Downstairs, Lois is gathering up their luggage with a sigh. Behind her is a large, very old, very expensive-looking portrait of a Scottish gentleman in a kilt. As she struggles with her gigantic suitcase, the duffle she's holding in her other hand scrapes across the painting. There's an audible rip of canvas and Lois looks up, horrified to see the fresh tear in the Scotsman's face. As she glances around for witnesses, she misses the bright, eerie light that suddenly radiates from the rip in the canvas. "That's what you get for not packing light," she says to herself. She sees the innkeeper and gives a sheepish apology. The innkeeper isn't too upset: "If you ask me, great-great-great Uncle Bevan had it coming." Uncle Bastard, the innkeeper explains, usurped his sister Siobhan's birthright, took her crown and castle, then killed her. Lois snarks about men wearing skirts not being very progressive. The innkeeper exposits the supernatural tale of Sister Siobhan, who felt so wronged that she vowed to return from the underworld. "She was granted her wish, but at a price," says the innkeeper, who I wish had a name. "Since she was killed by a man, she was cursed to kill men," she says almost gleefully. Lois is creeped out, but covers with good cheer. The innkeeper offers her some tea, but Lois is distracted by an amorous young man and woman sitting on a sofa by the fire. They smooch and canoodle, oblivious to the world around them. Lois quietly suggests taking their room: "They obviously don't need it!" I beg to differ. The innkeeper smiles awkwardly, unsure of what to say until Lois pretends she was just joking. She goes off to find Clark. The painting glows again and wisps of light reach out to the frisky young woman on the sofa. A flash like lightning under her skin makes her face look skeletal for a moment. Her eyes glow white and a streak of her dark hair turns pale. She leads her lover out of the room with a mischievous smile. The angry elephant trumpets a warning.
Lois finds Clark in their room, which he has restored to all its cozy glory, complete with roaring fire and lit candles. "Turns out the leak wasn't as bad as she said it was," Clark says. Lois sighs. "Clark Kent, my hero." They beam at each other for a while. Some undetermined amount of time later, Lois is behind a privacy screen, getting dressed for bed. The camera pans across the impressive assortment of lingerie Lois has brought with her. She smiles shyly at herself in a mirror, takes a deep breath, and peers through the screen to where Clark, in his pajamas, is trying out different ways to arrange the pillows on the bed. Lois smiles, obviously relieved that Clark seems as nervous as she does. Clark dims the lights a bit then spies Lois's shapely form through the screen. When she finally steps into the room, she's wearing a teal blue number that favors her assets but not in the fetishized, trashy way you may have come to expect from this show. She stands nervously for Clark's approval and asks, "Too much?" He thinks it's perfect. It very nearly matches the color of his gonads, thanks to that side trip to the yarn ball. Then he lets his nerves get the best of him and he asks Lois what side of the bed she'd prefer to sleep on. They go back and forth over who gets what side until the moment pretty much passes them by. They climb into bed and lie down, face to face, and make a little small talk. They're just about to kiss when they hear a sound like a ferret being used as an electric guitar string. There's a flash of light. "What the hell was that?" Lois asks. A mood-killer, that's what. We get to see the real answer: Outside, the young lady from earlier is dragging her now-deceased paramour through the woods. In fact, he's not just deceased, but thoroughly desiccated, as well. Every time there's a flash of lightning, the woman's face glows with corresponding flashes of that skeletal visage. Commercials!