell that's going to work.”

        “It's not stupid, and it's going to work,” Spike insisted as he bent back over the chainsaw, pink tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. “How's the harness coming?”

        “It's coming,” Buffy grimaced as she looked down at the leather harness resting on her worktable. She was trying to remember things she had learned in the mandatory shop class she had taken back in 10th grade and affixing a make-shift shotgun holster to it. Actually, in spite of her lack of training, it was looking pretty decent.

        She looked up when Spike swore and started sucking on one of his fingers as he glared down at the chainsaw, and then with a challenging snarl, bent back over the infernal machine. She was finished long before he was, and she moved to his side to see how things were going.

        He had removed the outside casing and drilled a hole large enough to fit his stump through in the back. He was now attaching adjustable mental bands that he had stolen from the tubes inside the toilet of the cabin, which he would use to fasten the chainsaw to his arm. Despite her doubts, she had to admit, it was looking somewhat impressive. “How much longer are you going to be?” She asked him worriedly, well aware that sunset was fast approaching. If there was a chance they could catch Willow sleeping…or hibernating…or whatever the hell creepy ass possession demon things did during the day, she wanted to take it.

        “Just…a few more…there!” He brandished a screwdriver in the air triumphantly, and turned to her with a grin, “Think I got it.”

        “What are those than?” Buffy asked, pointing at the several extra pieces that were lying on the table after Spike had partially dismantled the motor to allow more room for his stump. “Shouldn't those be…you know…in the chainsaw or something?”

        “Ummm…no. Those are just extra pieces. Don't need them.”

        “What do you mean, don't need them?” Buffy asked, “The people who built the chainsaw seemed to think you need them.”

        “Well, what do they know? Ready for the harness now.”

        “Wait…wait…let me get this straight. You think you know more about the chainsaw than the people who actually built it, and you're willing to go into a life and death situation with a chainsaw that will probably stop working because you say that you don't need those `extra pieces'?! Are you demented?!”

        “Just hand me the harness, Buffy.”

        “Fine, fine…I can tell when my opinion isn't wanted,” Buffy complained.

        “That'd be the day,” Spike muttered beneath his breath, earning himself a glare from his girl and she tossed the harness at him a little harder than was necessary. He shrugged into it and with Buffy's help, fastened the straps criss-cross over his chest.

        “I still think that the shotgun is too long to fit in the harness,” Buffy told him, “It's going to be really awkward if you have to bend over.”

        “Thought of that,” Spike said as he slipped his stump into the metal bands and casing of the chainsaw. He tightened the bands around his arm and lifted the chainsaw, giving it a few experimental swings. It was a bit heavier than he was used too, but he'd get used to it. He lifted the chainsaw against his body and slipped the plastic head of the drawstring into the hook that was positioned on one of the crisscrossing straps and he yanked it forward, grinning when the motor roared into life.

        He glanced at Buffy, raising an eyebrow. Okay…lame…Buffy thought and then jumped back when Spike picked up the shotgun, her eyes widening as she watched Spike draw the blade of the chainsaw across the barrel, sparks shooting up as he sawed off the barrels. He shot an infectious grin at Buffy.

        “Groovy.”

        Buffy's heart was already pounding in her chest, and they hadn't even unfastened the chains on the trapdoor yet. She really hated this plan, sexy Mad Max Spike or not. She wanted to try and convince him not to do this, but she knew it was futile. She knew as well as Spike that their survival rested on the retrieval of the professor's journals and the missing pages of the Necrominicon, but she still hated having to watch her fiancé go down into the basement where a blood-thirsty demon was waiting to kill him and escape. For all the pre-emptive panic she was experiencing, the pages had damn well be down there.

        “Will you hold the damn thing straight already?” Spike asked in irritation, “If I soddin' well hammer m'one good hand because you're jittering the damn board all over the place, I'm going to be very put out.”

        “Maybe we should just wait until morning,” Buffy suggested as she steadied the board, watching as Spike hammered the nails in, closing off the rest of the windows. Outside, the last of the sunlight disappeared from the sky and already a heavy mist was rolling over the ground. She hoped Oz had made it out of the woods safely already, or she didn't even want to contemplate what would happen to him otherwise. “I don't like you going down there when she's…active.”

        “We discussed this, pet,” Spike sighed heavily as he lowered the hammer and ran his hand through his hair. He was looking pretty tired, since he hadn't slept all the night before, nor this morning or afternoon. They had been too busy making weapons and turning the cabin into a fortress to worry about little things like rest. “It only took one night for it to take all our friends. I don't like our chances of lasting through this night unless we go on the offensive.” He smiled at her wanly, “'Sides…we both know that neither of us are well-suited to sitting on our asses and waiting around for the fight to come to us.”

