Cragne Manor
Ryan Veeder
collaboration Comedy cover art female protagonist horror House Inform 7 Lovecraft Lovecraftian many authors parser walkthrough Xyzzy Awards 2018 XYZZY Best Implementation
A tribute to Anchorhead.
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The cold autumn wind makes you shiver. The train station is eerily deserted: no staff, no other passengers. Even the train you arrived on has disappeared into the distance as if it had never been here. Your memory of the trip already seems faded and unreal, like a dream.

The sign hanging overhead catches your eye: "Backwater Station." Yes: Backwater, Vermont. This is where you need to be. You need to find Peter.

The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall. The only other living creature in sight is a rat fixing you with its beady black eyes.

The clock overhead gives the time as 6:20 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.
You examine the rat
Startled by your attention, the rat scurries away, leaving behind a brass winding key.
You take the key
Taken.
You examine key
A small brass key used for winding a clock.

You step in an old wad of gum. Yuck.
You examine the gum
Someone's old chewing gum, black with dirt but still sticky. Some of it is probably stuck to your shoe now.

A low hum comes from the PA system, growing slowly louder until it crescendoes in a screech and falls suddenly silent.
You take the gum
Eww, why would you want to?
Xyzzy
The world falls silent for a moment, as if holding its breath for something to happen... but nothing does. You don't know what you expected, really.
You look around
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 6:27 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.

The PA system crackles with static, but no words are intelligible.
You read the schedule
The board lists a schedule of train times:
Providence     CANCELLED
Dunwich        CANCELLED
Innsmouth      CANCELLED
Anchorhead     13:37
Arkham         CANCELLED
About yourself
You feel uncertain and disoriented, as if you are not quite real. Are you real? Maybe you're a fictional character in a text adventure.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a brass winding key

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

The clock gives a deep, booming chime on the half hour.
Look around
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 6:31 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.
You examine the bench
A weathered wooden bench. On the bench is a familiar gold wristwatch.

Over the loudspeaker, you can hear a sound like heavy breathing.
You take the watch
Taken.
Examine watch
You gave this to Peter as an anniversary present. It seems to have stopped. There is an inscription on the back.

The wind blows stray leaves across the tracks.
You read the inscription
N + P
March 19th
You look at the locker
A storage locker painted a drab industrial gray. Attached to the front are a card swiper and a peeling label reading "Lost and Found."
You examine the vending
Similar to a gumball machine, but it's the kind that dispenses toys in little plastic bubbles. At the bottom is a chute where the contents come out. There is a coin slot, but instead of a price next to it, there is a strange squiggled glyph.

In the vending machine is a plastic bubble.
You look at the glyph
It seems to shift as you look at it, but looks almost like an R fused with a V. Or maybe a J fused with a P? No, it's definitely an R fused with a V.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.
You look at the bubble
A small transparent plastic capsule with a lid.

In the plastic bubble is a golden eyepiece.
You examine the eyepiece
A misshapen golden disc, studded with lenses. It looks like it could fit flush with your eye socket. On its surfaces are a round button, a triangular button, and a small rectangular slot.

The golden eyepiece is currently switched off.

You step in an old wad of gum. Yuck.
Look around
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 6:41 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.
You open the watch
It isn't something you can open.

The PA system crackles with static, but no words are intelligible.
Examine watch
You gave this to Peter as an anniversary present. It seems to have stopped. There is an inscription on the back.
Wind watch
The watch has nowhere to fit the winding key. That's meant for a larger timepiece.

You shiver for no reason at all, as if someone has just walked over your grave.
Go south
The evening light trickles through the dirty, cobweb-covered windows on either side of the station exit to the south, dimly illuminating your surroundings. To the north is the platform on which you arrived. To the east, a large mirror decorates the wall next to a green door. To the west, there is a brown door. The overall appearance is one of general neglect and decay. You regard your surroundings with a deep sense of foreboding.

A styrofoam coffee cup sits on the floor next to the entrance to the bathroom.
You take the cup
Taken.
You look at the cup
A half-full styrofoam cup of doubtless very unpleasant coffee that you found on the floor of a train station. It must have had cream in it at some point, because there are definitely some clouds swirling around in there.
You examine the mirror
You take a long look in the mirror. Even in these dim and dingy surroundings, you are as good-looking as ever.
You look at the door
Which do you mean, the green door or the brown door?
Green
The green door appears to be the entrance to the station office. You try the handle and discover that it is locked.
You look at the brown door
The brown door leads to the station restroom. Thankfully, you have no need of the facilities at the moment.
You go to the west
(first opening the brown door)

Train Station Restroom (David Petrocco)
As you enter the restroom you hear creak of a faucet being turned off and the rough scraping of metal upon metal from the far end of the restroom. Finally the automatic lights kick on revealing the restroom but there's no sign of who, or what, could have caused the noise.

A harshly lit pay restroom. Dust and grime mar the once white tiles and marble of the facilities: A small shower stall with the curtain closed, a bathroom stall with a single dirty toilet (there are mounts for a door, but it is nowhere to be seen), a small storage closet for janitorial supplies, a four by four row of small lockers, and an extremely dirty dual basin sink.

The train station is EAST.
You look at the shower
The shower curtain is a stained yellow sheet of plastic covering the entrance.

While examining the shower you hear the loud WOOOSH of a toilet flushing behind you.
You take the curtain
That's hardly portable.
You examine the toilet
The toilet is filled with a murky brown, and foul smelling, water. The surface of the water ripples as the toilet finishes flushing.

The loud crash of something falling near the closet door shatters the silence of the bathroom along with what's left of your nerve.
You examine the closet
A small storage closet where several shelves have collaped, their supports seemingly rotten away, and have buried what appears to be a long wooden handled tool, a mop or broom perhaps.

A small note taped to the wall says Locker 3 7113.
You look around
Train Station Restroom (David Petrocco)
A harshly lit pay restroom. Dust and grime mar the once white tiles and marble of the facilities: A small shower stall with the curtain closed, a bathroom stall with a single dirty toilet (there are mounts for a door, but it is nowhere to be seen), a small storage closet for janitorial supplies, a four by four row of small lockers, and an extremely dirty dual basin sink.

The train station is EAST.
You examine the lockers
Sixteen lockers in a four by four pattern. The few that still have doors are flung open and battered, save for one still secured by a large combination lock, the kind that you can set to a four-digit number.
You set lock to 7113
The lock slides open. You remove it from the hinges of the locker and open it to find a glass jar containing an insect.
You take the jar
Which do you mean, the cleaning supplies or the glass jar containing an insect?
Insect
Taken.
You examine insect
A clear glass jar containing a hideous green insect. It's either dead or doing a very good job of playing dead and you have no desire to find out which. The number of legs and eyes appear to change every time you look at it.

It currently has four legs and four eyes.
You examine the insect
A clear glass jar containing a hideous green insect. It's either dead or doing a very good job of playing dead and you have no desire to find out which. The number of legs and eyes appear to change every time you look at it.

It currently has six legs and eight eyes.
You look around
Train Station Restroom (David Petrocco)
A harshly lit pay restroom. Dust and grime mar the once white tiles and marble of the facilities: A small shower stall with the curtain closed, a bathroom stall with a single dirty toilet (there are mounts for a door, but it is nowhere to be seen), a small storage closet for janitorial supplies, a four by four row of small lockers, and an extremely dirty dual basin sink.

The train station is EAST.
You examine the sink
The train station restroom sink is currently switched off.
You turn on sink
As you turn on the sink it begins to shake violently.
You go to the east
The surroundings are as dim and dingy as ever. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the green door are to the east. The restroom door is to the west. You are unsure what you should do.
You go east
(first opening the green door)
It seems to be locked.
You go to the south
To the north is the vast windowless bulk of the train station. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine. Somewhere down there, you can get a bath and a meal.

A woman stands in the center of the bridge, preventing traffic in both directions.

The sky is oppressively stygian.
You look at the woman
She is wearing a long red scarf and a tattered skirt. Her hair is wild, grey in the same color as the train tracks, twisted by the wind. She keeps shooting uncomfortable glances at the town.

The sky above is a greater than mortal greenish tint.
You talk to the woman
You say hello to the woman.
Kiss woman
She averts her face. "Keep your base hands away from me, stranger," she says.
You examine trash
It is a closed metal can from which issues a cabalistic stench.
You open the trash
You open the trash can and peer into its tenebrous depths. Within you discern a pull-string doll and a dog-eared book.

The clouds fly quickly across the sky.
You take the doll and the book
pull-string doll: Taken.

a dog-eared book: Taken.
You look at book
A dog-eared, stained paperback called The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three. The cover features three teenage girls of varying ethnicities laughing over the body of a dead cow, each one holding a section of entrails. Reading the blurb on the back makes you suspect that the authors used up all of the more normal divination methods in volumes one and two, and are now scraping the barrel for the really weird stuff.
You read book
You flip past the title page, looking for something interesting...

If your parents are anything like our parents, they really suck at predicting the future... but they might have a kernel of
truth for you! The next time you're at a family barbecue, slip this potion into your mom's potato salad, then wait for her to finish her corn on the cob--

What.

[You can continue to READ the divination handbook; this is excerpt 1/3.]

The clouds continue to race across the sky, lower than before.
You read the book
You continue to thumb through the book...

you were a kid, and now he's just gathering dust? Good news! With a little bit of sage smudging and energy cleansing, Teddy Ruxpin makes the perfect home for a wandering spirit--

Nope nope nope.

[You can continue to READ the divination handbook; this is excerpt 2/3.]

Fat, filthy raindrops begin to fall.
You read the book
You flip past a lot of terrible ideas to the very last page of the book...

Ever wonder if the little heart in your latte means the barista's crushing on you? Well, now you can find out for sure! All you need is a cold cup of coffee with some cream in it--

Huh. Unlike everything else in the book, this seems like it might actually prove useful. There aren't that many possible readings, so you quickly memorize them and slam the book closed.

[This is the end of the divination handbook, but if you have no respect for your own intelligence, you can READ it again.]
You examine the cup
The swirls in your cup form a maple leaf. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You examine doll
The doll has an inane smile on its face and a pull-string in the middle of its back.

It has the sort of head with two faces, one of which is hidden by its hair. Rotate the head and the other face will be forward.

It is raining harder now, and the street is already slick.
You pull the string
The doll chirps, "I like the thing that isn't here! Yay!"

There is a tinny sound of applause.
You pull the string
The doll chirps, "I like the glass jar containing an insect! Hideous! Yay!"

There is a tinny sound of applause.
You give the insect to the doll
You can only do that to something animate.
You pull string
The doll chirps, "I like the bridge! Bridge! Yay!"

There is a tinny sound of applause.

Rain falls as it did in Noah's day.
Hello
You are already talking to the woman.
You ask the woman about the town
"The town is accursed."
You ask the woman about the womwan
The woman's answer is too faint to comprehend.
You ask woman about the rain
Over the noise of the rain, she answers, "You'll do best in this town if you ask least, witless idiot."

The downpour continues, drenching everything.
You ask the woman about the woman
The woman says in a loud voice, "I was summoned here to protect you, and those like you, newcomer."
You ask woman about yourself
She shouts, "You uneducated idiot, witless stranger."
You ask the woman about doll
"It has been sent to warn us."
You ask the woman about book
The woman's answer is too base to comprehend.
You examine bridge
The bridge is built of vast blocks, antiquarian beyond measure. It offers only a narrow crossing.
You describe your surroundings
To the north is the gargantuan windowless bulk of the train station. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine. Somewhere down there, you can get a bath and a meal.

A woman stands in the center of the bridge, preventing traffic in both directions.
Go south
The woman gets in your way. "You know not what lies beyond this bridge, unwise fool," she says. It sounds like she means it.
You ask her about the beyond
(the woman about that)
The woman's answer is sybilline.
You ask her about the town
(the woman about the town)
"Surely even you can see its nature."

Heaven vomits forth streams and rivers and lakes.
You say vaadignephod
(to the woman)
There is no reply.

