You pack up what you can use from the explorers’ camp and continue on. A crevice in the valley wall leads to a plateau beyond. The wind is stronger here.

“Day 4,” says Ernest Shackleton, writing furiously in his own logbook. “Morale is good-“

“Party sucks,” says Mike again.

“-party sucks,” continues Shackleton without looking up, “but we are all quite determined to escape Thrash Island alive.”

“I been thinking,” says the pirate captain. “Iffin we run low on surplies, how d’ye all feel about a little light cannibalism? Just fer funsies?”

“Absolutely not,” says Victor Frankenstein. “I need your bodies to power my research. You will all live on, through the glorious powers of science. You’re welcome.”

“I’m not sure my contract would allow that,” says Joan Crawford.

“Look!” says Kitty Witless. She points at a distant structure far across the plateau. You all squint at it, then look hopefully at Kehaar, who is riding on Dorothy Baker’s head.

“Kehaar wing tired. All fly out for today,” he says. “You want to look over there so bad, you walk.”

The sun is skimming the horizon when you arrive at the building. It’s in much better shape than the abandoned camp you just left, and there’s even a light on inside. Weirdly, however, the door is locked.

“Mebbe they’re afraid of bears,” says Hezekiah Purcell. He raps briskly on the glass porthole set in the door. “Hello? Anyone home?”

You hear fast footsteps, and then a middle-aged woman runs up to the door.

“Goodness!” she says. “Has it been three years already?”

You look at each other.

“Iunno, has it?” whispers Purcell. You all stare at him. He turns back to the door. “Ma’am, we’re in the middle of an emergency. Do you have a radio or a boat or something? Maybe a working knowledge of any good oil deposits ’round these here parts?”

“Of course!” she says. “Just let me get my suit.”

She runs back out of sight and you hear what sounds like a stack of pans falling over.

“How many people are on this uninhabited island?” asks Doug McKenzie, and then the woman returns. You all stand up straight as she throws open the door… and stare.

She’s wearing what looks like a diving suit, except the helmet is one big bubble of glass, like a fishbowl. The words FAMOUS MARTIAN EXPLORER HELEN HENDERSON are hand-painted on the breast of the suit, and answer nothing.

“Helloooooo,” she says. “I’m Helen Henderson.”

“The Helen Henderson?” says the man who thinks this a dating show. “The famous Martian explorer?”

“The very same!” She beams, then her face falls. “Oh, but if you’re not part of the research team then we probably shouldn’t be interacting. I’m supposed to be in complete isolation while I’m here on ‘Mars,’ you see.”

“Of course,” says the dating show guy. “We are, in fact, Martians. We’re very lonely. Some of us are even looking for love.”

“Also oil,” says Purcell.

“Oh goodie,” says Helen. “Do come in, then.”

The inside of her shack is walled with metal panels, as though it were a spaceship. The effect is undercut somewhat by the wood stove and the various tables of arts and crafts. There’s a half-finished rocket ship she was whittling out of driftwood.

“Tea, anyone?” asks Helen, lifting a kettle from the stove. “I was sent here from, uh, Earth to study the effects of Martian living on the human psyche. They say man will go to space in the next 20 years.” She hands each of you a china cup, some of which are in better condition than others. “Of course, the old fuddy-duddies at the university said a woman couldn’t survive Mars on her own, but that was before I became the first person to fly right through a hurricane.” She sits down in a rocking chair. “Took me just ages to find a hurricane, too. I must have been up there for days. Oh, just wait until they see me again, and find out I still have all my sanity!”

She laughs so hard it fogs up the inside of her helmet.

“That’s most impressive,” says the dating show guy. “Did you say you were single?”

“Ma’am, I’ll give it to you straight,” says Purcell, spiking his tea with something from a hip flask. “We were chased here by… uh…”

“Venusians,” says Kitty Witless.

“-and we think one of them is hiding among us.”

“Wait,” says Kitty, “are the Venusians the doctor or the werewolves?”

“I was going to say the werewolves are werewolves,” says Purcell. He takes a sip. “That’s mighty fine, Miss Henderson.” Kitty rolls her eyes.

“Why thank you!” Helen says. “Did you say werewolves, though? Because werewolves aren’t real. That’s silly. That’s like saying the faces I see in the auroras are real.”

You all look at each other.

“How far away is this university you’re working with?” asks the Warrior of Darkness. “They wouldn’t happen to be just over the horizon, brooding somewhere, would they?”

“California.”

Dorothy Baker bursts into tears.

“Well,” says Kitty. She glances out the porthole, which shows utter darkness outside. “Could we perhaps stay the rest of the night? Because those Venusians are awfully fierce at night, and-“

Suddenly, the stove goes out. There’s a rushing sound.

“I’m not afraid of you!” says Willow, followed by the sound of being mauled.

Willow (The Hayes Code) has died. She was the PARTY SLEUTH (Investigator).

“Hold on,” says the voice of Dr. Thrash. “We must be sure of these things!” Stabbing sounds.

“OUCH!” says Willow. “You jerk!”

Willow (The Hayes Code) has died, again. She was, well, you know.

“Ahahaha! Yessssss!” says Dr. Thrash. “Who will save you fools now?“

The stove comes back on. Willow is face-down in a puddle of blood.

“What just happened?” says Helen.

On Willow’s body, you find a notebook that says PaRtY sLeUtH on a cover above a picture of a rainbow-colored tiger. Each pink page just has the word FIRE written on it over and over again. You tuck it back into Willow’s pocket and prepare to load her body into the stove.

“Wait,” says Dr. Frankenstein. He lops off her hands with a bonesaw you didn’t know he was carrying and pockets them. “Okay, go ahead.”

You throw Willow into the stove.

“Why did you just throw that woman into my stove?” says Helen.

“It’s what she would have wanted,” says Kitty.

“Alright, enough,” says Helen. She shoos you all out the door. “You’re mussing up my science. Go fight the Venusians by yourselves.” She shuts the door in your faces.

“Call me!” yells the dating show guy. He turns to the rest of you in annoyance. “Man, and I thought we had a connection. You guys blew that for me. Uncool.“

The sun is coming up again, but for a moment you think you see an aurora in the sky. It’s hard to tell, but it might have a face in it before it fades away.

Twilight will be Saturday, October 24 at 6 p.m. EST