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The events of the day weighed heavily on Palmer, and retreating to the safety of her room was the only thing that made sense. She had wanted answers, and now she had some. But the more she thought about those answers, the more questions were raised. So maybe they weren't answers at all, but rather a direction. She knew what she needed to do, or at least what she needed to stop.

Laurie, or rather the corpse of Laurie, had become an unlikely ally, giving her a glimpse of a possible future - a future she had to stop, or at least try to stop.

Because, let's face it, what could she really do to stop that thing? She knew she couldn't do it alone. She needed more than her new imaginary friend. This whole situation was so hard to accept - it was insane. Take now, for instance; there was a rotting corpse sitting in front of her vanity mirror, poking and prodding at itself in a vain attempt to keep itself together. Palmer could hear the odd splat as a small piece fell to the floor.

"Gawd!" she heard Laurie call out in disgust. "I'm grody to the max, Palmer... we need to figure this out before I'm just a smear on your floor!"

"You look fine, Laurie!"

"Totally grody, Palmer. I'm so sure," Laurie called back, clearly questioning Palmer's integrity.

The radio played quietly in the background, a commercial for Larry the Liquidator droning on: "You won't find cheaper prices anywhere..." The commercial break ended, and the sound of dead air hung in the room for a moment before the rolling sound of an organ blasted. "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" filled the room, and the melody detonated the quiet that had choked the small room, filling it with exuberant energy.

Laurie's head shot up, and bones creaked and groaned in protest. She started bouncing to the beat, unable to contain herself. She shot up and spun in the middle of Palmer's bedroom, her little cheerleader skirt fanned out. Palmer was mesmerized by what she was watching - Laurie's body moved unnaturally, like some kind of twisted marionette, its strings cut, its body half hanging, ready to snap and crumble to the ground. But she hung on, holding onto her old self so tightly, desperate to be alive.

"Oh, ma Gawd... Cyndi is sooo toooh-tally tubular,"

"So here we are again, in my totally hellacious world," Palmer thought to herself as she stared at the decaying cheerleader bopping in her bedroom. It was fascinating - a corpse grasping at a life that wasn't coming back. As time passed, her old personality manifested more and more. So, here in the middle of her room was a Valley Girl, a Mallrat zombie, dancing to Cyndi Lauper. It was like something from one of Dr. Morbius's B-movies. No wonder she constantly thought she had to be dreaming. Was it all just a bit of undigested beef, like Ebenezer Scrooge after his legendary night?

A slight pop punctuated one of Laurie's spins - her arm had dislocated, and it hung limply at her side. She stopped momentarily to snap it back into place. It was kind of funny in an insane sort of way, and Palmer couldn't help but laugh. Because honestly, what other choice did she have? She closed her eyes, exhaustion taking hold, the words and melody helping her drift away. The image of Laurie's spinning corpse played over and over in the darkness of her mind.

The spinning image of Laurie started to fade, and all that was left was the dark void. She felt herself falling - uncontrollably falling through an empty space. Her mind started to race, and she reached out desperately trying to find some form of anchor. Her falling turned to a sense of floating, and all around her, blocks started to fall - rusted hunks of metal slamming together, creating walls and passageways. She found herself moving through a rusted and jagged labyrinth, and the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of barking. Her head was drawn to the sound of a dog - a distant sentinel somehow aware of her presence. Above her, the moon was a shining pearl in a cold black sea, and its pale blue glow illuminated everything. Clouds, like skeletal fingers, drifted across the night sky.

"Dammit, I just can't find it anywhere. If I don't hurry, Chopper is going to have my balls," the words filled her mind, but they weren't her thoughts. But she recognized whose thoughts they were.

"It's happening again," she thought to herself. "I'm hitching a ride in Glen's mind!"

She rounded the next corner, and a dark area opened up before them. Everything was outlined with the pale blue light of the moon. Occasionally, darkness swallowed everything, and the dark skeletal clouds stole all the light for themselves. In those moments, the night was an impenetrable black, but her eyes - or their eyes - had grown accustomed to the blue light of the moon. Above them, she could make out a ramshackle arch made of rusted old cars, all perched precariously on top of one another. She could feel Glen's hesitation, but they moved forward, gently making their way under, careful not to disturb the house of cards.

Moving from one car to the next, they frantically searched for something. She recognized this place now - it was Old Man Pressman's junkyard. It was located on the outskirts of town. She had never seen it at night; in the day, it was creepy, let alone how it seemed now. It was a rusting scrap pile, a graveyard of forgotten and neglected things. She always thought how sad it was - this place, full of so many memories. Beautiful beginnings, tragic endings. These relics, once the focal point of so many of life's firsts, first drives, first dates, first kisses. Now abandoned to the ravages of time, their once beautifully smooth lines replaced by jagged rust. Their anger at being abandoned, forgotten, manifesting in harsh lines, warning you from getting too close. Only those who loved what they had been, who looked to rebuild what had been lost to time, dared to get too close. Cannibalizing what was left to rebuild, giving life back to the dying and forgotten. Another chance at more firsts. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't deny the romance of it.

