The babybats have made me see the error of my ways. I've finally decided to write that LOST SOULS sequel. Here it is:

Nothing never did learn to drive worth a shit, so he probably shouldn't have attempted to navigate the Sierra Nevadas in winter, but it was going to be so cool to stay at that hotel where The Shining was filmed. When the Colorado Highway Patrol pried the three twisted and charred corpses out of the black van's wreckage at the foot of the ice cliff, they were disgusted to get a sticky substance all over their hands that proved to be melted Twinkie filling.

Steve got fat and married a real estate agent. She was a bitch on wheels, but she gave great blowjobs. Unfortunately, he experienced the performance issues common to the chronic alcoholic, and she left him for her golf instructor. Meanwhile, the broken-hearted Ghost signed a lucrative deal to host a Crossing Over-type show on the Oxygen network. Sadly, while visiting a rural North Carolina farm in an attempt to locate the grave of an abducted child, he was swarmed and stung to death by angry bees.

This is dedicated to every reader with an open mind and a sense of humor. To the embryonic Annie Wilkeses out there: Fuck you.