Mannequin 3: The Reckoning

Episode Report Card
Demian: C- | 2 USERS: C
The Hardy Boys Experience Acute Renal Failure
cked, no one else in or out of the building." "Great," Sam shrugs. "Where to?" "Paterson, New Jersey," Dean announces. And then, after thinking about it for a second, he smiles, "Hey, maybe we'll have a Snooki sighting!" "What's a Snooki?" Sam asks. Lucky boy.

The Great Falls Junior College For Violently Dismembered Custodial Staff. Our Intrepid Heroes, yet again masquerading as FBI agents, enter last night's crime scene, and Dreary El Deano immediately makes a beeline for the gruesome-looking anatomy dummy from the pre-credits sequence, which is now back in its proper place on its stand. "Check it out!" Dean practically giggles, stripping various plastic organs from the thing's chest cavity. "These things are friggin' awesome!" Darling Sammy remains supremely unimpressed, especially when Dean repeats the same Valentine's joke he made last year, but that's not really important right now, because the camera's allowed the boys to dissolve into a blurry haze in the foreground of the shot as it tracks in to focus on the gruesome-looking dummy's blank, bulging eyes. Vaguely creepy, that, but unfortunately, nothing comes of it, for the gruesome-looking dummy does not, in fact, reach out to snatch back its much-abused innards from Dean's hands. "Rats!" Your disappointment is mine, my scaly friend.

Instead, we must watch as Dean sniffs at the air and asks, "Do you smell sulphur?" "We're in a science lab," Sam duhs. Dean blinks just as his cell phone starts bleeping. To absolutely no one's surprise, the call's coming in from Bendy Lisa's latest tastefully appointed manse in western Michigan. Also to absolutely no one's surprise, Dean lets the call fall into voice mail. The boys banter about Dean's nonexistent relationship with the lissome lass for a bit until Sam whips out his trusty EMF reader, which immediately goes, "VWEEE-YORP!" "Something's up in here," Dean realizes. While shooting a supremely hairy side-eye at the gruesome-looking dummy, Sam agrees with that assessment, but adds, "The question is what." Fortunately, Dean spots the lab's closed-circuit security camera blinking at them from high up on the wall, so Our Intrepid Heroes quickly retire to...

...the campus security lounge, where they plow through the relevant tapes until they land on an image of the tubby schlub mere moments before he was slaughtered. Unfortunately, the image disintegrates into televisual snow just before the attack begins, and by the time it resolves itself, the janitor's already dead.

Sometime later, Dean sits in the Impala, ignoring yet another call from Bendy Lisa as Sam emerges from a nearby brownstone to climb in beside him. Sam'd been interviewing the dead janitor's significant other, you see, but the lady in question had little to offer aside from assurances that her late lamented was a fine, upstanding member of the Paterson community. Oh, and "he rubbed her feet during Glee." "Kinky!" Quiet, Raoul -- I'm trying to hurry us along to the next murder. "Ooops! Okay!" In any event, as the hapless janitor's record is "spotless," and as the science building itself has nothing in its past to indicate a propensity for paranormal activity, the boys are at a loss to explain the previous evening's events. With their investigation thus at an impasse, Sam and Dean sigh and mope, respectively, until the camera jumps forward in time to land on...

...the nighttime exterior of a nearby warehouse district. It passes inside one of the buildings to linger on a laundry cart stuffed to overflowing with disassembled mannequin parts before leaping across the room to follow along as a diminutive watchman makes his evening rounds. The wee gent sweeps his flashlight beam across several silent sewing machines and cutting tables, for we've apparently found ourselves in an old-fashioned sweatshop for this portion of tonight's festivities, and when he's done looking around, the tiny security guard turns to leave. Just then, a squeaky ruckus erupts from an especially dim corner of the workroom floor, and the now-imperiled gnome calls out, "Hello? Who's there?" "Johnny?" he grins, obviously thinking he's fallen prey to some coworker's prank, but when he turns to train his flashlight on another corner of the room, he finds himself spinning straight into the arms of... a featureless white mannequin! DUN! "Very funny!" the startled gnome calls out, but when he does so, the words stream forth from his mouth on a cloud of vapor, because the temperature's just dropped about forty degrees. DUN! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

And barely has Raoul's anticipatory shriek of joy begun when the gnome reaches up to find a lurid, oozing gash spreading rapidly across his forehead, apparently of its own accord. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" "What the hell?" whispers the gnome, staring up at the mannequin's blank face as blood dribbles from that fresh gash of his down to obscure his brow, and when he turns once again to head off in the opposite direction, he finds himself spinning straight into the arms of... yet another featureless white mannequin! Dun-dun-DUN! The second mannequin immediately hoists one of its arms into the air, and what low light there is in the sweatshop now glints off the blades of the scissors it holds in its hand. The mightily imperiled and soon-to-be-dead gnome staggers backwards in terror, in the process tripping himself up on various mannequin bits now conveniently littering the workroom floor, and he topples over backwards to sprawl on the concrete just as the first mannequin hoists a sharpened garment-rack pole over its head. "VIOLENCE!" The gnome's eyes widen in horror as the mannequin drives the pole down into his chest, and the force of the impact propels a mighty spurt of blood from the doomed little troll's lips. "VIOLENCE! WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT DWARF-POKING VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"

The unfortunate watchman splutters and gurgles for a bit before he finally drops back for good, dead. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And then the bozos responsible for this mess waste a full twenty seconds of airtime s-l-o-w-l-y dragging the camera away from the hapless gnome's corpse into this evening's first CHOMP!-less commercial break. Way to kill the tension, guys. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Well, at least Raoul doesn't seem to care. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" That's something, I suppose.

The next morning, Our Intrepid Heroes arrive at the sweatshop in time to watch as the boys from the local coroner's office zip the dead gnome into an especially bitty little body bag. Sam and Dean then take off in different directions to investigate the premises, with Sam surreptitiously extracting his trusty EMF reader from his jacket pocket to futz around with the thing on one side of the room while Dean chills out in a corner, staring up gape-mouthed at the overhead fluorescents like he's an especially slow six-year-old. Eventually, Sam's trusty EMF reader goes "VWEEE-YORP!" next to a pile of mannequin parts, and Sam excitedly calls Dean over for a consult, during which they eventually reach the conclusion that an especially nasty ghost has been possessing inanimate objects in order to eviscerate the working-class population of northern New Jersey. Just go with it. And don't stop to wonder how a ghost can force a chunk of injection-molded thermoplastic to grip a pair of scissors without the whole damn thing shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, either, because you'll just make your brain hurt, and who wants that, huh? "No one!" Exactly, Raoul. "[Slurp!]"

Anyway, there's one problem with their current theory of the crime: Ghosts aren't particularly known for venue hopping. "This one hits up a college," Dean points out, "and now a factory, what, three towns over?" "Doesn't add up," Sam agrees, but as they have no other options at the moment, it's off to...

...the sweatshop's personnel office, where a quick review of the gnome's employment records proves especially disappointing. "I can't find a speck of dirt on him!" Dean grumps. Sam, however, has spent the last several minutes deploying his mad Googling skillz, and has landed on a possible lead: An article from Th

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