Look up with a smile on your face and you will immediately drown.
You ask the woman about the vaadignephod
The woman's answer is undiscoverable.
You examine the bridge
The bridge is built of gigantic blocks, antediluvian beyond measure. It offers only a narrow crossing.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a row of trees. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key

The sky hates you.
You ask the woman about your kind
She screams, "You'll do best in this town if you ask least."
You ask the woman about Peter
She yells, "You'll do best in this town if you ask least."

The sky hates you.
You leave
The woman has better things to do.
You ask the woman about the Backwater
The woman's answer is too blasphemous to comprehend.

The sky hates you.
You open the jar
It isn't something you can open.

The sky hates you.
You show the jar to the woman
The woman suggests you cease your quavering.
You look around
To the north is the monumental windowless bulk of the train station. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine. Somewhere down there, you can get a bath and a meal.

A woman stands in the center of the bridge, preventing traffic in both directions.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a kayak. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.
You go north
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 8:02 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.
You examine the windows
The dirty, cobweb-covered windows permit scant illumination within the station lobby. They appear not to have been cleaned in a long time.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a skateboard. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.
You unlock the green door
What do you want to unlock the green door with?
You go north
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 8:08 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.
You throw the jar at the woman
You lack the nerve when it comes to the crucial moment.

The sky hates you.
You ask the woman about the xyzzy
The woman's answer is impenetrable.
You ask the woman about the anchorhead
"The town is doomed."
You ask woman about the Backwater
The woman's answer is unaccountable.
You ask the woman about the doll
She shouts, "It has been sent to warn us, uneducated idiot."
You ask the woman about the insect
She bellows, "You'll do best in this town if you ask least."
You ask the woman about cragne
She hollers, "You'll do best in this town if you ask least."
You ask the woman about the verlac
The woman's answer is ambiguous.
Go north
The surroundings are as dim and dingy as ever. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the green door are to the east. The restroom door is to the west. You are unsure what you should do.
Go north
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 8:20 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form the engine of a train. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.
You examine the vending
Similar to a gumball machine, but it's the kind that dispenses toys in little plastic bubbles. At the bottom is a chute where the contents come out. There is a coin slot, but instead of a price next to it, there is a strange squiggled glyph.

In the vending machine is a plastic bubble.

A leak in the ceiling drips water into a puddle.
You examine the glyph
It seems to shift as you look at it, but looks almost like an R fused with a V. Or maybe a J fused with a P? No, it's definitely an R fused with a V.
Go south
To the north is the gargantuan windowless bulk of the train station. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine. Somewhere down there, you can get a bath and a meal.

A woman stands in the center of the bridge, preventing traffic in both directions.

The sky hates you.
You examine the Station
It is at least three stories tall, with no exterior windows. Carved on the outside are a series of figures, as though it were the outside of Notre Dame.

Positioned in front is a trash can.
You examine the ravine
The rain comes between you and the ravine like a curtain of silver. No details are visible.
Inventory
You are carrying:
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You show the handbook to the woman
The woman requests you cease your yammering.
You show the insect to the woman
The woman recommends you cease your yammering.
You ask the woman about the book
The woman's answer is sphinxlike.

The sky hates you.
You show the cup to the woman
The woman requires you cease your gibbering.
You show the watch to the woman
The woman demands you cease your jabbering.
You show the key to the woman
The woman demands you cease your quavering.
You tell the woman about yourself
"You idiot," says the woman.

The sky hates you.
Inventory
You are carrying:
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You look at book
A dog-eared, stained paperback called The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three. The cover features three teenage girls of varying ethnicities laughing over the body of a dead cow, each one holding a section of entrails. Reading the blurb on the back makes you suspect that the authors used up all of the more normal divination methods in volumes one and two, and are now scraping the barrel for the really weird stuff.
You look at the doll
The doll has an inane smile on its face and a pull-string in the middle of its back.

It has the sort of head with two faces, one of which is hidden by its hair. Rotate the head and the other face will be forward.
Rotate head
You rotate the doll's head. Its alternate face appears, scowling fiercely.
You pull the string
A voice comes from within the doll's body, dim and gravelly: "Flee the trouble of the ravine! Here is a division between one type of world and another entirely!"

"What risk is this?" With a concerned look, the woman leans towards the doll as if to pay closer attention.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the glass jar containing an insect! It is ugly!"

The woman looks alarmed.
You show the jar to the woman
The woman goes white. From behind you on the tracks comes a curious noise, mechanical and screeching, as though something were coming along the tracks. When you turn back, the woman has gone.
Go south
You pass over the bridge. The ravine has become a white river, teeming with creatures: you see a fin, a gill, a plaintive upturned face, before each is swept away.

It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A giant milkweed leaf dangles just within reach from the mass of stems.

Almost hidden within the milkweed is a dilapidated shack built more of splinters than of planks.
You examine the milkweed
(the giant milkweed leaf)
A giant milkweed leaf, curled in such a way that it could cling to your face like a mask. It even has two milk-ringed holes for your eyes.
You wear the mask
You put on the giant milkweed leaf.
You examine the shack
A hateful structure less than five feet high. The wood frame of the shack has tilted, twisting subtly out of true. The angles itch at your eyes, somehow uncomfortable to look at. No windows. The low doorway, lacking a door, hisses at you open-mouthed. Or would that just be the standard summer susurrus of Vermont?

"Hateful" might an odd way to describe a building, but you can't escape the impression that the shack is capable of such an emotion. It's got to be a death-trap, anyway: take a step inside, or even give the shack a push, and surely it will just collapse.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Beware the road!"
Look around
It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(An earworm has lodged itself in your head.)
You drop the earworm
The earworm is seemingly resistant to all forms of interaction, and simply acknowledging it gives it strength:

I get knocked down / but I get up again / you're never going to
keep me down! Apparently Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.

[Author's note: messing with the earworm is entirely optional. Not that I would try to dissuade you from it!]
You look at the altar
A six-foot long and three-foot high altar of pale green stone, polished smooth. The sides are humped and bulged, suggesting poreless coral. The top is flat, and bears a shallow impression in the shape of a human body, with a slightly deeper cavity at the top for the face.
You examine the impression
It's the shape and size of a human body. For no reason you can name, you have the desire to get on the altar and lay yourself down in the impression; it seems your body would fit perfectly, as would, for that matter, your face fit nicely in the deeper cavity at the end.
You get on the altar
You get onto the stone altar.

You lie down, settling your body into the impression and your face into the cavity at the end. The milkweed leaf mask protects your face from the strands of orange slime that you belatedly notice fill the cavity. Is it even you doing this? It feels like the most natural action in the world.

As you press your face deeper into the cavity, your vision warps. The world seems to fold and buckle: what was convex becomes concave and what was concave becomes convex.

The altar wobbles and inverts, giving you the bizarre sensation of lying atop a smooth green hole that floats in midair. Deeper within the hole is a shelf of green stone with several items resting (how?) on it.
You look at shelf
On the shelf are a postcard of Big Ben, a diary and an imaginary basalt sphere.
You remove the mask
You take off the giant milkweed leaf.
You get on the altar
You get onto the stone altar.

You lie down, settling your body into the impression and your face into the cavity at the end. Is it even you doing this? It feels like the most natural action in the world.

As you press your face down into the cavity, you feel something wet; your skin has met a tangle of slimy, orange strands that were growing inside the cavity.

Your face turns numb. You are overtaken with convulsions, and the involuntary flailing of your limbs causes you to fall from the altar. The numbness spreads down your neck and across your torso as you lie frozen, body askew, at the base of the altar.

It takes but a few hours for your whole body to be sheathed in wet, orange strands.

Your breathing slows as your lungs gradually fill with fruiting bodies. Perhaps the slime reacts poorly to tears, as the last part to be overgrown with mold is your eyes, though eventually, as dusk falls, blurred orange tendrils knit themselves together at the edges of your vision. Their intricacy strikes you as ghastly and beautiful all at once.
You examine ben
A faded postcard with a picture of Big Ben on it. You'd guess the picture dates from the first quarter of the century.
You examine DIARY
A small brown book with embossed letters on the front, mostly worn away, spelling "DIARY". Inside it's filled with spidery letters in faded ink. According to the name inscribed inside the cover, this belonged to Phyllis Cragne.

You think you remember your husband speaking of a "Great Aunt Phyl," a sprightly old lady who haunted his earliest memories and always wore tartan trousers.
You examine the basalt
It's a black stone sphere about the size of a basketball, and it doesn't really exist. There is (well, technically, there is not) a narrow slot on one side like that of a piggy-bank.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the stone altar! It is longer than it might appear!"
You turn the head
You rotate the doll's head, concealing its sinister face and exposing its insincere one.
You pull the string
The doll chirps, "I like the thing that isn't here! Yay!"

There is a tinny sound of applause.
You turn the head
You rotate the doll's head. Its alternate face appears, scowling fiercely.
You read the DIARY
You read a few passages from near the beginning of the diary:

"Danced with Freddy Morgan tonight. He's not the most graceful, but I'm hopeful he will improve. Tomorrow I leave for college."

"How the professors scowl when they learn I'm a Cragne! I'm sure it would hurt my feelings, if they weren't all crusty old throwbacks with beards full of toast crumbs anyway."

"Today in the sealed archives I found a most wonderful secret: evidence that the Court truly exists! One day I will join it -- I will make them let me -- and I will work harder than all the others who came before."

You skim back and forth a bit, gathering that Phyllis Cragne was probably born around 1890, and that she started her archaeology studies at Ompompanoousuc College in 1918; she also seems to have become engaged to a local by the name of Frederick Morgan at around that same time.

There's still a fair amount of the diary left; you could read more if you wanted to.
You read DIARY
You read a few passages from the middle of the diary:

"It has finally happened! They extended an offer, and this morning, I accepted. I am looking forward to the fulfillment of my duties, particularly the travel necessitated by my new position. I wish I could persuade Freddy to come with me on at least one trip, but he's terrified of the ocean. I shall leave him to the calm waters of Vermont, with the promise to bring back a 'priceless antique' from each city I visit."

"Received word of Freddy's accident."

"Finished Prague. Turin, too. Magdeburg will wait until spring."

You skim back and forth, gathering that during the 1920s and 30s Phyllis Cragne was often away from home on extended work trips. It was while she was on one such trip to London that Frederick Morgan was killed in a canoeing accident. Afterwards, and on through the 1950s, she spent even more time abroad, working tirelessly for the Court.

There's still a small amount of the diary left; you could read more if you wanted to.
You read the DIARY
You read a few passages from near the end of the diary:

"Bristletail greatly prefers the climate of Barcelona to that of Stockholm. I haven't informed her yet that next we must visit a ruined Norse colony in Greenland, where, it is rumored, the colonists briefly, and in desperation, worshipped Vaadignephod before all succumbing to the Black Death."

"Bristletail shows an increasingly superb comprehension of Ancient Akkadian. Twice she has caught an error in my translations, saving me from not insignificant embarrassment."

"Bristletail has grown stubborn in her old age, refusing to communicate with feral insects. She claims the act to be beneath her dignity. Still, I have never known a more capable archive assistant."

You skim the text, reading of Phyllis Cragne's research. Throughout the 1960s she wrote frequently of Bristletail, her cunning familiar, which (who?) apparently took the form of an unusually large silverfish. It seems likely that Phyllis died in the early 70s, which correlates with Michael's early memories of Great Aunt Phyl.

You've read the whole diary; you could read it again if you wanted to remind yourself of something.
Look around
Milkweed (Caleb Wilson) (on the stone altar)
It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
an imaginary basalt sphere
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key

An earworm is lodged deeply in your head.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
You get up
You get off the stone altar.

