Most of the time it was just pictures -- Samara was an expert at projecting those by now -- but this place had rolled the stone away from her prison quite literally, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to take advantage of it by visiting her victims in person now and then.

Not that she wasn't already damned. That was kind of the point. She was just ready for Gwen, among others, to join her. Which is why she was here, now, sitting, dripping, in the ghost of a straight-backed chair, the ghost of an electrode cord trailing away from her skin to float in the puddle of water at her feet.