Chez Sheriff. Brenna Dobbs returns from the grocery with a load of paper products and nearly panics herself into an aneurysm when Darling Sammy pops out to greet her. During the conversation that follows, we learn Brunette Number Four is actually "Debbie Harris," and that Brenna of course suspects Sam in her disappearance. Sam insists he wasn't involved, and enlists Brenna's aid in hunting down the case files for last year's victims, which have evidently gone missing from the sheriff's office. Which, you know, the gigantic idiot broke into a couple of hours ago, even though he's the primary suspect in the probable murders of at least nine people over the last twelve months. Fathead. Brenna, of course, resists him at first, but she soon finds herself once again powerless against the overwhelming force of Sam's patented Ultra-Deluxe Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Abject Pleading And Doom, so she admits she swiped the case files from the office herself, and heads upstairs to retrieve them. Sam heaves a mighty sigh of relief at the news, which for whatever reason hurls him into this evening's next...

...FLASHBACK! After shuddering through a brief glimpse of Slutty Sammy firing a gun while Zombie Grandpa yells, "Let's go!" the vision settles itself into a lengthy little scene in which Slutty Sammy and Zombie Grandpa expound upon, like, The Hunter's Philosophy Of Life, or some such bullshit, to a rapt audience comprised of Sheriff Monster Chow and his wife. It's largely pointless, and when it's over...

...Sam snaps back to the present to find Brenna standing before him with a banker's box filled with folders. They truck the thing over to the dining room table, and are soon engrossed in the minutiae of last year's disappearances. Well, Brenna's engrossed in the minutiae of last year's disappearances. Sam keeps hurling himself into bad acid flashbacks whenever he picks up a new piece of evidence, be it a missing persons flyer for one James Edward Drake, which elicits a few scattershot images of the bespectacled gentleman in question apparently encased in a gigantic cotton ball, or a little baggie of stringy white fibers, which hurls Our Intrepid Hero into this evening's next damn...

...FLASHBACK! "Best guess?" Zombie Grandpa offers, twiddling a small puff of those stringy white fibers between his fingers. "Came from an Arachne." "You ever seen one?" Slutty Sammy asks. "No one has," Zombie Grandpa replies before amending that answer with, "Not outside of Crete, and not for about two thousand years." "Then, what do we even know about them?" Slutty Sammy wonders. "Zip," Zombie Grandpa frowns. "Just a bunch of guesses and a blurry picture on the side of a Greek vase." Suddenly, the human garbage can at the next table roars, "Yeeeeeaaaah!" and a gaggle of pirate-themed waitresses jiggle over to take his Polaroid for The Poop Deck's wall. Slutty Sammy looks even more annoyed in this flashback than he did in the photograph Dean found a year later, if that's at all possible. And once the rollicking festivities at the next table have ebbed, Slutty Sammy and Zombie Grandpa return to their strategizing, admitting they haven't the faintest idea how to kill the thing they're after before Slutty Sammy whips out a map. All of the missing gentlemen vanished from an area of suburban sprawl two miles from the center of Lonely Pines Park. They can either start knocking on doors, which Slutty Sammy of course thinks is a waste of time, or they can -- as Slutty Sammy puts it -- "make this thing come to us." "How do we do that?" Zombie Grandpa blinks. Alas, Zombie Grandpa, you must wait for your answer, for that just-appearing zappy noise means we're being kicked back to...