Their salt circle complete, Maggie, Dickless, and Dick hop inside to exchange a few distasteful words of encouragement I'll not be transcribing until everything starts buzzing and blinking and fritzing out again. Once the screen on Maggie's camera clears, she hesitantly directs it off to the side, where the three find...Poor Little Dead Fey Corbett! Jittering and shuddering and choking on his own blood through the hole in his neck! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"
Basement. Brief mention is made of how long Dean has left on this earth, but that's not important at all, for they've just noticed the faint sound of that infernal Lesley crying if she wants to, and Dean single-handedly pushes aside a metal cabinet to reveal the bomb shelter's door. "Wow," Spruce deadpans. "You're strong." Dean flips him the bird. Heh.
Far inside the bomb shelter's inky depths, meanwhile, Daggett positions himself behind Struggling Sammy with that sharpening steel in his business hand. Fortunately for Our Intrepid Hero, his dashing brother bursts through the shelter door at that very moment to charge past Poor Little Dead Fey Corbett's head and blast a couple of rounds of rock salt into Daggett's chest. The moment Daggett dematerializes, Dean rushes over to Sam and starts cutting through the latter's ropes. Spruce, meanwhile, allows his camera to linger on the various desiccated and taxidermied corpses in the other seats until he finds Poor Little Dead Fey Corbett, who vanishes into the next commercial break most woefully CHOMP!-less.
Back from the break, the dipshits in the salt circle gradually realize that Poor Little Dead Fey Corbett's now a death echo, and is therefore doomed to relive the moment of his murder over and over again for all eternity. Down in the basement, Sam grimaces with disgust as he reveals what Daggett's ghost just confessed to him off-screen mere moments ago: Seems our friendly neighborhood janitor and corpse-thief was a very lonely man -- "the Norman Bates, stuff-your-mother kind of lonely," in fact -- and so, in preparation for what would be his final birthday, he swiped the three bodies from the morgue, preserved them as best he could, arranged them in his bomb shelter for one last party, and then headed upstairs at midnight on February 29th to overdose on horse tranquilizers. And so, every Leap Day since...well, you know the story, right? "Absolutely!" Excellent. I shall ignore the fact that there should be dozens of corpses in that bomb shelter rather than the four or five we just saw, and I shall further ignore the fact that those dozens of corpses should have been producing hundreds of death echoes on the floors above throughout this entire episode, and I shall keep this moving along, then, yes? "You must! If you think too much, you'll rot your brains!" Uh. Thanks for those words of advice, doll. "My pleasure!"