Chapter 44: What's the Emergency Number?"The Third Summoning"
Rango stroked his chin, his mind quickly running through the remaining options on the roulette wheel from the last time he'd summoned Megan.
Sports cars, daggers, and lizards.
The [Doll] slot that had belonged to Megan should have been swapped out for something new by now — meaning there'd be a fresh option waiting for him on the next spin.
Rango's mood lifted as he let his imagination run wild with whoever — or whatever — might be coming next. He shot a lazy whistle at the ponytail girl still frozen in the corner of the room, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Go back to bed. Nothing else is gonna bother you tonight. And hey — if something does come scratching around, just smack it with your slipper."
With that, he stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him.
Decent body, rough face. Can't win 'em all.
Out in the hallway, just as Rango was weighing whether to go track down the butler next, a blood-curdling scream exploded from the room at the far end of the corridor.
He recognized that voice immediately — it belonged to Shorty, the little guy with the afro.
Rango mentally flipped through what he remembered about this character's storyline, and a slow, crooked smile spread across his face.
Let's rewind about thirty minutes.
Shorty, still shedding a few stray leaves from his earlier misadventure, had staggered back to his room and kicked off his shoes.
First things first: he pulled out the potted marijuana plant he'd carefully smuggled in, set it on the nightstand, and dumped the dirty bong water into the soil to help it "grow big and strong." His words.
Then he flopped back onto the bed, cranked up the rap mixtape he had blasting on the TV — because for a man who dreamed of becoming the next big MC, falling asleep to loud, gloriously stupid rap was non-negotiable — and closed his eyes.
He didn't even make it through one track.
The little potted plant, apparently supercharged by whatever was in that bong water, had silently exploded into a massive, humanoid tangle of vines and leaves that now filled most of the room ceiling-to-floor — something straight out of Little Shop of Horrors, if Audrey II had a serious drug habit.
The creature wrapped Shorty and his mattress together in its thick green tentacles, rolling him up like a human blunt.
Then a jet of flame erupted from somewhere deep in its stalk, and the fire went straight for Shorty's afro.
The monster began to inhale — pulling Shorty toward it like he was the world's largest, most reluctant cigarette.
"HELP! PLANT MONSTER! I GOT A DAMN PLANT MONSTER IN HERE!"
Even as he felt the heat scorching his scalp and the suction yanking at his feet, Shorty — being Shorty — managed to find something weirdly enjoyable about the experience. But he kept screaming anyway.
About fifteen seconds later, just before his afro was reduced to a memory, Brenda, Cindy, and the others were jolted awake by the hollering and came sprinting down the hall.
They skidded to a stop in the doorway and stared.
A vine monster the size of a small building was lazily puffing smoke rings at the ceiling while rolling a man up like a cigar. Nobody said anything for a solid three seconds.
"Okay, what the hell is that?"
"My homie lost like fifty leaves earlier tonight — I think its ancestors came to collect!"
"Everyone MOVE—"
Before anyone else could react, Rango shoved through from the back, lugging a full jug of vegetable oil.
He unscrewed the cap, dumped the entire thing over the monster without ceremony, flicked open his lighter, and tossed it.
The fire caught instantly. With the oil to feed it, the whole creature went up in seconds.
Screaming in agony, the plant monster released its grip. Brenda and the others lunged forward, frantically patting out the sparks on Shorty's clothes and dragging him clear of the inferno.
Cindy stared at the blaze, wide-eyed. "Rango, you seriously just poured cooking oil on it? How is the fire that big?"
"Beats me." Rango shrugged, already looking bored. "Maybe some kerosene got mixed in."
He glanced down at Shorty, who was lying on the floor, completely bald now from the eyebrows up.
If this guy wasn't still potentially useful for future missions, I wouldn't have bothered.
It was an interesting pattern, Rango thought to himself. Given the overall tone of this particular film world, basically every villain in this mansion felt like a warm-up act — something thrown together to pad the runtime.
Sure, they looked intimidating. But their actual threat level? Laughable.
Kane had telekinesis and centuries of experience, and Rango still dropped him with a water bottle. The leaf monster just stood there while he poured oil on it — it even dipped a tentacle in and tasted it before going up in flames. The clown and the female ghost hadn't even been worth breaking a sweat over.
Honestly, he figured Teddy and Megan could clear this entire mansion in under ten minutes without him. Seven minutes of actual fighting. The remaining three would be Teddy trying to hit on the female ghost.
"Hey, Rango."
Cindy fell into step beside him as they headed back down the hallway. "I ran into Professor Oldman in the bathroom earlier — he was looking for you. Did you see him?"
"Professor Oldman?" Rango shook his head. "Nope. What did he want?"
"Something about buying the skull off you," Cindy said, frowning slightly.
Rango nodded slowly. Right. The guy wants proof that ghosts exist — a souvenir for his research.
He didn't bother saying it out loud, but the professor's plan was already dead in the water. Rango didn't know about the general public, but the people running this country — the ones in the suits behind the closed doors — absolutely knew the truth about what was out there. They always had. They just kept it quiet to avoid a nationwide panic.
"HELP!"
A new voice shrieked from the top of the staircase. One of the other guests appeared, dripping sweat and wild-eyed, gripping the banister like it was a life preserver.
"Get to the dining room — fast! Professor Oldman's in trouble! The butler's lost his mind!"
The dining room had the heavy, suffocating silence of a place where something had already gone very wrong.
When Rango and the others arrived, Professor Oldman was seated at the head of the dining table, staring straight ahead with the blank, glassy expression of a man who was technically still alive and not much else.
At the far end of the room, the butler — Hecter — stood with his back to them, working at the counter in the dim light, humming quietly to himself.
Rango walked over and looked at what was laid out on the counter. His eyes moved across the bottles methodically.
Chloroform. Ketamine. Rohypnol.
"Did you give him those?" Rango asked flatly.
Hecter spun around with an expression of practiced innocence, raising both hands. "Oh, those? Not mine. Found them on him."
Then the old butler picked up a silver serving plate with both hands and carried it over with the careful pride of a man presenting his finest work.
On the plate sat a portion of neatly roasted... brain.
Rango looked at the plate. Then he looked at Professor Oldman. Specifically, at the professor's forehead — and the long, precise surgical scar carved across it.
This maniac actually did it. He went full Hannibal Lecter on a college professor.
"Oh, for the love of—"
Rango spun around, jabbing a finger at the crowd of stunned faces behind him.
"Why is everyone just standing there?! Call 911! Right now! Get this psycho in cuffs before he asks us if we want seconds!"
Going hands-on himself was out of the question — not with this many witnesses, not with a half-lobotomized professor sitting right there. The smart play here was a police report, a clean paper trail, and letting the legal system deal with one deranged butler.
"Right — yes — calling now!" Cindy snapped out of her daze and yanked her phone out of her pocket, fingers flying.
Then she stopped.
She looked up at Rango with an expression that was equal parts embarrassed and genuinely panicked.
"...What's the number for 911?"
"..."
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