Back at the pad, the remaining Monkees were getting ready for bed. They spent all day packing up the belongings of their deceased friend, and they were exaughsted.
"Gee' Davy said quietly, picking up Micky's stuffed monkey and clutching it in his arms, 'I can't believe he's gone."
Mike glanced at him, a stern look covered his face, "I can't believe they couldn't find his murderer."
At the sound of the last word, Peter began to wail "Whaaaaaaa! I miss Micky!" At this point, they were all crying.
"I know how you feel good buddy' Mike sobbed, 'I miss him too!" Their bawling was interrupted by a knock at the door "sniff, sniff. I'll get it." Mike whimpered as he walked towards the door. When he opened it, the three's eyes widened and their jaws dropped.
"Micky!" they screamed in unison as they stared at their supposedly dead companion.
"Hi guys!" he replied casually, as if nothing ever happened; "What's up?" The others were speechless.
Davy stepped forward, "M-Micky, I-is that really you?"
"Of coarse Davy, who else would it be?" Mike, Peter and Davy stood in silence for a few seconds before screaming and engulfing their long-lost comrade in a group hug.
"My god!" Mike spouted between sobs. "We thought you were dead!"
Micky smiled slyly at his friends "Now, what ever gave you that idea?" The others just looked at each other, baffled.
"But Micky, they found your body at Lover's point!" Peter stated, "You'd been dead three hours!"
"Yeah' Davy chirped in, 'They even made us come down to the morgue to identify you." Micky smiled to himself, he just loved the confused looks on his compadres faces. The guys tried to convince Micky that there was something wrong, but no matter what they said, he always had some sort of explanation for it. Finally they gave in and settled for the fact that their friend was here now and he seemed all right, but was he really. Mike, Davy and Peter went to bed, only Micky remained downstairs. He grinned to himself. Soon, very soon. His grin turned into an evil snicker, than into laugh so chilling it would make your blood run cold.
The next night, Davy returned from his date with Sandra.
"I had a lovely evening David," she said with her thick Mexican accent.
"Me too." They kissed. Davy looked at her, "Are you SURE you don't want me to walk you home?" he asked.
"DAVY...I'll be fine. See ya tomorrow." Sandra replied. They kissed again and said good night. Davy walked into the pad and went to bed, while Sandra started off towards her house. She danced around the streets and hummed 'I Wanna Be Free'. She heard a rustling noise behind her, "Oh, Hi Micky! How are y..." she was unable to finish her sentence. Micky swooped in and bit her neck. He drank deeply, letting the blood warm him. When he finished, he let her body fall to the ground and burped loudly, Mexican food never did seem to agree with him. Looking around to make sure nobody saw him, Micky cleaned himself off thoroughly and then began to drag Sandra's body into the darkness.
Davy sat strait up in his bed, sweat pouring down his forehead. Peter woke up from Davy's panting and looked at his friend with concern, "Davy' he said sleepily, 'what's wrong?"
Davy looked at the drowsy bass player, "I tho'ght I 'eard a noise."
"I'm sure it was nothing." Peter said and went back to sleep. Davy thought about what his friend said, then just shrugged his shoulders and fell into a deep slumber.
Chapter 2/Storybook/Chapter 4