It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)
You take the earworm
The earworm is seemingly resistant to all forms of interaction, and simply acknowledging it gives it strength:

He drinks a whiskey drink / he drinks a vodka drink / he drinks a lager drink / he drinks a cider drink! Damn it, Chumbawamba is
still stuck in your head.
Sing
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He sings the songs that remind him of the good times / he sings
the songs that remind him of the better times! Yes, Chumbawamba
is still stuck in your head.
Sing
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Iä get knocked down / but iä get up again / you're never going to
keep mi-go down! Yes, Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
Sing
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He drinks a wgah drink / he drinks a ph'nglui drink / he drinks a fhtagn drink / he drinks a cthulhu drink! Apparently Chumbawamba
is still stuck in your head.
Sing
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He sings the songs that remind him of the r'lyeh times / he sings
the songs that remind him of the leng times! Well, Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
Continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Iä get knocked down / but iä get up again / you're never going
pha'zr keep mi-go down! Apparently Chumbawamba is still stuck in
your head.
You continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He drinks a wazr'cb drink / he drinks a ph'nglui drink / he drinks
a fhtagn phleh / he drinks a cthulhu drink! Damn it, Chumbawamba
is still stuck in your head.
Continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He sings the songs that phleh him of the r'lyeh times / he sings
the songs that pha'cb him of the leng times! Apparently
Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
Keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Iä get knocked down / but phleh get up again / you're hla going
pha'zr keep mi-go down! Well, Chumbawamba is still stuck in your
head.
You keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He drinks a wazr'cb drink / he wazr'zr a ph'nglui drink / mp'zo
drinks a fhtagn phleh / hla drinks a cthulhu drink! Well,
Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
Keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He sings the songs that phleh him of the r'lyeh nfah / hla sings
the songs that pha'cb him of gla'cb leng times! Well, Chumbawamba
is still stuck in your head.
Keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Iä nfah knocked down / but phleh get up again / gla'zr hla going pha'zr keep gla'zo down! Yes, Chumbawamba is still stuck in your
head.
Keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He drinks mglw wazr'cb drink / he wazr'zr a ph'nglui drink / mp'zo drinks a nfah wga'cb / hla drinks a cthulhu drink! Yes,
Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
Continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He sings the songs that phleh him of the mglw nfah / hla cto the
songs that pha'cb him of gla'cb leng times! Yes, Chumbawamba is
still stuck in your head.
You continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Iä nfah knocked down / wgah phleh get up again / gla'zr cto going pha'zr keep gla'zo down! Damn it, Chumbawamba is still stuck in
your head.
Continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He drinks mglw wazr'cb drink / wgah wazr'zr a ph'nglui drink /
mp'zo drinks a fgl wga'cb / hla cto a cthulhu drink! Damn it, Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
Keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He sings the songs that phleh him fgl the mglw nfah / hla cto the songs wgah pha'cb him of gla'cb leng times! Damn it, Chumbawamba
is still stuck in your head.
Keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Iä nfah gneh down / hwu phleh get up again / gla'zr cto going
pha'zr keep gla'zo down! Damn it, Chumbawamba is still stuck in
your head.
You continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He zlee mglw hwu drink / wgah wazr'zr a ph'nglui drink / gneh
drinks a fgl wga'cb / hla cto a cthulhu drink! Well, Chumbawamba
is still stuck in your head.
Keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He sings the songs that phleh him iä the mglw nfah / hla cto the
songs wgah gneh him of gla'cb leng times! Well, Chumbawamba is
still stuck in your head.
Continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Iä nfah gneh down / hwu zlee get up iä / gla'zr fgl going pha'zr
keep gla'zo down! Yes, Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
Continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Fgl zlee mglw hwu drink / wgah wazr'zr a hla drink / gneh drinks a
fgl wga'cb / iä cto a cthulhu drink! Damn it, Chumbawamba is
still stuck in your head.
Keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

He sings the songs that phleh him iä the izh nfah / hla cto the
songs fgl gneh him of gla'cb leng times! Damn it, Chumbawamba is
still stuck in your head.
Continue
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Iä izh gneh down / hwu zlee get izh iä / gla'zr fgl hla pha'zr
keep gla'zo down! Well, Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
You keep going
Your lips sing along, almost involuntarily, to the earworm in your head:

Fgl izh mglw hwu drink / wgah wazr'zr izh hla drink / gneh drinks
a fgl nyar / iä cto a cthulhu drink! Damn it, Chumbawamba is
still stuck in your head.
Look around
It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)
You examine the track
The tracks run north and south beneath mats of dead grass and bramble, bringing to mind an impossible serpent banded with the black of the resinous ties. Are the tracks in use? Could a train actually traverse them? Who knows.
You go to the west
You're too tired for bushwhacking; better stick to the road, which runs north and south.
You go to the south
The imaginary basalt sphere vanishes with a sound like a popping soap bubble.

The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.
Inventory
You are carrying:
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You examine the church
An elderly and dispirited structure made of close-set stone blocks, long and rectangular, with an arched roof and a few scattered and muted stained glass windows. A couple of low stairs lead up to a double door at the front, facing the road, which is set in a square tower that juts slightly forward from and rises slightly above the rest of the structure, culminating in what you presume is a belfry (though you can't make out any bells).
You examine the door
The double door is heavy wood set in an arch in the stone, weathered but still sturdy enough. A small keyhole is visible beneath the modest black metal handle on the right-hand door.
You read the postcard
"18th of June, 1923

Dear Freddy,

You'll never guess where I am: Paris! Ha ha.

Today I broke into the mausoleum of a notorious baronet and pocketed an amulet interred, in 1627, next to his heart. Tomorrow I must liberate an unspeakably ancient mammoth-bone idol, purported to portray a coeval of Vaadignephod, from the prison in which it languishes (the British Museum).

Such excitements make up my life now. If only you were allowed to know about such things, I would tell you that I am now a member of the Variegated Court, and that I have been granted the position of Cesious Alderman in this 'august order'.

How I wish I could actually mail you this postcard, and that afterwards we could laugh together over such a stuffy phrase.

Much Love,
Phyl"
You examine the keyhole
The keyhole in the door to the church is a narrow, intricate gash in the metal below the handle. You kneel down to peer through it; it's too attenuated to make out any details, but you see through the door somewhere a distant, dazzling point of light.
You look around
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.
You go inside
(first opening the church doors)
It seems to be locked.
You look at the village
At once dreary and picturesque, the houses and shops of the village of Backwater huddle together against the remote and clouded sky.
You examine bridge
The concrete bridge is narrower than the road on either side; a single vehicle might cross it, but not two abreast. A thin metal railing at about your waist height discourages those crossing from hurling themselves into the rocky waterway below.
Go northeast
The Churchyard (David Jose)
A neglected and long forgotten cemetery stretches out below you, surrounded by a rusted wrought iron fence. Lopsided gravemarkers, slowly succumbing to the elements, topple downhill like a congregation bent low in prayer. At the very center of the graveyard, set into a low valley, a squat, stone mausoleum crouches menacingly.

To the southwest a dilapidated, stave church rises up obscenely against the night sky.

A dark pine forest crowds against the wrought iron fence to the northeast. You might be able to forge a path between its trees.

A discarded flashlight sits amidst the weeds behind an overturned gravestone.
You examine it
A small flashlight, with a rubber ring where it screws together to keep the water out.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the grave!"
You examine grave
Simple, rough hewn marble markers, overgrown with weeds and stained by untold generations of blackened moss. The wind and weather have made sure that you can't make out any names or dates on any of these tombstones.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Flee the bell tower!"
You look at the church
Stark and imposing, this church might have been a thing of beauty once upon a time. Dark, nearly black timbers huddle together conspiratorially, hiding beneath ranks of rain-slick slate rooves. Telltale signs of some long ago fire can be seen along the tops of several of the windows.

High above, the light of a single candle burns in what you assume must be the bell tower.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You look at the mausoleum
Covered in moss and half buried in a litter of dead leaves, the remaining letters above the door read "VERL C".

Large, rough cut stone bricks make up the walls of the crypt, and a series of steeply pitched slate rooves protect the mausoleum and its internees from the fierce New England winters.

A large oak door is set into wall beneath a peaked stone arch.
You examine the door
A heavy oak door, nearly four feet across, and wrapped with iron bands. This thing looks like it would be more at home repelling an invasion in a medieval castle.
You open the door
You attempt to open the mausoleum door. The heavy door shifts slightly, but does not open. You suspect you'll need more leverage.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a waterproof flashlight
aviator goggles (being worn)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You look at goggles
A pair of tinted, leather wrapped aviator goggles. A thin scratch mars the left lens.
About yourself
Mud (and god only knows what else) spatter your legs and black leather riding boots. You idly brush a bit of bone from your sleeve and adjust your aviator goggles.
You look around
The Churchyard (David Jose)
A neglected and long forgotten cemetery stretches out below you, surrounded by a rusted wrought iron fence. Lopsided gravemarkers, slowly succumbing to the elements, topple downhill like a congregation bent low in prayer. At the very center of the graveyard, set into a low valley, a squat, stone mausoleum crouches menacingly.

To the southwest a dilapidated, stave church rises up obscenely against the night sky.

A dark pine forest crowds against the wrought iron fence to the northeast. You might be able to forge a path between its trees.
You examine the fence
A pitted wrought iron fence surrounds the graveyard.

The fence seems fairly sturdy, but one of the cast iron spires seems to have been knocked loose from the top rail and is leaning askew.
You get the spire
You grab hold of the loose rod and wrench it free from the fence.
You pry the door with the rod
You work the iron spire into the narrow gap between the door and the stone jamb and attempt to pry it open. After several minutes of effort, you're able to slowly work the door open far enough for you to be able to squeeze through.
You examine the rod
A four foot long piece of the wrought iron fence that surrounds the cemetery. It's tipped with a wicked looking, spear-shaped finial.
You go inside
Mausoleum (Gary Butterfield)
Immediately upon entering, you feel hot. This is a square chamber, made of stone. Dust is suspended in the air, clearly visible in the bright purple light eminating from the center of the room. The dust does not seem to fall. There is a plinth in the center of the room with a tome on it. Each corner has a full length mirror.

On the plinth is a shabby journal.

A faint chill comes over you.
About you
Looks like everything is in place, more or less.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You look at the chill
A chill emanates from behind you, fading as you turn.
Examine journal
A shabby looking leather volume with uneven pages. The letters "LVPB" have been burned onto the spine, under the insignia for The Backwater Public Library, which features two back to back crescent moons joined by a downward looking eye.

This appears to be what's known as a commonplace book. It's a place for a writer to jot down ideas and fragments. There's really no order to it, but you could flip through it, if you wish.
You get it
You hear a voice that says "Do you remember the first time you stole something? Do you remember when you first realized that adults lie all the time? How did that feel?" You close your eyes and shake your head, clearing it. When you open them, you find yourself at the entrance of the mausoleum.
You read journal
You'll have to take it off the plinth first.

The chill behind you intensifies, and you feel like you're being watched.
You look at the plinth
Unlike the rest of the room, the plinth is starkly industrial. It is made of rusted iron, with rusty streaks moving downward towards the ground, as if water had poured from the top at one point. There is a tome on top.

On the plinth is a shabby journal.
You examine the tome
A shabby looking leather volume with uneven pages. The letters "LVPB" have been burned onto the spine, under the insignia for The Backwater Public Library, which features two back to back crescent moons joined by a downward looking eye.

