Dreary Erie. The Ginormotron switches on his bitty flashlight and tiptoes through a decrepit hunting cabin that shows signs of recent human-ish activity, so he knows he's in the right place. He quietly rummages around until he stumbles across Frankendoc's private journal, lying right there on the desk, and he quickly shoves it into his jacket pocket before continuing his search. Soon enough, he's found the trap door to the cellar, and he bends down, and down, and down, and down, and down, and down and down and down and down and down, and down one more time to poke his freakish Cro-Magnon skull into the musty blackness before carefully planting his remarkably large feet on the creaky planks and picking his way downstairs. The Samalike, most thoroughly dead, remains upon the operating table of his doom, though Frankendoc's been kind enough to wrap most of the corpse in a modestly concealing sheet. Sam, cautiously freaking, abandons his near-doppelganger's body to scope out the rest of the basement and presently, his flashlight's beam lands upon a petite twentysomething's delicate forearm that is simply crawling with wriggling, scrawny maggots. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yep, Frankendoc's flayed open the lady's arm either to stitch the skin onto his own or -- as one particularly sick twist on the forum boards suggested -- because "he was doing a little veinwork," and the festering wound is now indeed a most grisly sight to behold. "Yum!" You're scaring me again, Raoul. "I meant the maggots, not the arm! Honestly! What sort of creature do you think I am?" Uh, a...oh, never mind. Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: Just as Darling Sammy stretches out a concerned hand to check the flayed lady's neck for a pulse, The Flayed Lady's eyes snap open in instant terror, and Sam tries frantically to calm her down so he might make with their escape. Unfortunately for him, Frankendoc's just arrived home upstairs and is now creak-creak-creaking across the floorboards above on his way to the cellar's trap door. Thinking both fast and very much off-screen, Action Sammy frees The Flayed Lady from the leather straps binding her to the table and flees with her through one of the hastily and shoddily boarded basement windows, so that by the time Frankendoc swings his lantern around the space they'd occupied, the only thing he finds is the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Back from the break, Sam hauls The Flayed Lady over to his rental, bleep-bleeps the doors, and slings her into the passenger seat, apologizing all the while for whatever additional pain he's causing her like the refreshingly polite young man he is. He races around to the other side and slides in behind the wheel, but before he gets a chance to peel off...Frankendoc's smashed one of his heavily reconstructed hands through the window! "VIOLENCE!" roars Raoul, for whom no episode would be complete without a bit of the old...well, I was going to insert the Clockwork Orange term for "violence" for what I assume will become obvious reasons, but my creaky memory has just reminded me said term was actually "ultra-violence," and that's of no fucking help to me at all, now is it? Thanks for nothing, Stanley Kubrick! So, Frankendoc smashes one of his heavily reconstructed hands through the window, snatches up a fistful of Darling Sammy's unruly mop, and starts banging Darling Sammy's face against the steering wheel. "DEATH!" howls Raoul, instantly changing sides. "DEATH TO HIM WHO WOULD HARM THE FACE!" Sam manages to throw the SUV into reverse and back up, however, managing also to throw Frankendoc into the dirt as he does so. And then? Sam rams the car into drive and smears Frankendoc all over that wooded path! "VIOLENCE!" Raoul roars once more, feeling better about the whole violence thing now that Darling Sammy's the perpetrator instead of the victim. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Unfortunately, the immortal Frankendoc just rises to his feet and fussily adjusts his broken neck like he's Meryl in Death Becomes Her, or something, so I'm thinking he's still a threat.