The scene shifts from the surreal madness of Cashwood Grove to the Loud House, draped in somber silence. The once-boisterous home is unrecognizable—its halls eerily quiet, its vibrant energy drained. The family sits in the living room, their faces pale and eyes hollow, shadows of their former selves. A faded picture of Lincoln sits on the mantle, surrounded by candles that flicker weakly in the dim light.
Rita: (staring at the photo) He's not gone. He can't be gone.
Lynn Sr.: (forcing a smile, his voice shaky) Of course not! Lincoln's just… on a long trip. Yeah, that's it! He's on a trip, and he'll be back any day now.
Lori: (clutching her phone tightly, her voice brittle) That's right. Lincoln's probably out there somewhere…he probably just…forgot to text us.
Luna: (quietly strumming her guitar, her voice heavy) Yeah…he's just…busy. Real busy.
The girls exchange glances, their faces painted with strained, desperate smiles. The truth they all refuse to confront—Lincoln is dead—hangs in the air like a guillotine, ready to fall.
Luan: (half-heartedly) I bet he's…doing something funny right now. Maybe…playing a prank on us.
Lola: (tightening her grip on her tiara) Yeah! He wouldn't just leave us. He's Lincoln!
Lana: (holding Watterson, her stuffed animal) He's gonna come back, and we'll all…we'll all be happy again.
Lisa stands apart from the rest, her usual analytical demeanor replaced with a hollow stare. She clutches a piece of chalk, the smudges on her hands evidence of hours spent writing equations that lead nowhere. Equations meant to bring Lincoln back.
Lisa: (softly) Statistical probabilities don't align with these delusions. He's…he's gone.
Lynn Sr.: (snapping) He's NOT gone! Don't you dare say that, Lisa!
Lisa: (voice breaking) Then where is he?!
The room falls silent, the weight of the unspoken truth pressing down on everyone. Slowly, the sisters exchange nods, each retreating to their rooms with robotic precision. Lori carries a mannequin with her, its face painted to resemble Lincoln's, its clothing stitched together from his old wardrobe. One by one, the girls follow, each with their own crude version of Lincoln—a doll, a photo, a stuffed animal dressed like him. These imitations are all they have left to cling to.
Meanwhile, back in Cashwood Grove, Lincoln continues his trek through the bizarre forest. The vibrant, chaotic life of the grove only highlights the unease that creeps up his spine. He pushes through the underbrush and stops suddenly, his eyes landing on something unnerving—a wooden dummy of Lisa, propped up against a tree.
Lincoln: (whispering) What the…
The dummy is a grotesque parody of his sister, its wooden head splintered, and its body riddled with dents. Pinecones are scattered around it, some lodged into its torso. The sound of a carnival barker's voice echoes through the trees, chillingly jovial.
Voice: (off-screen) Roll up! Roll up!
Have a try, go on, take a shy!
Roll up! Roll up!
Have a throw, have you had a go?
Lincoln's grip on his frying pan tightens as the voice continues.
Voice: Remember how Lisa was the brains to the brawn?
Look at her now; well, those days are bygone.
The disembodied voice lets out a cackling laugh as Lincoln stumbles backward, his heart racing. The dummy slumps forward slightly, its painted face seeming to leer at him.
Lincoln: (to himself) What the hell is this place?
He turns to leave, but the underbrush rustles behind him. Lincoln freezes, gripping his frying pan tightly. The faint sound of giggling—childlike but warped—bounces off the trees. He spins around, but nothing is there. The camera pans out, showing Lincoln as a lone figure in the vast, shadowy grove, with the wooden dummy of Lisa standing eerily still in the background.
Back at the Loud House, the girls gather in the attic around their mannequin version of Lincoln. It stands in the corner, dressed in his signature orange polo and blue jeans. Lola fixes the mannequin's hair with trembling hands, while Lana adjusts the sleeves. Lori holds one of Lincoln's comic books, reading it aloud in a shaky voice.
Lori: (reading) "And then Ace Savvy said…'Justice always prevails.'"
Her voice cracks, and tears spill down her cheeks. Leni places a comforting hand on Lori's shoulder, but her own face is streaked with mascara and tears.
Luna: (whispering) I miss him so much.
Lucy: (sitting in the corner, clutching her notebook) It's like he's still here. But it's not him. It's not.
Luan: (forcing a smile) Yeah…it's just…a joke, right? Any second now, he'll jump out and say, "Gotcha!"
Lisa: (snapping, her voice shrill) He's NOT coming back! Don't you see that? This…this mannequin, this…thing—it's NOT him!
The room falls silent as Lisa breaks down, her sobs cutting through the tense air. The sisters surround her, offering quiet, tearful comfort as they all sit together in their shared grief. The mannequin stands eerily still, its painted smile a haunting reminder of the brother they've lost.
Back in the grove, Lincoln sits against a tree, his head in his hands. The weight of his journey—and the strange horrors he's encountered—presses down on him. He looks up at the night sky, the stars twinkling through the canopy.
Lincoln: (to himself) What the hell am I doing?
The sound of faint laughter echoes in the distance, and Lincoln's grip on his frying pan tightens. He stands up, his face set with determination as he moves deeper into the grove, ready to face whatever madness comes next.