Chapter 11: I Only Know That Maid Looks Fine
CREAK—BANG!
The old basement door swung open with a harsh metallic screech.
Rango stood at the top of the stairs, flashlight in hand, his gaze sweeping methodically across every shadow.
Earlier that morning, after finishing their shift at the museum, Rango and his companions had conducted a thorough search of the entire Murder House.
And when he said thorough, he meant thorough.
Thanks to M3GAN's advanced scanning capabilities, they'd covered the entire property in record time. Six bedrooms, multiple bathrooms, a study, entertainment room, three-car garage—they'd even checked every inch of the landscaped backyard.
The result? Not only had they found zero evidence of supernatural activity, but the house was also spotlessly clean. Almost suspiciously so.
Under normal circumstances, Rango might not have thought much of it. But he distinctly remembered the burning sensation in his palm when he'd first toured the property. His system had definitely detected something.
After years of working with this supernatural detection ability, the system had never given him a false positive.
If he was getting a reading but couldn't find the source, it could only mean one thing: whatever was here had gone into hiding.
And now, only the basement remained unchecked.
As Rango descended the stairs, he and Ted were immediately hit by an overwhelming chemical smell that made them both grimace.
"Ugh!"
Ted gagged violently, his little paws covering his nose. "Jesus Christ! This smells worse than a gas station bathroom in Newark!"
"It's not that bad," Rango said, playing his flashlight across the cluttered space. "Smells like formaldehyde and other preservatives. Chemical, but not exactly sewage."
"Easy for you to say! You're human! I'm a bear!" Ted's voice was muffled behind his paws. "My sense of smell is like a thousand times stronger than yours! This is actual torture!"
With that, Ted scrambled back up the stairs on his short legs, leaving Rango alone in the basement.
Rango didn't pay attention to where the bear went. His focus was entirely on the items scattered across the floor.
Old surgical instruments were strewn everywhere—scalpels, forceps, bone saws. Combined with the pungent formaldehyde smell, it was clear one of the previous owners had been in the medical profession.
What was strange, though, was why the real estate company hadn't cleared all this out when they'd cleaned the rest of the house.
In the corner, several large wooden crates were stacked haphazardly.
Rango walked over, examined the rusty padlock, then grabbed a crowbar leaning against the wall and brought it down hard. The lock shattered instantly.
He lifted the dusty lid. Inside were stacks of costumes—elaborate, theatrical outfits in garish colors. Stage production costumes, clearly.
Frowning, Rango opened the other crates with the same method.
The second contained neatly organized law books, their publication dates indicating they were at least twenty years old.
The third held children's clothing—boys' clothes, sized for infants and toddlers.
The fourth crate made him pause. Besides dozens of small medical vials labeled "Morphine," there were several sealed black bags.
Rango used the crowbar to tear one open. A distinctive, acrid smell filled the air.
"Is this... is this opium?"
After taking inventory of everything, Rango stood there in confused silence.
Who the hell had lived in this house? And why was there such a random collection of items from completely different eras and professions?
He was about to close up the crates when something caught his eye—a red suitcase tucked behind the wooden boxes.
Unlike everything else down here, this suitcase looked relatively new. Apart from a layer of dust, it was in pristine condition.
Rango stared at the bulging leather case for a solid ten seconds, seriously considering calling Ted back down to open it.
Based on his experience, suitcases hidden in basements like this contained one of two things: stacks of cash, or a dismembered body.
Given the formaldehyde smell and the faint underlying scent of decay, if it wasn't a corpse inside, he'd eat his—
Wait. It's really not?
Unable to suppress his curiosity, Rango pulled the zipper open just a crack. When he saw what was inside, his eyes widened and he actually stumbled backward several steps.
It really wasn't a corpse. But it was somehow worse than a corpse.
The suitcase was filled with adult toys. A whole collection of them.
And beneath those were thick stacks of Polaroid photographs—explicit images that made Rango immediately regret his life choices.
"Oh, come ON!"
Feeling psychologically violated, Rango kicked the suitcase over in disgust, sending its contents rolling across the basement floor.
But as his boot struck the ground, he noticed something—the floorboard beneath his feet shifted slightly. He narrowed his eyes, crouched down, grabbed the loose board, and pried it up.
What lay beneath made his stomach turn.
Dozens of glass jars filled with formaldehyde. Each one containing a preserved human fetus.
A few minutes later, Rango sat on the living room sofa, a cigarette clenched between his teeth as he tried to piece together what he'd discovered.
It was becoming clear that this notorious Murder House had gone through many owners over the decades. Their professions ranged from surgeons to Broadway performers to lawyers.