        “True…” Buffy sighed as she watched Spike don the harness over his duster and then slip the gutted chainsaw onto his hand. Hmmm…Post-Apocalyptic Spike. Okay…death and danger aside…he was looking really friggin' hot with the chainsaw and sawed-off shotgun.

        Spike grinned as Buffy threw one arm around his waist and dragged his head down to hers by the back of his neck. It was a brief but passionate kiss that left Spike with half a stiffy. “What was that for, pet?”

        “Luck,” She swatted his ass playfully, despite the fear in her eyes. “Come back to me, all right?”

        “Always, pet, always,” Spike kissed her cheek, love shining in his eyes, “Still got a wedding to plan, don't we?” He frowned, even if pretty much the entire wedding party is dead. Maybe we should look into elopement. Happy thoughts, Spike…happy thoughts…God, I need some fuckin' sleep. “Get the door, pet…think it's time I pay our resident evil a little visit.”

        Spike descended into the dark basement, wincing every time the rickety stairs creaked beneath his boots. So far, so good. No sign of Willow yet, but he didn't hold out much hope that she was still sleeping or whatever the hell he should call it. He looked up as Buffy began to close the trapdoor, allowing her one last glimpse of his pale face in the light of the lantern he carried with him.

        "Courage, mate, courage..." He muttered to himself as he sat the lantern down on the stairs, its pitiful light doing nothing to illuminate the gloom of the basement. With a crack of cartilage, his demonic face came to the fore, his eyesight immediately improving.

        "Heerree...kitty, kitty, kitty..." Spike reached behind him with his good hand, feeling the reassuring smoothness of the shotgun butt against his palm as he finished descending the stairs, his feet sinking into the earthen floor. "Got a prezzie for you, Willow, pet..."

        She didn't take the bait as Spike moved farther into the basement, and he couldn't tell if he was grateful or not. He slowly removed the shotgun from its holster, his eyes flitting along the walls, looking for movement in the shadows. He rested the shotgun against the crook of his elbow, the chainsaw pressing into his thigh as he moved towards the back of the cellar.

        He passed beneath the single, bare lightbulb and he hooked the shotgun beneath his arm as he reached up to stop its swinging, his fingers finding the pull-string. As soon as his fingers brushed along the smooth twine, he froze; there was no breeze in the cellar, hence, no reason for the swinging of the light bulb...something had to have brushed against it.

        He pulled the cord sharply, and dropped his hand back down to the shotgun, replacing it across his elbow. As soon as the basement was lighted, he swung in a swift circle, scanning the areas visible to him almost desperately; to his disgust, he could smell his own fear in the air, and he covered by shouting defiantly, "C'mon then, you white-eyed hag. Show yourself, already!"

        The scratch of needle upon vinyl startled him and he shouted hoarsely as he jerked backwards, falling back against a shelf as old-fashioned Waltz music swelled around him. He turned his head and saw the desk he was looking for, the ancient turntable covered in dust and looking ill-equipped to be playing at all. "Bloody hell..." He exhaled the breath he hadn't been aware he had been holding. "Right...I think the Halloween theme might've been more appropriate," He muttered to no one in particular. The desk seemed farther away than ever, and Spike inwardly cursed stupid Einstein and his stupid theory of relativity. The deeper he moved into the cellar, the farther away his goal seemed. The distance was interminable. If his heart could beat, it'd be going a mile a minute the longer he remained down here.

        "Oh, bloody grow a pair, mate," Spike spoke to himself, picking up the pace and practically sprinting towards the desk. As soon as he came to it, he set down the shotgun and with his good hand, beginning to shove all the papers and journals upon it into his amble duster pockets. He began yanking open the drawers and collecting the papers from there also.

        It wasn't until he had nearly filled his pockets to bursting when he realized he could hear dripping water; actually, now that his ears were pricked, it sounded more like a torrential flood. He turned, his stomach flipping over when he saw dark liquid streaming down the walls and forming puddles of muddy gore. He swallowed heavily as he lifted his fingertips up to the closest wall, his suspicions affirmed when they came away covered with blood. He glanced upwards when the light in the basement changed, tinted a deep red; the bulb of the light was filling with blood, it was absolutely every where, dripping off the shelves, all over the floor, it was starting to drip off the ceiling and patter on his head. He licked his lips when some of it dripped along his face, and made a sound of disgust; it was human blood, but long dead and sapped of all vitality. It tasted, in short, like utter shit. "Can't even get the good stuff, can I?" He growled in repulsion, giving his head a shake, scattering scarlet droplets into the air.

