Chapter 4: Murder House
That night, in Kevin's cramped RV, Rango and his friends debated the merits of different employment options.
Rango argued that with several million dollars of legitimate funds sitting in his bank account, he could easily open his own business or—as he'd previously imagined—buy property in the suburbs and live off investments. There was no need to work for someone else.
Kevin countered that while being his own boss sounded great, New York's Byzantine bureaucracy made it impossible to open a business quickly. Just obtaining a business license, sales tax permit, health department clearances, and zoning approvals could take months. Better to find a reliable job as a temporary solution, then pursue entrepreneurship after successfully adopting Emma.
As for Ted, he'd already drunk himself into a stupor and was sprawled on the sofa, giggling at nothing and occasionally pawing at his own fur.
"Okay!"
Rango slapped the table decisively and stood up. "Tomorrow morning, I'll start house hunting. Then I'll head to the Museum for the interview in the evening. Kevin, make sure you give your uncle a heads up."
With that, he grabbed Ted by the scruff of his neck and prepared to find a decent hotel for the night.
"Wait."
Kevin quickly stopped him. "Just crash here tonight. Why waste money on a hotel?"
Rango paused, turned, and surveyed the narrow sofa and cramped aisle with barely enough room to stand.
"I appreciate the offer, but... I don't think that's necessary."
Kevin shrugged. "Suit yourself, rich boy."
The next morning, after enjoying a luxurious night's sleep at the St. Regis in Manhattan, Rango and Ted headed out to Long Island to tour properties, both feeling refreshed and energized.
It's worth noting that upon arriving in Long Island, Rango was immediately captivated.
The area truly lived up to its reputation as one of New York's most affluent neighborhoods. The morning was remarkably peaceful—no blaring car horns, no sirens, no shouting. Just residents out for their morning jogs, walking their well-groomed dogs, pushing strollers along pristine sidewalks.
The trees lining the streets were mostly bare in late autumn, but the lawns and gardens in front of every house were immaculately maintained, lush and green despite the season.
It might get monotonous after a while, but for Rango—who'd spent his childhood in gritty Queens and his recent years in chaotic Africa—this felt like paradise. Clean air, low crime, actual peace and quiet.
"Mr. Winchester, your timing is excellent," the real estate agent said enthusiastically while driving. "I happen to have several properties available right now. However, I think it would be wise to establish your budget first—save us both some time."
Rango knew this was the moment to make an impression. He cleared his throat and casually held up five fingers.
"Five million?!"
The agent's eyes widened with delight. "Oh my! That's quite a budget! Ninety percent of the luxury estates in Long Island would be available to you at that price point!"
"..."
Rango froze. He'd meant five hundred thousand. How had this guy jumped to five million?
Did he really look that wealthy?
Just as he was about to correct the misunderstanding, the car pulled to a stop. The agent, whose face was practically glowing with commission-fueled joy, pointed to an impressive property and announced loudly, "Here we are!"
"Two full acres, fifteen thousand square feet of living space—absolutely massive! Six bedrooms, five and a half bathrooms, three-car garage, finished basement with nine-foot ceilings! For a distinguished gentleman like yourself, Mr. Winchester, this is absolutely the perfect choice!"
Staring at the villa before him—which looked more like a small private estate than a house—Rango managed a stiff smile.
This definitely didn't look like something that cost five hundred thousand dollars.
But since he was already here, he had to maintain his composure. Play it cool.
He glanced around, pretending to admire the architecture with an appraising eye, then asked casually, "What's the asking price?"
"Four point seven million!"
The agent practically vibrated with excitement. "This represents the largest price reduction in nearly five quarters! Mr. Winchester, you absolutely cannot miss this exceptional opportunity!"
Damn it.
Rango cursed internally. He shouldn't have asked. This house was completely out of his price range.
Only now, arriving in New York and seeing these properties, did he realize how limited his funds actually were. Millions sounded like a lot until you tried to buy real estate in one of the most expensive markets in the country.
Still, refusing outright would be embarrassing after letting the agent think he could afford it.
Just as he was formulating a polite decline, Ted suddenly pointed across the street to a slightly weathered Victorian-style mansion and asked, "What's the deal with that house? It seems a bit... different from the architectural style of this neighborhood."
The agent's enthusiastic smile faltered. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "That property has considerable historical significance—built in the 1920s. Although the exterior shows its age, the interior has been completely renovated with modern amenities. However, I really cannot recommend that property because..."
The agent paused, then decided honesty was the best policy. "There have been multiple deaths on that property over the years. Several, in fact. The house has developed something of a... reputation. Although the price has been reduced to roughly 40% of comparable properties in the area, I don't believe it's suitable for someone of your stature, Mr. Winchester."
Hearing this, Rango immediately understood. No wonder the luxury mansion next door had languished on the market for months despite price cuts. Having a notorious murder house directly across the street was probably killing property values for the entire block.