This appears to be what's known as a commonplace book. It's a place for a writer to jot down ideas and fragments. There's really no order to it, but you could flip through it, if you wish.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.
You read the journal
You'll have to take it off the plinth first.
You examine the northward mirror
The mirror is positioned in the northern corner of the room. It has an oaken frame and a small bas relief of a human figure in the stone above. When you examine your reflection, you find that it reflects only you, not the room that surrounds you. You stare at yourself, staring at yourself, floating in a purple void.
You examine the dust
The dust is piled up under each stack of tombs. It looks finely ground.
You examine the westward mirror
The mirror is in the western corner of the room, but it has been destroyed, though oddly enough, not broken. It looks as if it were melted. There is a bas relief of a writing quill in the stone above.
You examine eastward
The mirror is positioned in the eastern corner of the room. It has an pine frame and a small bas relief of a spider in the stone above. When you examine your reflection, you jump backwards away from it. The mirror does not seem to reflect you, but instead it shows you as if a giant had crumbled you up like a piece of paper. Your neck is folded so that your ear is resting on your collarbone. Your arms are bent, and twisted. Bones break through the skin, and spurs jut to the surface. At first you do not think it is actually you, but it clearly is. The creature in the mirror has the same terror in its eyes that you do.
You look at southward
The mirror is positioned in the southern corner of the room. It has a brass frame and there is a bas relief of a small humanoid in the stone above. You see a small version of yourself, though it is not exactly the same. Its posture is more confident, defiant even. When you look at its eyes, you see that its eyes do not match yours and it instead watches your hands carefully.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a perfect fern, just like in a fancy latte. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You put the handbook on plinth
You put The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three on the plinth.
You get the journal
The voice returns, "It is interesting to me that you think I belong
to you. We both contain worlds, universes, multitudes. Possibility. And you would possess me." A bright flash of light and you find yourself at the entrance of the mausoleum.
You read the journal
You'll have to take it off the plinth first.
You get the journal
The voice is louder. "Your name is written on water. Everything
around you, everything in this place will be here long after you're dead and no one remembers you. Be gone." Again, you find yourself at the entrance of the mausoleum. This time, though you don't remember falling, you are on one knee.
You get journal
The voice is exasperated. "What if you don't like what's at the end
of all of this? Think about the time you're wasting here. All of this effort, all of this  reading  and for what? Do you not
realize that some day you will die? How many entire days have you lived and complete forgotten? More than you can count, I wager." Your vision goes black and you feel yourself slammed against the door of the mausoleum, banging your head. Your rub the back of your hair and feel wet.
You get the journal
The voice is whispering. "Do you know what I have forgotten? Nothing. Every moment of my life is valuable and preserved. Every finger that has ever turned one of my pages, every set of eyes that has read me, I remember them all. I'm something that all of your kind wishes to be- permanent. How much time do you have to waste on this silly game? Here, let me make the decision easy for you." You hear a high pitched whining and...
You are back at the train station. You look around. Everything seems to be reset. You sigh, and painstakingly begin the process of dutifully repeating all of the actions that brought you to the mausoleum. Hours later, exhausted, you pry the door open and re-enter the tomb.
You get the journal
The voice screams. "What is wrong with you? Examine yourself. I'll give you time." The whining sound is much louder and more intense now, and is accompanied by the smell of ozone. When you open your eyes... You see a man in a mask pulling you out of somewhere safe and warm. You're surrounded by strangers and people you love.
...
You open your mouth to scream and
WAAAHHHHHHHH. A...baby? This can't be real. You start pumping your fists in anger, trying to shake it off. Suddenly, the man with the mask reels back his gloved hand and
SMACK
You are on the floor of the mausoleum.
About you
Looks like everything is in place, more or less.
You get the journal
You stare at the book for a moment before reaching out to yank it off the plinth. It puts up no resistance this time.
You read the journal
teeth you lose grow entire new skulls, identical, one in ten will
grow hair, fat
You read the journal
named knife, with a family
You read the journal
hair starts growing from teeth/eyes
You read the journal
person becomes blind, but only to certain objects
You read the journal
Man's sense of taste becomes more and more sensitive until water is too spicy to drink
You read the journal
Town where everyone hears voices but the voices only tell them ways they could improve their lives
You read the journal
heartbreak insurance broker, sinister end
You look at your surroundings
Mausoleum (Gary Butterfield)
It's hard to see very far due to the dust in the air.
Wave
You wave.
You examine the dust
The dust is piled up under each stack of tombs. It looks finely ground.
Inventory
You are carrying:
aviator goggles (being worn)
a shabby journal
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
Go east
Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The first thing you notice, when entering the open yards of the town square, is the soft breeze that relentlessly caresses the buildings. It is so unlike the warm, salty air you were used to back home that you finally realize how long your trip has been, and how far removed you are now from everything you once knew.

The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

Ominous portents, you murmur to yourself.
Since that day, twenty years ago, when you first read them in a Lovecraftian novel during that uneventful summer vacation, you've been waiting for the occasion to use these words yourself. Another cold, harsh gust of wind interrupts you before you can decide whether this was a coincidence worth being happy... or scared about.

A man is leaning on the bridge rail, staring intensely at you with his only eye.
You look at the man
Tall and slender, the one-eyed man reminds you of someone you knew back in your hometown: a fisherman with as many stories in his pockets as years on his back, who went by the name of Captn Squinter. He used to know a lot of tales about tormented ships... or at least he was good at making them up. He vanished years ago in unknown circumstances.
You talk to the man
He bows his head dramatically, acknowledging your salute.

"Mrs Cra-gnee, welcome to Backwater. He's been
waiting for you."
You ask the man about him
"Who are you?" you ask.

The man smiles, as if you have asked the most trivial thing. "I'm a man made by the mountains, as you were made by the sea, Madam. I'm of no consequence, just a prop for indications."
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.
You ask him about waiting
He seems uninterested in dealing with this subject.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a shabby journal
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
About yourself
You can imagine your grey eyes are all but glittering under this grey sky. You just wish Peter were here to caress you on thinking this.
You look at the bridge
Large enough to let a single car pass through, the bridge is arched like a live fishing pole. Leaning on the bridge rail, a man is demanding attention.
Look around
Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

A man is leaning on the bridge rail, staring intensely at you with his only eye.
You look at the shape
The big emblem, one yard wide, is embedded in the center of the square like a manhole. The surface looks golden, although you seriously doubt it is anything more than pyrite. Its three rings surround a central circle tightened by bird claws with a single triangular mark pointing northeast. The rings themselves are bedecked by a series of symbols (outer to inner, then clockwise from north):

BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER
DAAN      |SHI       |AAK'EE    |HAI       |TLÈÈ      |JI
PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE.
You ask the man about the shape
"What is this... emblem, in the center of the square?"

"It is a symbol of sorts. Don't know much about it. Except that you can see similar... designs scattered all around Backwater.
Usually, though, they are hidd-... I mean: less exposed. They represent some sort of feast, or the likes of it. But, then again..."

He scratches his nose.

"The inscription are in Navajo," he concludes.
You look at the tree
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER.
Go north
The man returns to his pretended duties, while keeping his one eye one you.

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.
You read the notice board
A weatherbeaten community notice board outside the library. Behind glass you can see a community events schedule, a ripped newspaper headline, and the winning stories from a children's writing competition.
You examine the schedule
Monday: Poetry reading.
Tuesday: Poetry reading.
Wednesday: Cross-stitch. NO GUNS.
Thursday: Poetry reading.
Friday: Alcoholics Anonymous.
Saturday: Poker.
Sunday: CLOSED.
Examine newspaper
"Vicious Animals Are Dismembered In Gory Nightly Excess, Pumped High On Drugs"
You read the story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"I am in a band. I play guitar and Stuffy plays guitar and Richard plays guitar and Marie plays drums although she has only got one and Ermentrude sings. Sometimes Ermentrude plays guitar too. We are going on tour in the fall but for now we play live at different places in Backwater. When they catch us they throw us out but we are good at hiding. Our record is thirty-four minutes."
You read the story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"Benjamin Jefferson was not just the presedent he was also a cowboy. He had a horse named Woodrow and he lived in a coffin with wheels. On Friday he would have a gun fight and he nearly always won. One time he met Doctor Abrhaham and they decided to build doge City. They got help from a friendly beaver."
You read story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"Underneath cars is a good place to hide. Sometimes you jump out and surprise the neighbors but sometimes you just lie there and wait where no-one can see you. You can tell when they get in the car because it comes a bit closer to your face and when they switch it on you sometimes cough. If you hold on to the metal stuff you can sometimes get a free ride but watch out because it burns your hands."
You read the story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"My father is a member of the Vermont Cheesers. They are a secret society so I am not allowed to talk about them. They meet in The Creamery and they do not allow girls to join. Sometimes I have to wait in the anti-room so I sneak up on the balcony and watch. Every day they bet on a cheese in a sack and if they do not get it right they have to eat the cheese. One man always talks about Maple Smoked Gouda and another man always talks about The Cheese Trail and sometimes they put the cheese down their trousers. They all smile all the time but you can see in their eyes that they are scared."
You read the story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"I hate chores. Mom makes me empty the trash and sweep the yard and get rid of the dead birds that Misty brings in. I cut off the wings and hide them in the crawlspace and stitch them together. Sometimes I catch butterflies and moths and use their wings too. When I am done I will have two sets of wings and find out which one is better. The bird one I will call SuperSwallow and the butterfly one I will call BeeHaMoth. I will fly over Robert Sutherland's house and shit on it."
You read the story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"My dad always takes me to see jazz. It is crap. He says it is the only true American art form. I pretend to listen but I actually try to use psychic powers to make the jazz people explode. I have tried about a hundred times. One time the trumpet man played a wrong note although it is difficult to tell with jazz. Then blood came out the end of his trumpet. Then he fell over. I got ice cream on the way home."
You read the story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"I have a friend at home she is called Bertrande. She does not go to school. When mom comes in she hides beneath the bed or in the closet and sometimes she makes a joke with a kitchen knife. Bertrande is from France in the sixteenth century where she was a pleasant girl. She was murdured by a noble man and she says if she can collect the bud of an entire family she can travel back in time for revenge. I like her hair."
You read the story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"My uncle showed me a trick where you unscrew a salt cellar in the diner and then the next person gets salt all over their food. I did it a couple of times and stayed around to watch through the window. It was funny. I like to make things better so I swapped the salt for sugar and then for the white stuff from the laundry. If you find a salt cellar with a big enough hole you can also put broken glass in there."
You read the story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"One night I was coming home from school. It was dark. Then I saw a light in the sky. It was a space alium. A light shone down on me and I went on the space ship. They gave me cookies but the chocolate chips were bugs. I was scared. They wanted to take me to their planut but I said I had to be home at 6.30 for dinner. The aliums seemed angry and they dropped me in a pond. My school books got wet. The end."
You read story
There are a few stories on the board. You choose one at random to read.

"One day I was mixing paint and I made a new color! It was red and green and pink and all the colors at one time! I painted it on a painting and it made a hole with glowy edges! I tried it on the back of my door and it made a bigger hole! But when I looked through it was not our upstairs but another person's house with different colored walls and leg stuff hanging from the ceiling! I am going to climb through and see if it is an adventure!"
Describe the surroundings
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.
You look at the woods
Distant, dark foliage.
You look at Library
Neoclassical columns frame a grand entrance. A wheelchair ramp has been constructed beside the steps.
You examine the office
Oddly featureless.
You go east
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

A fleece jacket is draped over the back of one of the chairs.

A librarian stands behind a counter.
You look at the shelves
The books don't seem to be in any particular order. You can browse if you like, but good luck finding anything specific.

The librarian looks at you.
You examine the librarian
An old woman with severe features, primly dressed, with slate-gray hair tied up in a bun. She's almost a caricature, and seems as antique as the building.
You examine case
In the display case are a plaque and a big black book.

The librarian stamps something. There's something odd about the way she moves. You can't quite put your finger on it.
You examine the plaque
In 1630, the eccentric scholar and polymath Henry Danton Gules came to America to study the superstitions of the Abenaki people, who he was convinced held "the secrets of the earth". He spent much of the next eight years living among them, learning their language and folklore. Or so he claimed; his accounts of his experiences range from the highly exaggerated to the outright fabricated.

"The native storytellers have shown me wondrous things. Under the mountains are caverns without limit, where great beasts roam, and feed upon the buried dead..."
(Letter from Gules to a colleague)

During this time, he wrote two books, under the pseudonym "Azban" (a trickster figure from Abenaki legend). One, now lost, was a text on a language that he called "Adamic", which he claimed was the original language spoken before the fall of the Tower of Babel. The other, displayed here, is De Vermibus Laceris, which he described as "completing the known principles of ritual magic by reuniting them with the forgotten wisdom of the ancients". Most of the book is written in a mix of Latin and English, but some of the more theoretical passages, including several entire chapters, are in Adamic, and have not been translated.