        He finished gathering up the last of the papers and turned to leave, only to be blinded as an old projector flared into life, scenes of the deceased Doctor's life playing out upon his chest. "BLOODY HELL!" Spike threw his arm up, covering his amber eyes from the searing pain of the bright light, nearly clonking himself in the head with his shotgun.

        If Willow hadn't had cackled, she would have had him.

        Spike jerked out of the light when he heard her, dropping down to the disgustingly muddy ground as she soared above him, her body striking the wall with a crack of bone.

        "Your aim fuckin' sucks," Spike snarled as he rolled onto his feet, his face once again reverted to its human mask, It didn't help his eye-sight any, since he was still seeing bright orbs of color dancing in his vision.

        Willow recovered before he could, and came flying at him again, knocking him against the wall, and he swore as his shotgun fell from his hand and landed in a puddle of blood. He brought his knee up, driving it into her stomach and when she doubled over, he half-twisted, using the same knee to strike her in the face and send her rolling across the floor.

        He lifted the draw-string of the chainsaw into the hook on his harness and it flared to life with an explosion of dark smoke. He grinned when Willow's bone eyes widened as he dropped into a defensive stance, "Remember that time you lit me on fire practicing that bloody 'little ball of sunlight' spell?" He asked as she regained her feet, her gnarled teeth baring in a feral snarl, "Think of this as payback," He spun around when Willow charged him, chainsaw swinging out from his body as he did so. He was awarded with a shriek of pain as he sliced one of Willow's arms from her body. It hit the ground and starting clawing its way in his directions, sharp fingernails digging into the muck and grime. "Pet...do me a favor...say it's only a flesh wound..."

        "YOU WILL DIE! ALL OF YOU WILL DIE!" Willow shrieked in outrage, "YOU WILL NEVER SEE THE MOON AGAIN, VAMPIRE!"

        "Not a fan of Monty Python, then?" Willow wrenched one of the shelves loose, making a handy little stake, "Guess not."

        She rushed him again, stake brandished in the air and destined for his chest. Spike went to do another spin, but his feet slipped in the mud and he had to twist his body violently to keep from landing on his chainsaw and sawing himself in half. Willow didn't seem much concerned with such dangers and flung herself on top of him, screaming as the small, spinning blades cut into her deadened flesh, ripping her apart. Various disgusting green and white fluids flew from her sundered flesh, covering Spike and the area around him.

        They should have been more evenly matched since they were both deprived of the use of one arm each, but she kept trying to bite the hand that was holding her wrist and keeping her from staking him good and proper. With a roar of frustration, and all of his strength, he jerked his trapped arm upwards, and Willow shrieked again, nearly causing his eardrums to bleed as he ripped her in half.

        He got to his feet with some effort and looked down at the decimated form of Willow as her upper and lower halves jerked and twitched like a marionette with its strings half-cut and screaming for all she was worth. He felt pity, but not for the creature, but what the creature had once been.

        "Sorry, Red," He muttered regretfully as he brought the chainsaw back to her flesh, decapitating her head from her neck. Still she screamed and twitched and still he cut till she was nothing more than tattered bits of fractured movement.

        He finally cut out the chainsaw, his breathing ragged, if unnecessary, and his stomach roiling. He stumbled away to the corner of the basement, and bent, his back heaving with his dry retching. It took him several moments to regain control of himself, and he almost wiped the sleeve of his must abused duster across his face, but stopped himself in time when he saw the disgusting, liquefied gore covering it.

        He grabbed up his shotgun out of the blood puddle and stumbled towards the basement stairs, his gait as unsteady as his stomach. He didn't look back at Willow, even as he witnessed every single drop of blood being sucked back into the walls, as if the cabin itself was a vampire itself.

        He shuddered as he climbed up the stairs and struck the trapdoor with the last of his strength and crumbled onto the steps, completely spent. "Buffy..." He rasped, lying his head against the dry, dusty wood. "Let me out, for the love of Christ..."

        He blinked as light flooded the gloom of the basement, and he turned his face upwards to see the face of an angel. An angel whose face twisted in disgust when she saw the unidentifiable crap he was covered with.

        "Okay...ICK! I can never have sex with you ever again!"

        Spike dropped his head back onto the step and groaned.

TO BE CONT!!!

EVVILLLL!

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