The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, not me. Story is mine, please ask
before archiving.
I wrote this this evening, May 8th, because I felt down, and wanted
cheering up. And because Miriam Diesendruck asked on the West Wing
fanfic group "What does ESF stand for?"
I didn't know either, but lots of people explained it stood for Evil Sam
Fic or Evil Sam Fan. Fic that torments Mr. Seaborn. People who enjoy
such fic. And Meg Lawrence enlightened us, thus;
"I think it's for "Evil Sam Fanfiction." (Not fanfic starring an evil,
diabolical Sam who goes about taunting puppies as I originally thought,
but a list of fabulous writers who excel in Sam-angst.)"
OK, that just *begged* to be ficced....
My thanks to Miriam and Meg for inspiring this.
Author note; Written and posted May 8th 2001. May 9th, I'm watching TV,
and on comes the trailer for a movie. A farmhouse. Arms trying to grab
people. I immediately start laughing. Of all the movies to be showing on
TV this week, they chose the remake of 'Night of the Living Dead.'
Night Of The Living Fifty Foot Sam.
by Michelle Hiley.
cat@hiley.demon.co.uk
"He's coming around the back!" CJ screamed, as Toby frantically grabbed
the planks of wood, and started to try and nail the door shut. Beside
him, Josh broke into a cold sweat. Oh God. They'd only just made it to
the farmhouse, running all the way....with HIM right behind them....
"How could this happen?" CJ asked tearfully. "Josh, we should have
listened to Donna. We should have. When she said that satellite was
falling....."
"I know!" Josh snapped. Shit. How could he have known that Donna would
be so right about that space junk? That it would land right in the
Communications bullpen, and end up mutating one of their own into an
Evil Version of himself?
There were a couple of yelps from outside, and CJ sneaked a look. Two
kicked puppies were running for their lives down the hill. But at the
sight of her at the window, their tormentor turned his attention from
puppies, and stared at her, his eyes glowing with a new madness.
Literally.
"Christ," she breathed, seeing her colleague's eyes shining. "He's
completely radioactive!"
"I swear, I'll go to Temple more often," Toby muttered, hammering the
planks into place. "Every day or something if that's what you want,
Lord..."
"I'll start going," Josh agreed, helping him. "I.....CJ!"
The Press Secretary screamed as an arm burst through the window, seizing
her. A moment later, she'd been dragged out, by superhuman strength.
"CJ!" Toby bellowed, running to the window. He and Josh watched
helplessly as Sam picked CJ up. He seemed to be getting taller, taller
than her, then taller than the farmhouse.....
"Oh. Shit," Josh gasped, as a fifty foot Sam threw the screaming CJ over
his shoulder, and stomped off. Not ready to give in yet though, CJ
caught her breath, and attempted to kick Sam in the privates, but could
only reach his chin. He grunted, and stopped.
"We have to help her!" Toby told Josh. "That is...." He trailed off, as
the Giant Evil Mutant Sam growled, removing CJ from his shoulder, and
holding her in front of his face, sniffing her, and using a giant finger
to stroke her hair, as she scowled and tried to hit him. A moment later,
a strange noise made him look up.
Josh breathed out in relief. "The 71st Airborne. Oh, thank God...."
Sam growled again, swatting at the planes as they tried to dive-bomb
him, holding CJ securely in his other hand. The whine of the planes grew
louder, became incessant beeping.....
Josh jumped awake, hitting the alarm which was beeping in his ear. The
drone of the TV disoriented him for a moment, then he remembered. He'd
been trying desperately to relax, had been watching the late night
B-movie marathon. Nervous, he reached for the phone, hit speed-dial.
"Sam?" he asked when someone finally picked up.
"Yeah?" came the bleary reply. "Josh? You woke me...what's up?"
"Sam, you're normal right?"
"Uh?"
"You're not homicidal?"
"Only towards you if you don't explain why you're calling," Sam
muttered. "Josh? Josh you there?"
"Yeah. Sorry. See you at work," Josh replied, and hung up. Another day.
Another dollar. A normal sized, non-radioactive Deputy Communications
Director. It was OK.
Though as God was his witness, he would never ever laugh at Donna
again....
--
Mich.