In order to publish these books, Gules helped to finance the first printing press in New England in 1638. However, he never saw them printed, due to his disappearance in the great New Hampshire earthquake later that year. The few copies that had been made were declared "blasphemous" by Massachusetts Bay Colony governor John Winthrop, who ordered them destroyed. It was believed that no copies survived until 1986, when the volume displayed here was discovered concealed in a wall of the Backwater Public Library during renovations.
Examine book
Which do you mean, the bookshelf, De Vermibus Laceris, the shabby journal, The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, the diary of Phyllis Cragne or the postcard of Big Ben?
Examine vermibus
A massive tome, with ragged pages bound in badly-decayed black leather, laid open on a stand.
You read it
The grimoire in open on a page describing peeling open the way to someone lost, whether they be in this world or not. You gather from the prelimaries that the ritual involves the horn of a black goat and a cyst from a god, as well as the lost one's true star sign and their most treasured memento. How the ritual is actually performed is further in the book on the pages you currently cannot see.
You ask the librarian about the grimoire
With whip-like speed, she raises a finger to her lips and shushes you vigorously, then points at a sign on the counter.

You glance around. There's no one around who you could possibly be disturbing.
You look at the chair
A collection of tired-looking wooden sculptures with orange vinyl cushions on them.

On the chair is a fleece jacket.

The librarian catches your eye and points at the bookshelves.
You take the jacket
A card flutters to the ground as you pick the jacket up. Almost involuntarily, you stoop and pick it up too.

The librarian nods at you curtly. There's something eerie about how quietly she moves about the library. You can hardly take a step without a floorboard creaking. It's like she weighs nothing.
You look at the jacket
Hey, isn't this Peter's jacket?

Yeah, it totally is! It's got that worn-off section on the elbow from your bike trip together. I guess he must have been in the library recently and left it there. Only... how could anyone forget their jacket in this weather?
You examine the card
A battered beige rectangle with rounded corners, printed with the library insignia, and bearing the words:

is entitled to borrow books from
BACKWATER PUBLIC LIBRARY
Backwater, Vermont
and is responsible for all books taken on this card
Expires APRIL 1998
No 19078

A little metal dealy clips through the cardboard, with a mirror-reversed version of the ID number stamped into it. They really haven't upgraded their systems in a while.

The librarian disappears between the shelves for a bit, then returns.
You get it
You already have that.
You look around
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

A librarian stands behind a counter.
You examine the counter
Just a simple wood-veneer slab with a large version of the library insignia painted on. There's a sign mounted on it, and a small cart stands to one side..

The librarian catches your eye and points at the bookshelves. It really seems like she doesn't blink enough. Or at all.
You examine the cart
A rusty-wheeled little convenience with bright floral contact paper wrapped around its carrying surfaces.
You search the shelves
Browsing, you discover a self-published volume of mawkish poetry. You don't have time for this, so you put it back.
Keep going
You blindly pick out a decades-old high school yearbook. Sighing inwardly, you place it back on the shelf.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a library card
Peter's jacket
a shabby journal
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
About yourself
Disheveled. Exhausted. Not crying yet. Glad to be in from the cold, if only for a little while.
You point to the black book
The librarian looks at the case, then looks back at you, then shrugs and holds out a hand, palm up, as if to receive something.
You give the card to the librarian
She takes the card from you and fusses with some machinery behind the counter. You hear the buzz of a dot-matrix printer, and then she gives you back the card along with a note.
You examine the note
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
LVPB
The Dollmaker's Journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
Tolerating An Asinine God
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
Venator in Tenebris
'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
The Seven Gaunts
New England and the Bavarian Illuminati
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY
Inventory
You are carrying:
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a shabby journal
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
Go west
You pause at the entrance of the real estate office to reread the telegram in your pocket, scanning the curt missive for any additional clues as to what the hell your husband hosed up this time. No
dice. A wave of sheer black terror washes up into your pharynx, and you fight it back down.

It's fine. It'll be fine. You saved his ass that time with the vampire yacht (stupid), you got him and yourself out of the sentient
wax museum (so careless), you even... it is not worth
thinking about the guy with the drill hands right now. It is
never worth thinking about the guy with the drill hands. It's
fine. It'll be fine.

Your solid gold instincts have led you to this office, which means there's something you need to steal from inside of it, so you
tell your brain to shut its trap, adjust your backpack on your shoulder, and push firmly through the door into the stale chill of the air conditioning.
The woman behind the desk jerks her head up from a pile of papers as you enter, clearly surprised to have a customer. "Oh, hello!" she says. "Can I facts you about a house? Ugh, I mean, are you interested in a Forthright & Rotier property? I mean, they're all our --
we're the only realtor in -- hello!"

Estate Agent's Office (Jenni Polodna)
The space is dominated by the unexpectedly symbiotic combination of a giant desk and a tiny woman, who together give the impression of being one complete single entity, like a centaur. The surface of the desk is invisible underneath a loose pile of glossy architectural magazines, manila folders, and real estate listings pamphlets. Behind it, a gunmetal-grey filing cabinet lurks unattractively in the far corner. The exit back out to the street is east.

A tiny woman is here waiting to answer all of your Backwater real estate questions.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a coded telegram
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
About yourself
You are Naomi Sparradew Cragne, nurse practitioner, born (prematurely) in 1972 to Keith and Esperanza Sparradew of Flagstaff, Arizona, both now sadly deceased.*

As a child, your family owned horses, and you definitely know how to ride them, but you injured your hip in a bad fall on some black ice in Boston so you don't anymore. These days you get your horse itch scratched by volunteering with Stable America, a non-profit that provides riding therapy to trauma survivors.*

You are married to Peter Cragne -- entrepreneur, amateur philosopher, and tennis enthusiast -- recently returned to Backwater, Vermont after an absence of twenty-three years to inherit the family mansion (such as it is).*

* As far as any of these rubes know.
You examine the woman
The upper half of her body consists mostly of hair, insufficiently restrained with a blue plaid scrunchie. Twin octagonal shimmers beneath the hair suggest a pair of glasses. Her torso wears a t-shirt advertising the 1996 Muddy Crayfish Charity Run/Walk, sponsored by Forthright & Rotier.

The lower half of her body is obscured by the giant desk, but your brain evolved over millennia to handle exactly this kind of situation, so without even thinking about it you assume she has two human legs instead of, say, half a kraken.
You examine the telegram
In the secret code you worked out with your husband, "forgot brown shoes" means "the plan has gone dog-tits-up and I could not be deeper in the crap canal," while "please send by earliest post" means "invent a pretext and come extricate me immediately."

So, here you are in Backwater, Vermont, with a missing husband and no idea what to do next. It's great. Everything's great.
You look at the backpack
You bought this backpack specifically to do thefts with, and you love it. From the outside it's modestly sized and easy to carry, but the inside is surprisingly capacious -- you've used it to smuggle oil paintings, kayaks, and (best day of your life) the entire contents of a government warehouse in Roswell, New Mexico. In addition to the cavernous main pocket of the backpack itself, there's a key pocket for your keys, a book pocket for your books, a side pocket for your sidequests, and a trash pocket for your trash. Zippers on all of these pockets let you open and close them at will.

In the Jansport backpack are a key pocket, a book pocket, a side pocket, a trash pocket and a backpack features guide.
You examine the key pocket
A heavily reinforced pocket to store your keys in, if you're the kind of person who has too many keys to fit on a keyring.
Examine features guide
Welcome to the NEW 1998 Urban Adventurer Streetwarrior TRIPLE-REINFORCED Lifestyle Management System by Jansport!

Incredible Updated Features:
** Separate zippable pockets let you hide things and reveal them at will!
** Brand new abbreviations: mp = main pocket, kp = key pocket, bp = book pocket, etc.!
** Time-saving upgrade for the adventurer on the go: LOOK IN or PUT [SOMETHING] IN a closed pocket without having to open it first!
You ask the woman about the woman
"I'm a real estate receptionist who is doing an admirable job of attempting to perform her work functions!" the tiny woman tells you. "Do you have any questions for me that a sane person might ask a real estate receptionist?"
You ask the woman about real Estate
The woman gestures towards the pamphlets on the desk. "We have some pamphlets with all of our current home listings, if you'd like to take one and look at it. Or if you have any questions about any buildings in town, I can answer those too! Forthright and Rotier has been the only realtor in Backwater for over 200 years, so... yeah."
You take the pamphlet
You take a pamphlet of home listings off of the stack.
You read the pamphlet
|| 8 BR 1 BA || Quiet neighborhood! Completely redone with brand new floors and concrete-sealed basement. Hardly any muttering!

|| 3 BR 2 BA || Great river views and convenient for boating! Trawl for crayfish from the comfort of your living room. Entire upstairs still mostly above water!

|| 2 BR 5 BA || An obelisk lover's dream! Extensive yard boasts a true infinity pool and an impressive collection of garden statuary, including twin sphinxes. Paradoxically nearby to everything!

Underneath the description of 23 Euclid Street, someone has scrawled the words "JACKDAWS LOVE MY BIG SPHINX OF QUARTZ."
You ask woman about the train station
"That property is very historic and cool but not currently for sale!" the tiny woman says. "If you tell me more about yourself, I will be better able to analyze your needs and desires and attempt to resolve them by selling you a property that is for sale!"
You tell the woman about yourself
"Oh!" the woman exclaims. "You're the new wi-- I mean, you're Naomi Sparradew Cragne! Nice to meet you. I'm Bethany Tross." She boosts herself onto the desk to shake your hand. "I've got a huge file on Cragne Manor. It's absolutely fascinating. You're gonna love it." Lips slightly pursed, she surveys the mess on the desk. "Um. Just let me find it. Jeez. One sec."
You ask the woman about the CRAGNE MANOR
Bethany gathers all of the folders on the desk into her arms. "See, I'm getting a master's degree in local history, and this job is a gold mine for original documents," she explains. One by one she deposits each file into the cabinet, until only an empty-looking folder labeled CRAGNE MANOR remains. "Huh, it should be..." She flips it open, then with a disappointed look sets it on the desk in front of you.
"Well, ratsack," she says. "I guess the Cragne Manor file's off being digitized. Ms. Rotier's been on this paperless office kick lately, which is weird, because we don't have a computer." Her expression brightens somewhat. "Any other buildings you want to know about? I'm not allowed to talk history at home anymore, not since the incident."
Now that the desk is clean, you notice a paperback book that had been hiding underneath the folders.
Examine book
A somewhat battered paperback whose lovingly fantasy-painted cover features a corseted steampunk woman embracing a Regency period nobleman -- who is also an anthropomorphic lion -- in space. "TWIN HEARTS BETWEEN THE PLANES," raised letters proclaim. "LEELAH VAUGHAN."

Beneath the author's name, smaller text inside a sunburst informs you that this book was a 1981 Venus Rising nominee for "Best Sexual Tension." A shelving label for the Backwater Public Library covers the lower spine "[FIC / ERO / ANIMA / FELIS / YIKES]".

This is it, your instincts whisper. This is the thing you
need to steal. Also, look at it. It's amazing. Definitely steal
that.
You take the book
This is it! This lion sex book is definitely the thing you need to steal. Even if it wasn't, you'd steal it anyway, for multiple reasons.

You're gonna steal it smart, though, which means finding a
moment when Bethany isn't watching.
You ask the woman about the the incident
"It's a funny story," Bethany says. You wait for her to tell it to you, but she doesn't.
You ask the woman about Library
Bethany's features descend into a half-scowl. "Oh, it's just another boring Andrew Carnegie library, blah blah blah 1908, $5000 budget, snooze me a river of dreams. It's gross, all the books in there are gross, if you go in there you'll be gross too." This unenthusiastic description of a historic building seems out of character, so you cock an eyebrow at her quizzically.

Bethany catches your look and deflates. "That crappy librarian is in league with the Badfinger University Shadow Historians," she explains. "She won't let me have jack. They've got some real good
original mystical documents and I want a job there so bad."

She meets your eyes again. "Right, I'll get the folder."
You take BOOK
definitely the right idea. When you play the scenario out in
your mind, though, it goes something like this:

[IMAGINARY SCENE] You slip the book into your pocket. Bethany
turns around, ready to drop the folder on the desk, and spots that the book is gone. Her octagonal eyes glow red, and each unruly curl of her hair transmogrifies into an individual tarantula with its own set of eight hairy legs. "WHERE IS MY BOOK?" she roars, shaking the walls of the real estate office.

