"Stop it! Get off him! Oh my God!! You're not supposed to REALLY pluck out his eyes! That's a whaddyacallit, a figure of speech!"

These were the last  I heard before I lost consciousness. But even as the lights went out, I knew with utter certainty whose voice I was hearing. It was My wife, Doreen.
 
When I came to, I was back in the basement. Though one of my eyes was heavily bandaged and the other swollen , the chicken stench and the drone of the Cowboys game in the background were unmistakable. As if things weren't bad enough, Dallas was down by 3.

Managing to work open my unbandaged eye, I took stock of the unbelievable . My wife had removed the headpiece of her chicken costume; her hair hung in damp red clumps around her face. She was in a heated argument with another partially costumed woman, whom I recognized as the Tina Turner lookalike  the train. The feline conductor lounged on the couch with Rooster, watching the game. And all around us swarmed the demon chicks, cheeping with bloodlust.
 
"Listen Tina," said Doreen, "you've been in this coven as long as I have -- and you're the one who volunteered your husband. So let's get to it. The blood of the chicken salesman must be spilled before the stroke of midnight on Halloween. "
  ANSWERS  words shut scene from