Dean drops the whole pointless argument to propose a little trip over to Gloria's hole of an apartment, but Sam's already been there and found no sulphur or EMF. However, there is the unresolved matter of the sign Gloria supposedly received at this Carl person's house, so Our Intrepid Heroes hop into the Impala for the quick drive over to Carl's former abode. Upon disembarking, Dean almost immediately spots a large plastic angel on Carl's former front porch, right next to the door. "It's a sign from up above," Dean snarks, "always take down your Christmas decorations after New Year's, or you might get filleted by a hooker from God." Heh. Sam looks offended. "Shut up, Sam," grumbles Raoul. Raoul! So curt! "He deserves it," Raoul yawns, popping another Dexedrine into his impressive maw. Hee. After a few lengthy moments of pondering, Sam spots the padlocked outer doors to the house's cellar and, remembering what Gloria said about Carl being "guilty to his deepest foundations," proposes they pick the lock and see what they can find. And what they find in that dank, enclosed space after copious amounts of flashlight-fu is a section of the stone wall scarred with gouges left by some unfortunate soul's fingernails. DUN! In fact, Sam digs around in the crumbling mortar for a bit and pulls out an actual Lee Glamour Length Fancy Fingers Press-On. DUN! Again! Some more! The boys heave "here we go again" sighs at each other and grab a couple of suspiciously handy shovels to start digging into the cellar's earthen floor.

A short time later, they've discovered the skeletal remains of some unknown victim of Dead Carl's, leading Sammy to shrug, "So much for the innocent church-going librarian." Dean allows that "whatever spoke to Gloria about this knew what it was talking about," and the boys exchange Looks Fraught With Significance before the camera cuts over to...

...another decrepit apartment, elsewhere in the city. "The Providence Chamber Of Commerce must be absolutely livid about their city's portrayal this evening," Raoul opines. I'm certain you're correct, but let's shoot down with the camera to see what the drunken layabout on the bed's up to, shall we? Nothing much aside from swigging out of a bottle of Johnnie Walker, as it so happens. Spread across his chest, incidentally, is a comic book entitled Theseus: Cannabal, and no, I couldn't find anything like it in my admittedly brief bout of research on the matter, so you're all on your own with that one. The camera slowly crawls up the sot's body to his boozily ruddy face, and just as I become convinced the camera's going to keep tracking forward until it embeds itself in this loser's nasal cavity, the lights in his pit of an apartment start buzzing and blinking on and off. And then? Another uncommon New England earthquake, this one first sending all of The Drunk's numerous whiskey bottles crashing to the floor before taking out his television set. Eventually, as it did before, the shaking subsides with the arrival of that piercing white light, and The Drunk's fear disappears as he slowly paces forward to the light's unseen off-screen source.