The desk grows a mouth and chomps you in half somewhere around the lumbar spine. Your lower half bleeds out on the berber carpet as the desk masticates your torso and eyeballs and hands and other parts of your body you like a lot and use often. With a satisfied expression, Bethany retrieves the novel from the bloodsoaked pocket of your JNCOs. "Now I can finally confess my truth," she tells your exposed kidneys. "I think reading about lion sex is kind of nice actually."[END IMAGINARY SCENE]

...okay, clearly this town has got you in a real weird headspace. The point is, you'll have to find a way to steal the book without Bethany noticing you've stolen it, or things might get... uncomfortable.

"Folder located!" Bethany drops the folder onto the desk near Twin Hearts Between the Planes.
You ask her about the office
(Bethany about Forthright & Rotier Estate Agency)
"Perfect! I'll just grab the folder for that," Bethany says, turning to search through the filing cabinet.
You ask Bethany about the lion sex
"Just a sec," Bethany says, voice echoing weirdly. You turn to look and she's got her head almost completely inside one of the cabinet drawers.

"Here you go!" Bethany drops the folder onto the desk, partially covering Twin Hearts Between the Planes.
You ask her about the church
"Josiah Forthright was a master hypnotist whose specialty was getting people to desire things that no sane person would ever want," Bethany tells you. "Then, completely out of nowhere, he opened a real estate office in Backwater, Vermont. It's sad that he gave up on his dream like that, don't you think?"
You ask her about the Church
(Bethany about Backwater Church)
"We definitely have a folder for that! One sec," Bethany says, turning to search through the filing cabinet.
You take BOOK
definitely the right idea. When you play the scenario out in
your mind, though, it goes something like this:

[IMAGINARY SCENE] You slip the book into your pocket. Bethany
turns around, ready to drop the folder on the desk, and spots that the book is gone. Her octagonal eyes glow red, and each unruly curl of her hair transmogrifies into a cobra, its eyes glowing red and its fangs dripping venom. "WHERE IS MY BOOK?" she roars, shaking the walls of the real estate office.

The desk grows a mouth and chomps you in half somewhere around the lumbar spine. Your lower half bleeds out on the berber carpet as the desk masticates your torso and eyeballs and hands and other parts of your body you like a lot and use often. With a satisfied expression, Bethany retrieves the novel from the bloodsoaked pocket of your JNCOs. "Now I can finally confess my truth," she tells your exposed kidneys. "I think reading about lion sex is kind of nice actually."[END IMAGINARY SCENE]

...okay, clearly this town has got you in a real weird headspace. The point is, you'll have to find a way to steal the book without Bethany noticing you've stolen it, or things might get... uncomfortable.

"Who just found the folder she was looking for? This girl!" Bethany drops the folder onto the desk, partially covering Twin Hearts Between the Planes.
You examine the file
"Most people in town think Backwater Church changes religious affiliation once every seven years," Bethany says, "but guess what I found out? This whole time they've just been worshipping different incarnations of X'n'xa the Inevitable March Towards Death, which technically makes them Episcopalians. Religion is wild, huh?"
Look around
Estate Agent's Office (Jenni Polodna)
The space is dominated by the unexpectedly symbiotic combination of a giant desk and a tiny woman, who together give the impression of being one complete single entity, like a centaur. The surface of the desk is becoming cluttered with glossy architectural magazines, manila folders, and real estate listings pamphlets. Behind it, a gunmetal-grey filing cabinet lurks unattractively in the far corner. The exit back out to the street is east.

The lion sex book lies on the desk, partially covered, waiting for you to steal it. "Soon, lion sex book," you whisper in your head. "It won't be long now."

Bethany looks at you expectantly. "I'd be stupidly thrilled to show you one of our many real estate files if you specify a property."
You examine the folder
Which folder? Backwater Church folder, Forthright & Rotier Estate Agency folder, Backwater Public Library folder and Cragne Manor folder seem particularly interesting.
You look at the church folder
The church folder contains mostly receipts for the installation of various stained-glass windows. You spot one for $0.00 with a pen scrawl across the bottom reading "I refuse to depict Imelda Cragne as the Virgin Mary, may God have mercy on my soul."

"Oh yeah," Bethany says, when you point it out, "I forgot to mention that most of the Cragnes commissioned church windows of themselves as religious figures, but I guess the idea of a saintly Imelda Cragne clutching a baby Jesus was too much for that stained-glass artist. They fled to Canada the same day that receipt was written, which was absolutely the right call."
You examine the agency folder
That's weird; the estate agency folder contains nothing but a single security camera photo of the room you are currently in, taken from a vantage point near the ceiling. You feel compelled to take a closer look.
You examine photo
You look at the security camera photo in the estate agency folder.

The space is dominated by the unexpectedly symbiotic combination of a giant desk and a tiny woman, who together give the impression of being one complete single entity, like a centaur. The surface of the desk is becoming cluttered with glossy architectural magazines, manila folders, and real estate listings pamphlets. Behind it, a gunmetal-grey filing cabinet lurks unattractively in the far corner. The exit back out to the street is east.

A taller, short-haired woman wearing JNCOs and a trolley pass stands on the other side of the desk, blood dripping down her arm. You can't see her face, but... that can't be you, right? It looks like
you...

"Oh, hey, ignore that," Bethany tells you. "Our security camera got possessed a couple weeks ago and Ms. Rotier's been slacking on replacing it, that's all."
You examine the library folder
The Backwater Public Library folder is empty except for an index-card-sized note reading "Contents of this folder have been reclaimed as the rightful property of B.U.S.H. Any queries, complaints, and suggestions can be directed to the_uncaring_void_of_my_anal_canal@hotmail.com. Have a good
rest of your SUCK IT LOSERS!!!".
You look at the cragne manor folder
The Cragne Manor folder is thin enough to appear empty while closed. When you open it, you see that it contains nothing but a Post-It note with the words "BETHANY, TOOK THESE TO GET DIGITIZED. RECYCLE THIS NOTE PLEASE!!!" alongside a small drawing of an anthropomorphized Earth giving the thumbs-up.
You ask her about the town square
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and the syllables I just heard you say were 'Charles Bingadocio'.
You ask her about the Mausoleum
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and as far as I can tell, you just said 'radio fat lump'.
You ask her about the shack
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and all I got from that was 'bedlam cube'.
You ask her about circus
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and what I just heard you say was 'breaking up with Frito chili pie'.
You ask her about the hospital
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and the syllables I just heard you say were 'carcinomuffin'.
You ask her about the school
(Bethany about high school)
"Some stuff went down a few years ago and now the high school has never existed, plus it's banned from this dimension," Bethany says. "If you encounter a high school in Backwater, you're supposed to inform the authorities at... shoot, what was the number? Oh, right, there is no number, they'll just show up in a van."
You ask her about train station
(Bethany about Backwater Station)
"We've got a folder for that!" Bethany says, turning to search through the filing cabinet.
You take BOOK
definitely the right idea. When you play the scenario out in
your mind, though, it goes something like this:

[IMAGINARY SCENE] You slip the book into your pocket. Bethany
turns around, ready to drop the folder on the desk, and spots that the book is gone. Her octagonal eyes glow red, and each unruly curl of her hair transmogrifies into a cobra, its eyes glowing red and its fangs dripping venom. "WHERE IS MY BOOK?" she roars, shaking the walls of the real estate office.

The desk grows a mouth and chomps you in half somewhere around the lumbar spine. Your lower half bleeds out on the berber carpet as the desk masticates your torso and eyeballs and hands and other parts of your body you like a lot and use often. With a satisfied expression, Bethany retrieves the novel from the bloodsoaked pocket of your JNCOs. "Now I can finally confess my truth," she tells your exposed kidneys. "I think reading about lion sex is kind of nice actually."[END IMAGINARY SCENE]

...okay, clearly this town has got you in a real weird headspace. The point is, you'll have to find a way to steal the book without Bethany noticing you've stolen it, or things might get... uncomfortable.

"Found it!" Bethany drops the folder onto the desk, further covering Twin Hearts Between the Planes.
You examine train station folder
"Backwater didn't have a train station until 1968," Bethany tells you. "The local business owners were really pushing for one to be built, but the town council elders fought it tooth and nail, because they thought it would attract undesirables -- I think we both know what that's code for -- from the city. Then somebody pointed out the undesirables from the city, if you were nice to them and gave them shotguns, would be great allies in the constant war against the even-less-desirables who kept slithering out of the hills on their tentacle legs to steal babies. Backwater got noticeably less racist after that. Also fuller of babies."
You ask her about the pub
(Bethany about the pub)
"Sure thing! Hold tight while I look for that folder," Bethany says, turning to search through the filing cabinet.
You take BOOK
definitely the right idea. When you play the scenario out in
your mind, though, it goes something like this:

[IMAGINARY SCENE] You slip the book into your pocket. Bethany
turns around, ready to drop the folder on the desk, and spots that the book is gone. Her octagonal eyes glow red, and each unruly curl of her hair transmogrifies into an individual tarantula with its own set of eight hairy legs. "WHERE IS MY BOOK?" she roars, shaking the walls of the real estate office.

The desk grows a mouth and chomps you in half somewhere around the lumbar spine. Your lower half bleeds out on the berber carpet as the desk masticates your torso and eyeballs and hands and other parts of your body you like a lot and use often. With a satisfied expression, Bethany retrieves the novel from the bloodsoaked pocket of your JNCOs. "Now I can finally confess my truth," she tells your exposed kidneys. "I think reading about lion sex is kind of nice actually."[END IMAGINARY SCENE]

...okay, clearly this town has got you in a real weird headspace. The point is, you'll have to find a way to steal the book without Bethany noticing you've stolen it, or things might get... uncomfortable.

"Here's the folder!" Bethany drops the folder onto the desk, further covering Twin Hearts Between the Planes.

"The pub was the first building constructed in Backwater," Bethany tells you. "It's been through approximately one hundred and seventy-eight changes of ownership since. The current owners say it's haunted by the ghost of an angry brewer who had his secret recipe for triple-dark stout stolen by Benjamin Franklin, but my
research suggests they just made that up to get on the Food Network. They used to have pretty good maple poutine but the current owners got all uppity about 'that's not real Vermont food, that's fake Canadian tourist food, blah blah fiddleheads blah blah blah.' I kind of hate the current owners, if I'm honest."
You look at the station folder
The train station folder is incredibly thick. Flipping through it, most of its bulk appears to be schedules of arrivals and departures, and you're about to fall asleep when a folded page flutters out from between the timetables. You unfold it and take a look.

"Oh, that thing is great," Bethany says. "It's a map of a proposed trolley system through Backwater, which wound up not getting built because it turned out the guy who sold it was secretly a bear, and no one knew what to do with that information. The trolley system would have been so cool though."
You look at the trolley
From what you've seen of Backwater, it's not that big, yet the trolley system on the map in your hands is extensive. A forest-green line runs into the woods, while a line as red as raw beef connects the downtown to the meatpacking plant. The church has its own line (gold), Cragne Manor has several (in various shades of purple -- also,
why?), and Backwater itself is split into "Dangerous
Backwater" (orange) and "Spooky Backwater" (blue). Apparently the real estate office is in Spooky Backwater, whatever that means.
You ask her about the Meatpacking Plant
(Bethany about Meatpacking Plant)
"Great, I'll show you the folder for that!" Bethany says, turning to search through the filing cabinet.
You take BOOK
definitely the right idea. When you play the scenario out in
your mind, though, it goes something like this:

[IMAGINARY SCENE] You slip the book into your pocket. Bethany
turns around, ready to drop the folder on the desk, and spots that the book is gone. Her octagonal eyes glow red, and each unruly curl of her hair transmogrifies into a cobra, its eyes glowing red and its fangs dripping venom. "WHERE IS MY BOOK?" she roars, shaking the walls of the real estate office.

The desk grows a mouth and chomps you in half somewhere around the lumbar spine. Your lower half bleeds out on the berber carpet as the desk masticates your torso and eyeballs and hands and other parts of your body you like a lot and use often. With a satisfied expression, Bethany retrieves the novel from the bloodsoaked pocket of your JNCOs. "Now I can finally confess my truth," she tells your exposed kidneys. "I think reading about lion sex is kind of nice actually."[END IMAGINARY SCENE]

...okay, clearly this town has got you in a real weird headspace. The point is, you'll have to find a way to steal the book without Bethany noticing you've stolen it, or things might get... uncomfortable.

