Disclaimer - Good Omens is the property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. The Ring (American Version) belongs to DreamWorks.

A/N - My friend an I were discussing The Ring a few weeks ago and I started to wonder what would happen if Crowley ever encountered Samara Morgan (the demonic little girl from the American version of the film), this ficlet is the result. Any and all feedback is welcome, be it concrit, gratuitous praise, or irate flaming.

It was probably the single most acutely embarrassing situation that Samara Morgan had found herself facing in her unlife so far. Had this evening gone to plan she would have now brought about the mysterious and terrifying deaths of the six teenagers who had inadvertently come across a copy of the cursed videotape she had created three years ago. Instead she was currently stood on a black polythene sheet in the centre of a stylish London apartment and being told off by a man, or at least an entity that had decided to opt for a man-shaped form, wearing dark glasses. In hindsight she realised that the fact that he had remained sprawled out comfortably on the couch as she had emerged from the well and clambered out of the television screen, as oppose to say, soiling himself in abject terror like most of her victims did, should have told her to turn around and go and menace someone else. In an amazing display of bad judgement however, she had proceeded to try and kill him by projecting forth a series of mental pictures so utterly horrifying and twisted that they would instantly induce heart failure in the victim. This hadn't happened. Instead of dropping dead on the spot he had told her that the images were 'a bit passé really', and the mouldy white dress demonstrated a complete lack of any sense of style whatsoever. Floundering slightly she had tried to step back into the television, only to find that it was both turned off and unplugged at the mains.

"Have you any idea how much trouble you've been causssing?" Crowley hissed as Samara sullenly dripped pond slime on the carpet. He made a small hand gesture, and a bin liner appeared under her feat. This was all hugely inconvenient. He had been in advanced negotiation with several of demonic child's victims, and their untimely demises had scuppered a few of his schemes for causing widespread despondency and spiritual atrophy.

It was always the same though. Woman desperate for offspring makes a pact with the powers of darkness and gets impregnated by some demon or other. Offspring turns out to be sociopath with telepathic abilities. Woman, driven mad by strange visions, goes a bit loopy and pushes offspring down a well. Offspring takes revenge on the world by releasing bad art house film. Okay maybe it wasn't all that common, but it was still bloody annoying.

"That board of directors from the coffee company who saw your little cinematic attempt a fortnight ago. Dead before I got the chance to do anything useful with them."

Samara not quite sure how to respond, telepathically suggested that killing them before they had a chance  to find God and decided to lead better lives was actually quite a good idea.

"Oh for Go... someone's sake, you could at least talk properly," said Crowley who was more than a little irritated by the fact that the girl - if you could call her that - communicated primarily by burning cryptic images onto the recipients brain. "Look you're thinking small. Persuade one advertising executive to sell their immortal soul, and all you've got when all's said and done is one soul. Teach an advertising executive how to get other people to sell their immortal souls however, and you just sit back and let them damn themselves."

"I want everyone to suffer," said Samara in the dull monotone voice she used when it was absolutely necessary to vocalise something.

"And imagine the suffering that would have been caused to thousands, if those people from the coffee company had gone ahead with their plan use slave labour. Or if that television producer from Channel 5 that you did in last week had actually got round to producing that quiz show where members of the public completely debase themselves in front of a live studio audience in an attempt to win a new television."

There was a moment's silence as Samara stared sulkily at the floor. Until now her one-demonic-apparition attempt cause pain, death and madness had been going ever so well. It had really been a big mistake to try and branch out into the UK.

"Now I could tell the people Down There about all the problems you've been causing," said Crowley.

Samara shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't particularly familiar with 'Down There' but she got the distinct impression that being labelled as a problem by 'them' wouldn't be a particularly good thing. She had always prided herself on her distinctive look, with the white nightdress, and the long dark hair that obscured the face and made her look extra terrifying. At the present moment however she felt like an entrant in the Drowned Rat of 2004 competition.

"I'll tell you what though," said Crowley in the manner of someone who knows they've got the upper hand but is prepared to be sportingly generous, for a given value of generous. "With a few small modifications this cursed video tape idea of yours might actually work."

A few days later, in a small town in Surrey, a young woman had just finished watching the most unsettling video. It had contained the most unnerving series of images she had ever seen. The cassette itself had been anonymously posted through the letterbox a few hours earlier.

The phone in the living room began ring and she got up to answer it. "Hello," she said.

The voice on the other end was strange and distorted. "In seven days you're going to die... Unless that is you subscribe to Living Live, the new reality TV channel available on cable and digital."