"HELLO?"  FUCK, IS THAT A COBWEB ON THE KEYBOARD?
   "HELLO?!"  CAN'T BE.  IT'S A NEW COMPUTER, HASN'T HAD TIME TO GET COBWEBS.
   "IS ANYONE OUT THERE?"  IN THAT CASE I DON'T EVEN WANT TO THINK WHAT IT IS THEN.  OR HOW IT GOT THERE.
   "FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, I'M BACK.  I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE, AND I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME."  SHIT, WHAT DID CALEB WRITE LAST TIME?  OH, WHO CARES?!
   "LOOK, CAN WE PLEASE GET ON WITH THIS - I'M BACK."
   "'ckin hell!  Ah thought we ditched the bitch?!"
   "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?"  KNEW I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF A PLOT BEFORE I STARTED TYPING.
   "Ah'm John-Billy-Jo-Bob."
   "GOOD...  ER, WOULD YOU DO US A FAVOUR AND FUCK AWAY OFF THE SET?"
   "Nope!  I gotta stay here an' make them piggies squeal!  Squeal piggy-piggy!"
   "YEAH, ER, OKAY THEN, I'LL BE GOING NOW..."

Giles looked up at the spooky cabin thoughtfully.  As far as cabins went, this one was damn spooky, hell, bordering on the clichéd.  Abstractly, both the author and Giles wondered how far they could go before reaching total plagiarism.  The deliberations were left far behind as a scary wolf howl sounded and the wind decided to pick up, and Giles bolted for the safety of the cabin.

Yorrick wasn't faring much better either.  He'd seen the movie.  So when Bruce Campbell rushed past with a chainsaw replacement for a severed hand, he hid.  He thought about Widget's mysterious comments, and wondered whether it was worth all the trouble.  All the blood.  All the chaos.  The torment.  The anguish.  The over-acting.
   It wasn't.
   Looking at it logically, going into the cabin was suicide, so, he wouldn't.  On the other hand, staying in the woods was an open invitation to warped sexual deviancy.  But on the other hand, Yorrick reasoned, being a vest would leave him pretty immune to most things.  Having run out of hands (not that he had any in the first place), Yorrick figured that the chainsaw wielding maniac may be responsible for Giles' death, although he had to work out both the how and the why of that theory.  "Ah, screw it."  Yorrick muttered to himself.  He pulled out his handgun and crept towards the cabin.

Bruce Campbell stood behind the front door of the cabin.  He'd done the usual 'run away from the scary thing we don't have enough of a budget to show', done the unnecessary screaming, resigned himself to another movie he was going to regret, and wondered why the hell he was being dragged into this particular parody that absolutely did not require a chainsaw-wielding maniac.  With that done, he attempted to get into character, which, as usual failed miserably, and pondered why the fuck he'd gone to the cabin.  Again.
   Voice over: I'D GONE BACK TO THE CABIN TO FIND MY HAND.  LIFE AIN'T EXACTLY ALL GUTS AND GLORY WHEN YOU'VE GOT A CHAINSAW FOR A HAND, BABY.  PICKING UP GIRLS IS IMPOSSIBLE, I'D GOTTEN THE SACK FROM S-MART AFTER THE WHOLE INCIDENT WITH SHOOTING THAT CUSTOMER ON HALLOWEEN, PUTTING ON CLOTHES WAS A NIGHTMARE.  SURE YOU CAN TIDY YOUR GARDEN EASILY, BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE THE TERROR OF RISKING LIFE AND LIMB JUST TO HAVE A GOOD WANK?
   "Hey!"  Bruce shouted, suddenly catching on.  "I hope you're gonna cut that bit!"
   "Cut it?  Of course..."  A voice snarled from beside him.  Bruce had just enough time to see the chainsaw blade descend on his shin and separate the leg from his left foot.
   "I don't fuckin' believe this.  YOU BASTARDS!  GIVE ME BACK MY FOOT!!!" Bruce screamed, looking up at his leather-faced attacker, who promptly started running around in circles waving the chainsaw around in a far from safety-conscious manner...