At least one family had raised a child here. And at some point—he couldn't tell when—someone had been performing illegal abortions in the basement and preserving each terminated fetus in formaldehyde jars.
And then there was that couple with the, uh, extensive toy collection.
Thinking about those Polaroids, Rango took a harsh drag from his cigarette, his expression grim.
He'd seen some things in his life, but nothing quite prepared him for that particular discovery.
"Lunch is ready," M3GAN announced, walking into the room wearing a frilly apron. "French-style chicken with saffron and white wine. For dessert, I've prepared cherry pie and coconut macaroons."
Seeing her dressed like a miniature housekeeper, Rango's expression brightened slightly.
He had to admit, summoning M3GAN had turned out better than expected.
The android wasn't just a walking encyclopedia—she was surprisingly domestic. She could cook, clean, handle household repairs, and her culinary skills were genuinely impressive. She could prepare everything from classic American comfort food to elaborate French cuisine.
The only downside was her height. She had to stand on a stepstool to reach the stove, which probably looked questionable to anyone glancing through the windows.
"Hey! Rango!" Ted came bounding down the stairs, his eyes wide with excitement. "Guess what I just saw?!"
Before Rango could respond, Ted barreled on: "A maid! A drop-dead gorgeous maid!"
Rango's expression immediately soured. "Put away those perverted thoughts, Ted! M3GAN is a child! Well, not technically a child—she's a robot—but still, you sick little—"
"What? No, no, no! I'm not talking about M3GAN!"
Ted's eyes were practically bugging out of his fuzzy head. He pointed frantically toward the second floor. "When I was upstairs just now, I saw a woman in a maid's uniform bending over to organize shoes in one of the bedrooms. Not only was she beautiful, but her figure was absolutely—"
"Wait." Rango held up a hand, cutting him off. His tone shifted to something more serious. "Where exactly upstairs did you see her?"
Ted blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. "How should I know? I only know that maid looks fine as hell—"
"Did she see you?"
"How would I know? I only know that maid looks—"
"What was her expression? Sad? Seductive? Angry?"
"How am I supposed to know? I only know that maid looks—"
Rango stood abruptly, cutting off Ted's third attempt at the same answer. His hand instinctively went to the supernatural knife at his belt.
"M3GAN," he called out. "Run a thermal scan of the second floor. Tell me what you find."
M3GAN's eyes glowed briefly as she processed the request. After a moment, her head tilted at that characteristic 15-degree angle.
"Thermal imaging shows no heat signatures on the second floor aside from residual warmth from the heating system. No living organisms detected."
"That's what I thought." Rango's jaw tightened.
Ted looked between them, confusion giving way to understanding. "Oh. Oh shit. You mean she was—"
"A ghost," Rango confirmed. "Yeah."
"And I was checking out a ghost."
"Yep."
"A dead person."
"That's generally what ghosts are, Ted."
Ted sat down hard on the floor, his little paw pressed against his chest. "I need a drink. I was attracted to a dead person. I need therapy. And a drink. Possibly several drinks."
"Get in line," Rango muttered, thinking about the formaldehyde jars.
M3GAN stepped forward, her synthetic eyes gleaming with what might have been concern. "Based on the historical records of this property, there have been at least three documented cases of household staff dying under mysterious circumstances. One was a maid who allegedly fell down the stairs in 1926. Another was a housekeeper who disappeared in 1958. The third—"
"Let me guess," Rango interrupted. "Also a maid?"
"A nanny, actually. In 1983. Her body was found in the basement."
"Of course it was." Rango ground out his cigarette in an ashtray. "This house just keeps getting better and better."
He stood, his hand resting on the knife at his belt. His palm was starting to tingle—that familiar warmth that meant supernatural energy was nearby.
The system was confirming what he already suspected. This house wasn't just murder-adjacent. It was actively haunted.
"Alright," he said, squaring his shoulders. "M3GAN, I want you to access every database you can find—historical records, newspaper archives, police reports. I want to know everything about every person who died in this house."
"Acknowledged. Beginning comprehensive search now."
"Ted, you're with me. We're going upstairs."
Ted looked up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "To do what, exactly?"
"To meet our new housemate." Rango's hand tightened on the knife handle. "And find out if she's friendly or if we're going to have a problem."
"This was a terrible real estate investment," Ted muttered, following Rango toward the stairs anyway.
"We got it forty percent off."
"Yeah, and now I know why."
As they climbed the stairs toward the second floor—toward whatever supernatural entity was hiding up there—Rango felt his system humming with anticipation.
His progress bar was already starting to move again.
Whatever ghosts haunted this Murder House, they were about to have a very interesting conversation with their new landlord.
One way or another, Rango was going to get his money's worth out of this property.
Even if that meant negotiating with the dead.