Mitch's mouth opens as if to protest, but no words come out as he stares agape as the Frank drives the car past the trailer park. Once out of sight, Mitch's mouth flaps closed, and he resumes whispering directions to Frank from the backseat.

Mitch leads them through a series of narrow claustrophobic residential roads; most of the properties no more than a small farmhouse surrounded by browning grass fields and rotting wood fences. Eventually he tells Frank to pull up in front of a leaning two story colonial of warped wood and crumbling brick. In the forested night, it looks like a perfect haunted house. No lights shine from the dirty windows, and no cars are parked in the dirt driveway. "This is me," Mitch says, waiting for Frank to finish pulling up. Before he steps out of the car, Mitch pauses and pulling out his phone says, "Uh, maybe we should exchange numbers or something, given everything that happened."