"Time to cross finding this folder off of the to-do list!"
Bethany drops the folder onto the desk. Twin Hearts Between the Planes is now completely hidden from view.
"The meatpacking plant was built by Alfred Silas Cragne in 1901 as an attempt to make a little money off of that year's Seven Days' Rain of Dead Pigs," Bethany tells you. "Which, as you might guess, was a phenomenon during which almost five thousand pigs fell out of the sky over downtown Backwater. Amazingly, only one person died, and everybody hated him, so it was a net win for the town."

She shakes her head. "The pub owner likes to go on about how great it must have been to take a bucket out in the street and fill up on free bacon, but what I think is, if it means not getting clocked
in the head with a pig hoof at the standard gravitational acceleration rate, I'd rather just spend the three bucks at Shaw's."
You examine pub
Along with some incredibly boring-looking documents, the folder labeled "Head & Anchor Pub (BETHANY: RELABEL THIS FOLDER)" contains a list of name changes and a piece of paper with all of the words blacked out FBI-style. "What's this?" you ask Bethany, indicating the latter.

"Oh, that's the old secret menu for the pub, from back when it was the Sad Aroma and Garter Belt. It was a little too secret, if you
want my opinion."
You look at the plant folder
You open the meatpacking plant folder and a chunk of raw beef falls onto the floor. Holding the folder as horizontally as possible, you open it the rest of the way. It's entirely full of raw beef. Mostly ground chuck, but you see a couple of ribs sticking out, and on the top is... is that a New York strip steak? "Hot beef injection compliments of B.U.S.H.," reads a note impaled into the meat pile.

"True confession?" Bethany says, "I know they're proud of that little prank, but that's like thirty dollars worth of meat, and the park by my house has a grill."
You ask her about the park
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and all I got from that was 'hose beast city'.
You ask her about bush
(Bethany about Badfinger University Shadow Historians.)
"Badfinger University is five miles up the river from Squahonomie, and their Shadow Historians have been our archrivals for almost a century and a half," Bethany explains. "Every September our grad students and theirs engage in ritualized academic combat to decide which school has jurisdiction over which historical topics. This year they got almost all of the Cragnes -- I was gunning hard for Stella, and I made sure we kept Deuteronomous -- but this guy Josh that I hate blew the rest of our points on Jedediah Beaverhat, who is not even real,
he's a pancake house mascot. I kinda think Josh is a mole."
You ask her about Stella
(Bethany about Stella Archer Cragne)
"Stella Archer Cragne disappeared on the third of May, 1981," Bethany tells you. "She told her husband she was going into town to buy a hat for Petunia Cragne's wedding. The ticket taker at the station confirmed that she boarded the 12:35 train to Montpelier, and after that (once again Bethany drops her voice into Unsolved Mysteries registers) nobody saw her again. Dead or alive."

"Ask me about Stella again if you want to hear all the facts of the case; I'm supposed to practice getting consent before quote-unquote talking people's ears off. People care an awful lot about their ears around here, if you ask me."
You ask her about Stella
(Bethany about Stella Archer Cragne)
Holding up her fingers one by one, Bethany cheerfully enumerates the facts of the case. "Fact! Stella had no known enemies; the family liked her -- well, except Imelda Cragne, but she was a
102-year-old racist who croaked six months before Stella went missing, so it's unlikely she was involved."

"Fact! By all accounts, Stella & Horace were one of those boring quiet couples that stay home a lot and don't have affairs. Fact! I really enjoy saying 'fact!' Fact!"

"Fact! Stella left the house with just her wallet and keys. She wasn't the purse-carrying type, but she owned a couple good-sized
bags she could have packed some underwear and a toothbrush in if she'd planned to run away."

"Fact! The Backwater P.D. searched all of the possessions she'd left behind and none of it was more suspicious than a Jell-O mold.
I saw the whole list and lemme tell ya, I have weirder stuff in my pockets right now, including one or two bird skulls."
You ask her about the lion sex
(Bethany about Twin Hearts Between the Planes)
Bethany looks you straight in the eyes, radiating academic gravitas. "Okay, so, believe me when I say that I don't normally read sci-fi bodice rippers starring big handsome lion guys."

You assure her that you did not have her pegged as a paranormal romance enthusiast, and she visibly relaxes before continuing.

"It's research, sort of," she explains. "See, Leelah Vaughan is the pen name of Stella Archer Cragne, wife of Horace Cragne. This book was published in 1980 -- one year before Stella Archer Cragne (here Bethany drops her voice about two octaves) mysteriously
vanished."
You ask her about the pockets
(Bethany about a funny story)
"It's a funny story," Bethany says. You wait for her to tell it to you, but she doesn't.
You ask her about Peter
(Bethany about Peter)
"I'm afraid I haven't met your husband, no," Bethany says. "I only moved here a few years ago, and he moved away in -- I mean, as a historian, I know about -- what I mean is, the Cragne family
basically is Backwater -- so-yes-I-know-a-lot-about-your-husband-and-I-hope-that-isn't-creepy
."
She coughs uncomfortably into some papers, avoiding your gaze.
You ask her about Jedediah Beaverhat
(Bethany about Jedediah Beaverhat)
"One legend goes that Jedediah Beaverhat invented the pancake, then he wanted something sweet to go on top of it, so he went into the forest and seduced Maple Kate, who was the half-druid tribal chief of the -- ugh, I don't know why I'm telling you Jedediah Beaverhat stories." Bethany makes a disgusted face. "He's not real, okay? He's not even an authentic local myth, just something the Goldwater Restaurant Group made up in 1953 to trick motorists into stopping for corn syrup."
You ask her about the restaurant
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and as far as I can tell, you just said 'freedom horse binge'.
You ask her about deuteronomous
(Bethany about Deuteronomous Cragne)
"Deuteronomous Cragne came from somewhere in the mid-1790s
and founded the Backwater line of Cragnes. He's your husband's great-great-great-great-grandfather," Bethany tells you. "He had a lot of portraits commissioned of himself as this huge vampire-looking guy with bright red eyes and a twenty-hand-tall nightmare stallion, but I found some charcoal drawings of him as a teenager, and he's practically cherubic-looking. Like a Keebler Elf with fluffy sideburns. It's hilarious."
You ask her about spooky Backwater
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and I only understood you as far as saying 'Charles Bingadocio'.
You look at the pamphlet
|| 8 BR 1 BA || Quiet neighborhood! Completely redone with brand new floors and concrete-sealed basement. Hardly any muttering!

|| 3 BR 2 BA || Great river views and convenient for boating! Trawl for crayfish from the comfort of your living room. Entire upstairs still mostly above water!

|| 2 BR 5 BA || An obelisk lover's dream! Extensive yard boasts a true infinity pool and an impressive collection of garden statuary, including twin sphinxes. Paradoxically nearby to everything!

Underneath the description of 23 Euclid Street, someone has scrawled the words "JACKDAWS LOVE MY BIG SPHINX OF QUARTZ."
You ask her about 23 euclid street
(Bethany about 23 Euclid Street)
"Let me grab the folder for that!" Bethany says, turning to search through the filing cabinet.
You take BOOK
You utilize the skills you trained long and hard in the finest shopping malls of the greater Dallas-Fort Worth area. Moving like a rattlesnake (except without the rattling, obviously), you
silently slide the lion sex book out from underneath the folders and slip it into the pocket of your JNCOs before Bethany has a chance to turn around.

~~Lion sex book GET.~~
You check your inventory
"Found it!" Bethany drops the folder onto the desk.
You press the space
"Back in the 70s it was hip to build your pad on top of a transdimensional leyline nexus even though that plays hell with the electrical wiring," Bethany tells you. "It's a genuinely cool property, though. I've been over there a couple times to check the portals. One of the sphinxes and I get along great, the other one is all pissy with me because I solved all its riddles in three minutes."

She sighs. "I offered to help it write new ones and, like, centralize a database? But now whenever it sees me it just rolls its eyes and makes fart noises, and I'm all, 'Real mature, sphinx.' It makes it super awkward chatting with the other one 'cause they're only
ten feet apart from each other but the house is still really cool. There's an infinity pool and everything."
You ask about the infinity pool
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and all I got from that was 'Junelaska vacation'.
You ask her about 18 F'tagn court
(Bethany about 18 F'tagn Court)
"Absolutely! Let me find that folder," Bethany says, turning to search through the filing cabinet.
Wait
Time passes.

"Time to cross finding this folder off of the to-do list!"
Bethany drops the folder onto the desk.
"Some crazy stuff went down at 18 F'tagn Court," Bethany tells you. "In fact, there was this huge mess and we had to change the floors."

"The floors?" you ask.

"You see, his bl-- his blackyard blarbecue got a blit out of hand." She tightens her lips. "And it, uh, blurnt the floorbloards. So we had to change them."

You quirk an eyebrow at Bethany and she deflates. "Sorry," she says, "I keep forgetting I'm supposed to lie about F'tagn Court, and
wow am I really not great at it. Wanna know about any
buildings where they didn't find a ton of faceless bodies?"
You ask her about 18 F'tagn court
(Bethany about 18 F'tagn Court)
"Faceless bodies?" you ask Bethany.

She tightens her lips and shakes her head vigorously. "Blarbecue! It was a very blad blarbecue. They blurnt the blatwurst and forgot the bluns. Also the potato salad had clams in it, yuck."

You realize you're probably much happier not knowing, so you let it drop.
You ask her about 36 river walk drive
(Bethany about 36 River Walk Drive)
"Let me grab the folder for that!" Bethany says, turning to search through the filing cabinet.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

"The folder-finding wizard has done it again!" Bethany drops the folder onto the desk.
"You know that ad where someone gets chocolate into someone else's peanut butter and someone else gets peanut butter into someone else's chocolate?" Bethany asks you. "That is basically what happened with 36 River Walk Drive except instead of a peanut butter cup you have a mostly underwater house and instead of being delicious it is soggy and bad."
You examine the walk folder
The folder for 36 River Walk Drive is completely waterlogged. Carefully, you pull away the top layer of manila. Inside is a large clump of illegibly smeared, soggy paper that rips apart when you attempt to separate the pages.

"You're probably thinking that file is all wet because the property sank into the river and there's some kind of sympathetic magic in effect," Bethany says, "but what actually happened was, I dropped it in the toilet. My bad!" You quickly put the folder back down.
You examine 18 F'tagn court
The moment you slip your thumbnail between the two layers of the folder to separate them, the real estate office fills with a horrible shrieking as though angels were being torn limb from limb by an ungodly threshing machine, and you quickly withdraw your hand. "Yeah," Bethany says, "yeah, it does that."
You look at 23 euclid street
The folder for 23 Euclid Street is full of what you at first take to be someone's collection of midcentury modern cocktail napkins, then quickly realize is someone's collection of sphinx porn, crudely sketched onto midcentury modern cocktail napkins.

"Yeah, there's a lot going on in that folder," says Bethany. "I was gonna warn you, but then I thought, nah, you look like a woman who can handle her sphinx dong."

"Oh, I definitely am," you assure her, staring down a pair of cartoon sphinxes with comically oversized genitals engaged in a sex act you know only as the Even Wetter Willy.

"Wanna know the really funny part?" Bethany asks you. "Sphinxes are asexual. I literally don't know why we hold on to these napkins."
You ask her about the crystal
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and as far as I can tell, you just said 'hose beast city'.
Inventory
You are carrying:
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a coded telegram
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You look at the pamphlet
|| 8 BR 1 BA || Quiet neighborhood! Completely redone with brand new floors and concrete-sealed basement. Hardly any muttering!

|| 3 BR 2 BA || Great river views and convenient for boating! Trawl for crayfish from the comfort of your living room. Entire upstairs still mostly above water!

|| 2 BR 5 BA || An obelisk lover's dream! Extensive yard boasts a true infinity pool and an impressive collection of garden statuary, including twin sphinxes. Paradoxically nearby to everything!