The longer she spent in this body, the more she could feel it. The more she could feel what it felt, what he felt and thought. She saw their arms extending out before them, inspecting the husks for what was needed - an oil pump. He, they were searching for an oil pump... whatever that was. Up ahead, a particular husk caught her host's attention - those familiar lines. She could feel his connection to those lines. The moonlight glinted off the tarnished chrome grille; she knew what he knew, excitement filled him, filled them. She knew what she was looking at - it was a '58 Plymouth Fury. She could feel the memories linked to that particular car - childhood memories of the cherry red paint, red and white leather seats, the way his legs stuck to the vinyl on hot summer days. The image of a man, sunglasses covering his handsome face, slicked-back hair, Chuck Berry filling the interior of the car as it blazed down a country road, dirt clouds billowing in their wake. This car made him happy, that happiness filled her - Glen's memories, weekend fishing trips with his dad in that old Plymouth Fury. It all came into crystal focus; she could feel his thoughts now and knew without a doubt it was him.

They closed in on the Fury, flashing it quickly with their flashlight. It was beautiful - she could feel his attachment to the car. Feel his disbelief with finding it here, so many failed expeditions, and here it was. A gleaming treasure in the darkness, they walked along it, tracing its lines with their fingers. It was cold and sleek - time was taking its toll though, but it refused to give in, refused to give up on its memories. Glen reached through the broken window and popped the hood; they rounded the front, fingers probing for the latch. With a sliding click, they heaved, lifting the hood. Metal creaked and strained in protest. The noise shattered the still night; the distant sentinel barked at the disturbance. They paused, frozen in place - the weight of the hood causing the muscles in their arms to strain. Seconds passed, each stretching on unbelievably - fear of being discovered filling them. So many nights, so many hours spent searching, and finally, here it was.

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They set down the flashlight on the engine mount, bathing the Golden Commando engine in light - all 290 horses of it. Finally, there it was - the oil pump. Excitement filled them, their hands prepping and thumbs rubbing fingertips in anticipation, like Indy discovering the Golden Idol. They went to work to remove the pump, laser-focused on the task at hand, his happiness filling her. Frantically, they worked on the last fastener, but unable to move the last ¼ inch bolt, it held fast, years of neglect gripping it tightly.

CLANG.

The sound rang out across the open area, bouncing back off the walls of the labyrinth. She could feel anxiety building inside, their heart rate increasing. Old Man Pressman entered their minds; he had found them and knew they were stealing from him. He would sick Chopper on them, that old junkyard dog was legendary, and many kids over many years had stories of run-ins with that old mutt. These thoughts raced through their minds, clouding their movements. Their hand smashed the engine mount as their wrench skipped off the head of the lone bolt. Pain rushed through them, and their hand throbbed for a moment. They shook their hand in response, as if trying to banish the pain.

CLANG.

There it was again, closer this time. They popped their head out of the engine block, neck craning around the metal hood. They peered out into the darkness, their eyes had grown accustomed to the flashlight, and the darkness beyond had become thicker.

"Hello?" Glen called out into the darkness. The first noise could have been anything, but his suspicion grew with the second.

CLANG.

There it was again; they flashed the light around specifically in the direction they thought the noise originated. For a split second, they thought they saw something.

"Sorry, Mr. Pressman... I can pay ya for the part. It's just an old oil pump," the unsure little kid inside Glen reacting to the fear building deep within.

There was no answer, just another clang in the distance. They jammed themselves back under the hood, determined to get the oil pump free. She could feel their determination.

"I'm not leaving empty-handed," she could hear the words filling their thoughts.

Squeak, squeak... the bolt sang out as it unthreaded. Another noise; it seemed to be circling them. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be hiding its presence. The odds of it being Mr. Pressman faded by the second. If it had been him, they expected that Chopper would have his frothing jaws firmly planted on their ass by now.

"Whoever's out there, you better back off," they called out into the darkness.

"What are the chances, finally finding this damn thing and now someone's out there, this is bogus. Some dickhead is fucking with me, I gotta motor before Pressman actually shows," she could hear Glen's inner monologue. With one final squeak, the bolt dropped free, clinging and clanging its way to the dirt below. The weight of the oil pump dropped into Glen's waiting hand, they angled and twisted its orientation to remove it from the tight space. Finally, it was free, and they stuffed it into Glen's waiting knapsack.

"I love it when a plan comes together," Glen triumphantly exclaimed.

His words rang out into the darkness. They noticed it was unnaturally quiet now, no trace of the noise from before. "Maybe it was just a 'coon," they thought. Flashlight in one hand, the other let the hood drop. It slammed shut, the light from the flashlight illuminated the rest of the car.

"JESUS!" Glen shouted.

Standing silent at the other end of the car was a shape, fear gripped Palmer. All too familiar with it and what it was capable of, she knew what it wanted and the danger Glen was in.

"What's your damage man?" Glen shouted.