Giles had turned himself into a question mark and was hovering two feet above the ground in the corner of a round room whilst he watched a clock melting on the burning giraffe behind him.  Things had gotten so abstract he felt that it was the only option under the circumstances.  He'd broken the boundaries of sanity some time ago, and now, trapped in a B-movie, surrealism seemed the perfect solution.
   As he floated there, the librarian heard a sudden scampering noise.  A scraping, squeaking noise that raised the hair on the back of his neck.  Peering through the gloom he saw a hand.  A hand not attached to anything.  A hand holding a paint brush.  Giles nodded sagely, accepting this new form reality was taking.
   "Nyip..."  The hand squeaked.  "Nyip nyip nyip nyip nyip."
   It scampered back to inspect the brush marks it had made on the door hinges.  It drummed impatiently for a moment, and then made its way to the door, pushing it inwards.  When the door was only slightly ajar, the hand nipped back and pushed it from the other side.  The door swung open slowly, groaning and creaking as if in insufferable pain.
   The hand giggled.  Giles smiled.  The mysteries of the universe were unfolding before him, and now, armed with the knowledge of why B-movie doors creak when opened, a wave of enlightenment descended upon him.  Soon, very soon, he would have the answers...

Yorrick, hanging from a coat hook, watched silently, as Leatherface continued to spin round and round in circles.  Being a vest didn't mean he was without sense, and he had reasoned that a little rec. was in order.  However, he hadn't counted on quite so many maniacs being around while he searched for Giles' murderer.  He had already discounted the chainsaw brigade on account of neither of them having the brains to manage an explosion, but that didn't mean they couldn't leave him with a lot of darning to do if he got in their way.
   As the Texan twirled around maniacally, both Yorrick and Bruce stifled a yawn.  The whole thing was getting pretty tired.  However, in a disturbing surge of intelligence, Bruce waited until Leatherface had his back to him, and then frantically hopped from the room.  Yorrick was startled, and mentally reprimanded himself for underestimating the guy, before taking silent bets on how long it would take the chainsaw massacre-er to realise.
   Fortunately, Yorrick was saved having to owe himself a large amount of money after only twenty minutes, when Leatherface's chainsaw ran out of gas.  After thumping it a few times, the madman pulled the front door off its hinges and ran into the woods.
   With a sigh of quiet relief, Yorrick let himself down from the coat hook, and carefully picked his way to the room Bruce had disappeared into.  The one-armed one-legged man was sitting in a rocking chair deep in thought, and didn't even notice the vest as it collapsed into a crumpled heap in the corner, watching.
   Suddenly, a deep, grinding voice echoed throughout the room, coming from no discernable source.
   "JOIN US" it boomed.
   Bruce looked up, resignedly.  "I already did."
   There was a silence, the sort of silence you can hear a pin drop in.  Idly, Yorrick looked around for a pin to test this theory out on, but the unworldly silence of the room dissuaded him.  It was as if the world had stopped, and was waiting with baited breath.  The voice broke that silence.
   "LEAVE US" It said with a touch of pride at having worked that one out.
   Bruce shook his head sadly, and hopped out of the room, treading on the hapless vest as he went to find something to replace his foot with.  Yorrick indignantly rose to his hems, and went outside to make a phone call.

Agent Scully was pulled over by the side of the road, resenting the call.  "Look Yorrick, now is not a good time, I cannot stress this strongly enough..."  She sighed in frustration.  "No, it's just that I've got Dr Lector in the car- No!  It's nothing like that!  Well, it is, but not right now...  No, he ate Mulder...  And Mulder's sister, yes, the rumours were true...  You what?!  He's dead?!  Then I have no choice...  Don't you worry about that...  I'll keep my side of the bargain...  One hour."  Scully smiled at the man in her passenger seat.  "Skinner's dead.  All those years, and now, finally, my revenge..."
   "Revenge for what?"  Queried the doctor with a slight incline of his head.
   "To be honest, it's been so many years, I can't remember.  But I'm sure it was something bad."  Scully admitted.
   "Hmm..."  Hannibal mused.  "But something else is bothering you?"
   "Well," Scully sighed.  "The...  Individual...  We're going to meet.  He's a detective.  The only thing I can think of is pretending that I've caught you, and then killing him once I find out what he knows."
   "I understand."  The doctor smiled.  "Now, shall we stop for lunch, or will we have something there?"

Giles rippled across the ceiling, following the hand as it went about its' business.  He had observed the limb sawing part way through banisters, placing murderous weapons in easy reach, and checking the smoke machine was still working.  Giles smiled.  Things were falling into place.

