Goo Gone? Well, you've seen more than your fair share of goo in the few short hours you've been at the mansion. If nothing else, maybe now you'll be able to wash off the stench of Cletus' dentures. You grab the bottle and put it in your pocket.

A strange flickering on one of the monitors catches your attention, mainly because it isn't a bunch of stolen credit card numbers:

Looks like the janitor was also running security at the mansion. Or he was just spying on people, probably rubbing his greasy forearms together while checking on his shower cam, the pervert. You flip through the different cameras, trying to find said shower cam so you can confirm your suspicions about the voyeuristic man-sect when you spot Cletus. He is once again trying to sneak somewhere, this time holding a covered silver tray of something, but you have no idea where he is, nor what he's carrying, or why, or to where, or which. You don't know anything, really.

As if that mystery weren't enough, you notice that there is a switchboard on the wall to the side of the security monitor. Your mail-order electrical engineering degree may have gotten lost in transit, but you don't need it to make sense of the "Traps" sign above the panel. It would seem that the janitor's security station is more sophisticated than you'd expect from a human fly. With the flip of the correct switch, you could probably do something to slow down that traitorous hunchback, or maybe even scare the rest of your relatives away so that you'll be the sole inheritor. Then again, who's to say the janitor didn't include a switch or two to deter any would-be trapspringers.

Ah, screw it. Pick a switch, wimpy: