[Ash's heart sinks like a lead ball in his ribcage as he crouches and listens to the absolute chaos unfolding down below. Between Quentin's wailing and the disjointed trill of the Charleston, it's hard to say which is more horrifying.
And yet he knows, he knows with every cell in his goddamn body that what he's hearing has nothing on what he can't hear. It's barely perceptible over the music, but Ash swears he can make out something like scraping and hissing down there, like a feral animal dragging itself across the floor. It doesn't matter what it actually is, or if he's imagining it entirely — once it forces itself into his head, it's laser-branded there for good. He sees a rapidly decomposing corpse with broken nails and fish belly-white eyes that shine in the dark, blood squirting from the hole in her neck where Ash had once shot her as her larynx compresses with sibilant laughter. He sees Quentin, curled in on himself, trying to hold the looping coils of his guts in as the laughter gets louder and louder—
"WE'RE GONNA GET YOU," Cheryl's voice — not of an individual anymore but a collective — sings along with the music. "WE'RE GONNA GET YOU..."
And louder and louder—
"NOT ANOTHER PEEP, TIME TO GO TO SLEEP..."
To hell with that.
Ash sucks in a mouthful of air and exhales just as quickly. His breath only trembles a little, same with his voice, but it's not like he can hear it over the rumble of the chainsaw.]
I’M COMING, QUENTIN!
[He plunges the blade into the top of the hatch. The wood is stubborn at first, but Ash is more stubborn, and with a little persistence and a steady hand, the blade starts to move. Wood shavings spray out from the hole in twin crescents as he saws down, guiding the chainsaw firmly and precisely.
Once he's reached the bottom, Ash stands back and kicks the door in, breaking it into two chunks of wood that plunk down the steps. What little light there is barely reaches the staircase, but that doesn't stop him from hurrying down it anyway, his gaze dark and fierce as he holds the chainsaw like a sword, ready to meet whatever lunges at him.
A crumpled figure slowly materializes on the bottom step. Ash runs down to it, trying not to think about how the stairs groan and wobble a bit under his feet, just enough to be concerning. The dissected Quentin in his mind's eye isn't the same Quentin squirming at his feet, thank God, but there's blood rolling down his face, and he looks the same way Ash felt when he first came down here by himself, gleefully unaware of the nightmare that awaited him.]
Qu—
[A mournful whine interrupts him before he can get another syllable out. Sweaty-faced and wide-eyed, Ash whirls to his left, raising the chainsaw defensively. He spots a small shape huddled on their hands and knees behind one of several support beams around the cellar, shaking uncontrollably.
"D-Don't— don't let him hurt me again," Cheryl hiccups in her real voice, as inconsolable as the final time she and Ash ever spoke on the road to the bridge, hugging in the dirt as the Delta's high-beams washed over them. "I thought you wanted to help me, Quentin. You promised you'd help me!"]
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And yet he knows, he knows with every cell in his goddamn body that what he's hearing has nothing on what he can't hear. It's barely perceptible over the music, but Ash swears he can make out something like scraping and hissing down there, like a feral animal dragging itself across the floor. It doesn't matter what it actually is, or if he's imagining it entirely — once it forces itself into his head, it's laser-branded there for good. He sees a rapidly decomposing corpse with broken nails and fish belly-white eyes that shine in the dark, blood squirting from the hole in her neck where Ash had once shot her as her larynx compresses with sibilant laughter. He sees Quentin, curled in on himself, trying to hold the looping coils of his guts in as the laughter gets louder and louder—
"WE'RE GONNA GET YOU," Cheryl's voice — not of an individual anymore but a collective — sings along with the music. "WE'RE GONNA GET YOU..."
And louder and louder—
"NOT ANOTHER PEEP, TIME TO GO TO SLEEP..."
To hell with that.
Ash sucks in a mouthful of air and exhales just as quickly. His breath only trembles a little, same with his voice, but it's not like he can hear it over the rumble of the chainsaw.]
I’M COMING, QUENTIN!
[He plunges the blade into the top of the hatch. The wood is stubborn at first, but Ash is more stubborn, and with a little persistence and a steady hand, the blade starts to move. Wood shavings spray out from the hole in twin crescents as he saws down, guiding the chainsaw firmly and precisely.
Once he's reached the bottom, Ash stands back and kicks the door in, breaking it into two chunks of wood that plunk down the steps. What little light there is barely reaches the staircase, but that doesn't stop him from hurrying down it anyway, his gaze dark and fierce as he holds the chainsaw like a sword, ready to meet whatever lunges at him.
A crumpled figure slowly materializes on the bottom step. Ash runs down to it, trying not to think about how the stairs groan and wobble a bit under his feet, just enough to be concerning. The dissected Quentin in his mind's eye isn't the same Quentin squirming at his feet, thank God, but there's blood rolling down his face, and he looks the same way Ash felt when he first came down here by himself, gleefully unaware of the nightmare that awaited him.]
Qu—
[A mournful whine interrupts him before he can get another syllable out. Sweaty-faced and wide-eyed, Ash whirls to his left, raising the chainsaw defensively. He spots a small shape huddled on their hands and knees behind one of several support beams around the cellar, shaking uncontrollably.
"D-Don't— don't let him hurt me again," Cheryl hiccups in her real voice, as inconsolable as the final time she and Ash ever spoke on the road to the bridge, hugging in the dirt as the Delta's high-beams washed over them. "I thought you wanted to help me, Quentin. You promised you'd help me!"]