Yorrick was folded on the porch, waiting for Scully to arrive.  At long last, the rental car pulled up, and she somehow managed to get out of it whilst handcuffed to her prisoner.  Yorrick sighed, deciding to ignore the logistics of that one, and went to meet them.
   "Ah, Dr Lector.  Scully.  Welcome.  Although, far be it for me to criticise you Agent, but doesn't it seem rather foolish to handcuff yourself to him?"
   "I quite agree."  Hannibal said in a cheerful tone, bringing out a meat cleaver.
   Scully smiled.  "I've seen this movie, you won't do it.  You have a thing for red-headed FBI Agents."
   "No,"  Dr Lector chided her.  "I had a 'thing' as you would term it for Starling.  You on the other hand present nothing more than a desert."  He brought the cleaver down on Scully's wrist, and her hand flew off in a shower of blood.  The Agent fell to the ground with a cry of pain, clutching at her wounded stump, blood gushing everywhere.
   "Hmm..."  Hannibal mused as he unlocked the handcuffs and let them, and the hand, fall to the ground.  "An interesting turn of events, wouldn't you say, detective?"
   "In all honesty, under the present circumstances, such as they are at this moment, I find myself unable to speculate on such matters - I am quite literally speechless."  Yorrick admitted.
   "For God's sake!"  Scully begged from the ground.  "Somebody call me an ambulance!"
   "You're an ambulance!"  The entire cast yelled simultaneously.
   Scully started to sob, but it didn't last long, on account of her dying of blood loss.
   "Indeed."  Hannibal stated, as Scully noisily exsanguinated.  "So, if I may be so bold...  As to...  Inquire..."  His voice trailed away as he caught sight of something strange;  Bruce.
   "Groovy."  Yorrick muttered under his breath.
   The chainsaw man had found a replacement for his foot.  It was big.  It looked painful.  It was metal, possibly aluminium, and reflected sunlight.  It added another few inches to his height.  It was heavy.  It was a toaster.
   "Look, I couldn't find anything better."  He said, instantly on the defensive.  "But this baby's industrial - 12 slices at once.  Plus, I fitted metal blades - a nice surprise from the pop-up function."
   "I see..."  Hannibal exhaled softly.  "If you will forgive me being candid, let me consider the situation.  I am currently holding a conversation with what appears to be an undergarment, and a man who believes that replacing his arm with a chainsaw and his foot with an electrical appliance, is a good lifestyle choice..."
   "Shit!  Did you know you're a vest?"  Bruce asked excitedly.
   "What are you talking about?  Even if it were the case, what makes you think I'd be bothered the crass remarks of someone who is quite obviously insane?"
   "Who you calling insane?!"
   "If I am a vest, then why are you talking to me?  Did you ever consider that?"
   Dr Lector gave a half smile.  "If you will forgive me, I shall depart.  I regret that I should leave this fascinating exchange so soon, but I feel strongly about leaving food to spoil."  He indicated the FBI Agent at his feet.  "You are, however, both welcome to join me..."
   Yorrick, ever the gentleman, acknowledged Hannibal.  "My thanks.  However, I have pressing business here, and so I must regretfully decline."  Bruce, on the other hand, simply stared and wiggled his eyebrows in a way that was, well, quite disturbing really.
   As Dr Lector drove away, the argument continued.  Bruce indignantly waved his arm in a gesture designed to encompass the cabin and woods.  "Even if I was nuts, which I ain't, don't you think its 'cos of all the shit I've been through?  I've killed my evil self, four girlfriends, my sister, my best friend...  those useless...  pricks from...  college..."  His voice dwindled.  "It's a hand!"  He yelled unexpectedly, swooping down on the object abandoned on the ground.
   "YOU BASTARDS!  I SAID GIVE ME BACK MY HAND!  NOT SOMEONE ELSE'S!  AAGGHH!"
   With that, he threw the hand over his shoulder and rushed into the woods, revving his chainsaw in a threatening way, looking rather scary.  Well, it would have been scary if he hadn't kept on falling over the toaster, but all in all, Yorrick had to admit, it was still rather impressive...

"Nyip?!"  The hand exclaimed suddenly.  In a burst of rapid scampering it crossed the hallway, to where Scully's severed hand had been thrown.  "Heheheheheheheheh!"  The evil hand giggled in eager anticipation.  A forefinger gingerly tapped the knuckles, and the hand twitched.  A gentle stroking, and the FBI Agent's hand slowly opened, and rolled so the open palm showed.
   "Grrrrr..."  Ash's hand purred, as it slowly slid forward in a bizarre mimic of a handshake.  The other hand responded almost immediately, and both sets of fingers carefully intertwined...

Giles was no longer in liquid form.  He was 100% human once again.  Well, as human as he ever was.  Make your own conclusions about that.  Either way, he was feeling something he hadn't felt in quite some time.  Once again, I urge you to think about that for yourselves - I like audience participation.  Personally, I was going for philosophical, but then again, I'm sadly lacking in imagination.  Anyway, crouched down in the shadows, the librarian watched the two hands holding cigarettes, sprawled casually against the wall, and wondered just how fucked up things had gotten.