It stared blankly at them, not reacting to Glen's show of bravado. It took a step forward; somehow, its intent was clear to Glen. She could feel his adrenaline flowing freely, filling him, muscles tightening. His body shifted to a state of hyperarousal, his fight or flight systems engaged. Youth and immaturity blinded him to the gravity of the situation. Even to Glen, the shape was imposing. It had to be at least 6'4. And that face, cold and blank, something beyond its vacant stare sparked a faint recollection. It moved with fluid grace, the way a predator would move, movements measured and resolute.

"I'll mess you up, man!"

Glen gripped the flashlight tight, flipped it over in his hand, ready to brandish it as a weapon. The light blinked and disappeared, the darkness returned, and for a moment, Glen lost sight of the enemy. Their eyes transitioned to this new state of light. Their surroundings came into focus, and they caught sight of the shape, its form bathed in the pale blue light. It closed the distance, and Glen braced himself.

Fear overcame Palmer. She knew what was coming, remembered it stalking Laurie, how it mercilessly snuffed out her light. She knew it was unstoppable. For a moment, she saw a glimpse of her prophetic vision: the shape standing amidst the tombstones, the world breaking apart, bathed in cold fire. It had come for Glen. It was going to snuff out his light, slice him open, tear out his beating heart. He was to be its next victim. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't just watch it happen again. She pushed her fear down, anger swelled inside her. She tried to break down the walls that remained, the walls that stopped her from fully connecting with Glen. She smashed at them, assaulting the barrier. She yelled and screamed.

She watched the shape close in. She begged Glen to run, to flee. She knew he couldn't stop it. She couldn't watch him die. She refused to watch him die.

Glen dug in, waiting to intercept his opponent, readying himself. Planning out his moves as he would on the football field, he was ready to score, he was a winner. Glen still didn't fully understand what was coming. In the last instant before the two collided, the moon glinted off the cruel-looking blade that the shape held. It reached for Glen. He lashed out, smashing the flashlight across its vacant face. It shattered. The impact barely registered. Fear overtook Glen. The shape latched onto his arm, its vice-like grip causing excruciating pain. It raised the blade, its jagged silhouette painted across the night sky. Glen braced himself for the inevitable.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Palmer's primal scream shattered the barrier. Her mind lashed out across the void. It assaulted the shape for a brief moment. Its attack relented. Its iron grip on Glen eased.

Their minds connected. Glen could feel Palmer, could feel her terror. He saw the shape the way she saw it. He saw it bathed in the blue fire, and knew what it wanted from him. He struck out against the arm that held him and spun, freeing himself from its wicked grip.

"RUN!" she begged…

He exploded, his muscled legs digging into the earth, pushing him forward. He weaved his way back through the open area, desperately trying to get back through the labyrinth, hoping to lose the shape in there. Retracing his steps back to safety, he looked back over his shoulder, and saw the shape moving forward, closing in on its prey. They reached the edge of the open area, back to the decaying arch, and knew this could be their chance. They weaved through, this thing was like a house of cards, one wrong move could do the work of their stalker. Glen's pack was bigger this time, the oil pump jammed on one of the exposed bumpers, causing the whole thing to shift. The metal screeched and settled again, and they breathed a sigh of relief. With one more push, they were through. Turning back, she could tell what Glen was thinking. He braced himself, using all his strength, legs pushing against the support of the rickety arch. The cars shifted, metal bending under the shifting weight. The sound was terrible, and the whole thing tumbled. They secured their retreat, knowing the shape would be unable to follow. The quiet returned to the night, and an old hubcap bounced past their feet, rolling and coming to a stop right behind them.

"Glen, don't stop now... you have to keep going," she told him.

"What's happening?" he called back to her.

They were both completely aware of each other. Their thoughts mixing, her memories spilling into his mind, his into hers. Communicating with thoughts, Glen saw her vision of the graveyard, what had happened to Laurie, everything. As the moments passed, the thoughts became harder to decipher, and the barrier was rebuilding. Her connection to him was fading.

Glen kept running, all those years, all those games had forged his legs. He worked his way through the labyrinth, slipped back through the hole in the fence, and out into the safety of the night.

Their connection faded, falling apart, and she started to drift away from him. The world around them started to fade away, back to the darkness of the void. She tried to hold on to him, still worried about his safety, but she knew deep down that Glen would be fine now, he was too fast to be captured, he wouldn't be caught unaware again. She could hear him calling out for her. She saw him running in the middle of the black void, running so hard and fast. The image of him faded, dissipating like smoke caught on a warm summer breeze. All that was left was her and the darkness.

Her room started to take shape, building all around her. The walls, posters everywhere, Laurie's decaying corpse dancing. Her bed, her body, she fell into it, with a gasp she was herself again, feeling the warmth and familiarity of home.

"I saw it again," she called out to Laurie's corpse.

"Whoa… I'm so sure," Laurie stood dumbfounded, not a hard look for a decaying corpse.

"Glen… it was after Glen... I saved him... we stopped it!" the words stuttered from her mouth.

"Tell me everything!" Laurie blurted.