Parental discretion advised! Woot! A camera pans along a painting depicting a stern family of five, the mother and three children looking straight out at the viewer, the father looming behind them all and looking down. The pan ends at the bottom left corner of the painting and some giggling fades in as we see a hand adjust the frame straight. A posh young couple laugh over having bought the painting at auction and agree that it must have been the open bar that did them in. They stand back and look at the painting above the mantel, and the woman's smile fades as she wonders aloud if her husband doesn't find it creepy. He puts his arms around her and tells her he'll keep her safe while simultaneously unzipping the back of her dress. Yeah, he'll keep her safe...and naked! They agree to meet upstairs after he locks up the house, and go their separate ways. A strange liquid sound, and we see the man in the painting loosen his face from the canvas and sort of turn his head. It's a weird, nice effect.

Tension builds as Husband cocks his ear suspiciously at some creaking, and we cut upstairs where the woman -- who confirms her poshness by bothering to change into lingerie rather than just stripping (aaand I just confirmed my trashiness) -- hops into bed and yells out to her husband that she's going to start without him if he doesn't hurry up. Yowza! The camera switches to first-person walking up the stairs, accompanied by an eerie dragging noise, and then we cut to a close-up of that bottom left corner of the painting where the barber's razor that once lay on the side table has now disappeared. In the bedroom, the door creaks open and a wind blows out the romance candle Wifey has set out. We cut to Husband breezing into the room, telling her to turn the light on while tossing his shirt aside. He sort of falls into the bed with a terrible squish and wonders aloud, "Did you spill something?", flicks on the light, and finds his hand absolutely covered in blood. The shot widens and we see his wife lying in a pool of blood, throat sliced to pieces. Husband flings himself backward, looks straight into the advancing camera, and screams. Zappy credits.

In a bar, appropriately bad bar music plays and we find Dean taking down a phone number of a tank-topped extra and asking if she spells her name Brandi with an "I" or a "Y." His next question? Whether she prefers the lights on or off. Sam, meanwhile, is sitting at a table reading a newspaper. In a bar. The only thing worse than that are those goobers who take their copy of, like, Les fleurs du mal to the bar with them to sit in the corner reading, occasionally glancing up simply in order to glare at the beer guzzlers around them. DUDE YOU ARE IN A BAR. Sam does, however, come upon the headline "Couple's throats slashed in their own home," though since it appears prominently on the front page, I wonder why he didn't notice it when he, say, bought the paper. Dean sort of crankily shimmies his way over to Sam after having reluctantly left Brandi at the bar. He's wearing a Dickies-style heavy work jacket that I, personally, far prefer to the Leather Coat of Masculinity [ducking rotten tomatoes thrown in my direction from the forum].

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