However, upon hearing the magic words "40% off," Rango couldn't help but ask, "What's the asking price on that old house?"
"Four hundred thousand."
Seeing Rango's genuine interest, the agent dropped his sales persona and began explaining the financial details honestly: "You'd need a down payment of approximately eighty to one hundred thousand, then monthly mortgage payments around three thousand, plus annual property taxes of 1.7% of the assessed value..."
The agent carefully outlined each cost, item by item.
This wasn't him being overly thorough—it was a legal requirement. New York real estate law mandated that agents clearly inform clients of all potential risks and costs.
Real estate in established areas like this rarely appreciated significantly. In fact, values often dropped during economic downturns. In other words, houses here had limited investment potential.
Combined with annual property taxes of one to three percent, buying a house was often economically similar to renting long-term.
Under normal circumstances, unless someone needed a house for marriage, raising children, or work stability, most financially savvy people invested their money elsewhere rather than tying it up in real estate.
Four hundred thousand dollars could buy a lot of index funds or blue-chip stocks that would actually grow over time.
But Rango wasn't thinking about investment potential. He was thinking about Emma, about adoption requirements, about establishing himself as a stable guardian.
He studied the old mansion across the street—Victorian architecture with Gothic touches, clearly built in an era of craftsmanship and attention to detail.
"Take me inside," Rango said, lighting a cigarette with interest. "I want to see it."
A few minutes later, led by the increasingly confused agent, Rango and Ted entered the property.
The moment they stepped through the front door into the foyer, Rango caught the faint scent of old wood—the natural fragrance of aged timber that had been carefully maintained over decades.
The hardwood floors showed their age with small scratches and worn patches, but they'd been beautifully refinished, gleaming with a soft luster under the afternoon light streaming through the windows.
The interior decoration balanced historical character with modern sensibility. Several tasteful paintings hung on the walls—not prints, but actual original artwork. The furniture consisted of dark wood pieces with clean, elegant lines that suggested quality without ostentation.
What impressed him most was how seamlessly modern conveniences had been integrated. The kitchen featured top-of-the-line appliances hidden behind period-appropriate cabinetry. The bathrooms had been completely modernized while maintaining the home's aesthetic.
Plus there were large, mature lawns in both the front and back yards, surrounded by privacy hedges and old-growth trees.
For four hundred thousand, this was an absolute steal.
After the quick tour, Rango was prepared to check out a few more properties. After all, he had options. He didn't necessarily have to buy a house with a dark history.
But just as he was about to leave, a strange warmth suddenly radiated from his palm—the unmistakable sign that his system was detecting something.
His progress bar was moving.
Rango's head snapped around, his eyes scanning the interior with new intensity. A slow smile spread across his face.
There was something supernatural here. Something his system could absorb.
"I'll take this house," he announced suddenly. "Let's sign the paperwork today."
The agent blinked in surprise. "Are you... are you certain, Mr. Winchester? I should remind you that the property's history has led to—"
"I'm aware of the history," Rango interrupted. "And I'm not superstitious. I'll take it."
Ted looked up at him with knowing eyes. The little bear understood exactly what was happening, even if the agent didn't.
"Well," the agent said, recovering his professional composure. "In that case, let me draw up the purchase agreement. Will you be paying cash or seeking financing?"
"Financing," Rango said. "Eighty thousand down, standard mortgage for the rest."
As the agent began making phone calls and pulling out paperwork, Ted waddled over to Rango and whispered, "You feel it too, right? This place is seriously haunted."
"Oh yeah," Rango murmured, his hand tingling with energy. "Very haunted."
"And you're buying it anyway?"
"Especially because of that," Rango said with a grin. "If there are ghosts here, that means there's supernatural energy. And if there's supernatural energy..."
"Your progress bar can finally hit 100%," Ted finished, understanding dawning in his button eyes.
"Exactly."
Ted shook his head in amused disbelief. "Only you would buy a murder house because it's actually murdery. Normal people run away from haunted real estate. You're moving in on purpose."
"I prefer to think of it as opportunistic," Rango said. "Besides, I need a house anyway. Might as well get one that comes with bonus features."
"Bonus features," Ted repeated flatly. "That's one way to describe vengeful spirits."
"Think positive, Ted. Maybe they'll be friendly ghosts."
"Yeah," Ted said sarcastically. "I'm sure the ghosts in the murder house are super friendly. Probably bake cookies and do the dishes."
Rango chuckled and patted Ted's head. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."
As the agent returned with preliminary paperwork, Rango took one more look around the elegant, haunted mansion that would soon be his home.
Whatever supernatural secrets this place held, he was ready to discover them.
And more importantly, his system was ready to feed.
Author's Note:The Murder House is a reference to American Horror Story Season 1, where a beautiful Los Angeles mansion has a dark history of deaths and hauntings. In this story, we're transplanting that concept to a Victorian mansion in Long Island, New York.
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