Underneath the description of 23 Euclid Street, someone has scrawled the words "JACKDAWS LOVE MY BIG SPHINX OF QUARTZ."
You ask her about the quartz
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and I'm guessing you didn't really just say 'bratwurst effect'.
You ask her about the JACKDAWS
(Bethany about that)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and I only understood you as far as saying 'harbinger slosh slosh'.
Look around
Estate Agent's Office (Jenni Polodna)
The space is dominated by the unexpectedly symbiotic combination of a giant desk and a tiny woman, who together give the impression of being one complete single entity, like a centaur. The surface of the desk is invisible underneath a loose pile of glossy architectural magazines, manila folders, and real estate listings pamphlets. Behind it, a gunmetal-grey filing cabinet lurks unattractively in the far corner. The exit back out to the street is east.

Bethany looks at you expectantly. "Want to know about a building?"
You examine the filing cabinet
If a filing cabinet's purpose is to hold files without being otherwise interesting or remarkable, then this one has achieved self-actualization and is free to ascend to filing cabinet nirvana.
You read the lion sex
person you've stolen them from, who hasn't noticed you've stolen them yet. That's the kind of doof-butt mistake your husband would
make.

God, you hope he's okay.

The chill behind you intensifies, and you feel like you're being watched.
You look at the chill
A chill emanates from behind you, fading as you turn.
You ask her about the chill
(Bethany about the faint chill)
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and I'm guessing you didn't really just say 'breaking up with Frito chili pie'.
You go east
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.
You read the lion sex
You look at the inside cover of the paperback. The library insignia, a pair of back-to-back crescent moons flanking an eye which stares down at a book, is stamped here in purple. Underneath, in cursive, someone has written "For Mona with all the love in the world. Don't take Jim back. He's bad news." Following this is a loopy flourish of a signature you take to be "Leelah Vaughan."

[You can continue to READ the lion sex book; this is excerpt
1/7.]
You read the lion sex
(You flip open the lion sex novel and read a page at random.)

"You're leaving? Now? I don't understa--" She held her hands
up to protest, but instead found herself clutching the manuscript-sized envelope he pressed into her chest.

His voice was low and urgent in her ear, forcing a shiver to the base of her spine. "There's no time to explain. Keep this safe. If you believe in me, we'll see each other again."

"Hey, wait up now!" she called after him as he rounded the bend in the stairs. "The hell you going, Steve?" The door closed with a self-assured thump, and she was alone.

A few moments later, back in her office, she pulled the manuscript out of its envelope. It was thick; several hundred pages at least. Scrawled across the first was a simple four-word message: "THEY CAN'T SEE STORIES."

[You can continue to READ the lion sex book; this is excerpt
2/7.]
You read the lion sex
(You skim ahead a little bit in your lion sex book and find the
next interesting bit.)

One fierce blow from his assailant sent his flintlock pistol clattering onto the cobblestones. A second blow, this one to his gut, knocked the wind out of him and doubled him over. "This is it," he thought, "this is how I die, bludgeoned like a gopher by a third-rate murderer in the alleyways of 1890s London."

Just then, a mysterious interloper appeared from among the shadows to brain his attacker with a lead pipe, dropping the tough to the ground without so much as a grunt. Nodding in satisfaction, she pushed her gear-encrusted goggles to the top of her head. "Can't say I'm too impressed with this time period," she told him. "It's got sanitation problems for real."

"Portia?" Steve gaped at her like a puzzled fish. "What are you doing here?"

She pulled a manuscript-sized envelope out of her cloak and waved it at him. "I believe in you," she said, "and that's important for our relationship, but what's important for our lives right now is
that we run like hell."

[You can continue to READ the lion sex book; this is excerpt
3/7.]
You read the lion sex
(You open the lion sex book somewhere in the middle and read an excerpt.)

Portia jumped away from him so hard that she almost fell backwards over the fainting couch. "Steve!" she exclaimed. "You're a lion!"

"I've always been a lion," he explained. "I just deactivated the field that keeps people from noticing I'm a lion."

Portia's voice became a plaintive wail. "The hell, Steve? You had sex with me, I had sex with you, and you were a lion this whole
damn time? The whole time!"

[You can continue to READ the lion sex book; this is excerpt
4/7.]
You read the lion sex
(You continue reading the lion sex book right about where you left off.)

"I had lion dick in me?" Portia's voice was becoming dangerously loud, and Steve glanced nervously at the Viscount, to make sure the drugs had not yet worn off. "Those things have barbs, Steve!"

"Portia. Calm down. You would know if my dick had barbs."

"My mama raised purebred cats, Steve, I have seen some crap, all right? I have seen some crap."

Grimly, Steve removed his pants. "Here. I'll prove it to you."

[You can continue to READ the lion sex book; this is excerpt
5/7.]
You read the lion sex
The next approximately eighty-seven pages are all lion sex. All of them. All of it.

[You can continue to READ the lion sex book; this is excerpt
6/7.]
You read the lion sex
You flip to the very end of the lion sex book [spoilers]. It ends with Steve and Portia retiring to a stable time loop somewhere on Approximate Earth to raise their half-lion (and quarter-dolphin? when did that happen?) kids.

Just inside the back cover, someone has written: "BJIYO -- SIX TIF J MOXXMD NIYDXLOBS WHIY XLD CFHOI NLIG. CLDCE XLD LOKKDB GICEDX IW TIFH AJCEGJCE. BIU SI SDX TIFH YJB, SOHM! O SIX YOBD JBK UD'HD KIOBS SHDJX. (LD NJTN LO & SIIK MFCE.) MIQD, JFBXOD NXDMMJ"

[This is the end of the lion sex book, but you can READ it again
to start over from the beginning.]
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You examine the Hearts
A somewhat battered paperback whose lovingly fantasy-painted cover features a corseted steampunk woman embracing a Regency period nobleman -- who is also an anthropomorphic lion -- in space. "TWIN HEARTS BETWEEN THE PLANES," raised letters proclaim. "LEELAH VAUGHAN."

Beneath the author's name, smaller text inside a sunburst informs you that this book was a 1981 Venus Rising nominee for "Best Sexual Tension." A shelving label for the Backwater Public Library covers the lower spine "[FIC / ERO / ANIMA / FELIS / YIKES]".

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.
You examine the hidden pocket
You feel around inside the backpack until you find the zipper pull cleverly disguised as a loose piece of thread. This must be a hidden pocket!
You look in the hidden pocket
You unzip the hidden pocket just enough to take a peek inside. It contains a trolley pass and a trolley schedule.
You take the schedule
That's hardly portable.
You open the hidden pocket
You open the hidden pocket, revealing a trolley pass and a trolley schedule.
You take the schedule
(the trolley schedule)
Taken.
You examine the PASS
A small blue piece of laminated cardboard that says "BACKWATER TROLLEY MONTHLY PASS" in tidy serif font, with a yellow rope lanyard for you to hang it around your neck. You pray to any gods listening that you and Peter will be on a faraway beach together by the time the pass expires.
You examine schedule
(the trolley schedule)
It's unlike any public transit schedule you've ever seen, in that there are no times listed. A cheerfully phrased block of introduction text instructs riders to hang their passes around their necks, proceed to a trolley stop, and WAIT FOR whatever color LINE corresponds with their choice of destination. Well okay then.

Destinations:
Brown Line -- Train Station
Gold Line -- Church
Blue Line -- Library Square
You wear the PASS
You put on the trolley pass.
You go northwest
Shack Exterior (Michael Lin)
You enter a clearing, the earth barren and the air heavy with mist. A low windowless wooden shack dominates the area. Sitting by the shack is a wooden painted doll, clockwork mechanisms visible in its joints. It's startlingly lifelike.

The woods are to the northwest, while that godforsaken town is to the southeast.

On the ground, just out of the doll's reach, lie some loose scraps of paper.
Examine scraps
Three scraps of paper, with various handwritten words on them. You can't read the contents from here.
You read the scraps
Three scraps of paper, with various handwritten words on them. You suspect that they may form a complete page if you reassemble them.
You reassemble the scraps
With some experimentation, you rearrange the pieces back into a single page. They seal together, as if by magic. You now hold a repaired page.
Examine page
A complete page, grimy yet strangely untorn. It reads: "I must have rest. My senses deceive me into thinking she can see me, hear me."
You look at the doll
(the clockwork doll)
A little doll of a girl. She's sitting at a little writing desk, with a book in front of her, firmly held underneath her arms. In one hand is a feather quill pen; at the other is an inkwell. Her eyes seem to bore through your pocket to where you're keeping the page. As if she wants to see what's written there.
About you
Apart from a touch of the heebie-jeebies, you feel fine.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You show the page to the doll
(the clockwork doll)
The doll springs to life with the whirring of hidden gears and mechanisms. Her eyes dart between the page and the book in front of her. Her quill moves from inkwell to paper and back again, copying the page's contents into the book. Finishing the passage with a terminal stroke of the pen, the doll's shoulders move up, then down, as if taking a breath. Her open hand clumsily raises one cover and pushes it over, closing the book.

She pushes it in your direction until it tumbles to the ground.
You take BOOK
(The Dollmaker's Journal)
Taken.
The doll begins to shudder and glow with heat. After a moment, the shaking stops, and the doll's head and hands sag, lifeless.
Examine book
Which do you mean, The Dollmaker's Journal, Twin Hearts
Between the Planes, The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, the diary of Phyllis Cragne or the postcard of Big Ben?
You look at Dollmaker'S
A simple leatherbound journal, daubed with wayward paint splotches. A sticker on the cover bears the insignia of the Backwater Public Library.
You put the books in the book pocket
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Done.
diary of Phyllis Cragne: Done.
postcard of Big Ben: Done.
You look around
Shack Exterior (Michael Lin)
A clearing, outside a wooden shack. A clockwork doll sits here, utterly incongruous at the edge of the woods.

The woods are to the northwest, while that godforsaken town is to the southeast.
You examine the book list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
The Dollmaker's Journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
Tolerating An Asinine God
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
Venator in Tenebris
'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
The Seven Gaunts
New England and the Bavarian Illuminati
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY

...Huh, you could have sworn that the list was longer before.
Go northwest
The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
Branches scramble overhead, straining toward one another in a bid to blot out the sky. Mercifully, light manages to filter down through an opening in the canopy above a small pond. Paths slither away into the forest to the north, southwest, and southeast.

soak in -- a welcome relief from the unsettling events of the
day.
You look at the branches
You gaze up. Were it not for the pond, you get the feeling these branches would weave themselves together to plunge these woods into near-total darkness.
You examine the pond
Your reflection stares back at you, tree branches framing your face. You can discern nothing beneath the surface of the black water. The pond might be a foot deep, or a hundred feet deep. Or bottomless.
About yourself
As good-looking as ever.
Inventory
You are carrying:
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You look around
The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
Branches scramble overhead, straining toward one another in a bid to blot out the sky. Mercifully, light manages to filter down through an opening in the canopy above a small pond. Paths slither away into the forest to the north, southwest, and southeast.
Swim
You consider the ominously inky water, and, considering yourself sane, decide against entering the pond voluntarily.

A flurry of dead leaves goes skittering along the ground, swirling past you in the wind.
You examine the canopy
You gaze up. Were it not for the pond, you get the feeling these branches would weave themselves together to plunge these woods into near-total darkness.

For a moment, the wind dies down. Leaves on the ground come to rest.
You look at the leaves
Leaves are everywhere. Some float, withered and aimless on the surface of the black water, the rest carpet the forest floor.
You count them
You feel a bizarre compulsion to count the leaves.

One... two... three...

...there are 69,105 of them. Give or take a few.

While counting the leaves, you appear to have revealed a flat stone.
You examine the stone
A flat stone with rounded edges. You eye the surface of the pond speculatively.

The wind momentarily stirs up a pile of leaves.
You get it
Taken.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear a mourning dove's plaintive song. From above, a leaf floats slowly toward the ground.
Skip stone
You weigh the flat stone in the palm of your hand for a moment or two, then decide to see if you can make it skip across the pond: you wind your arm back and fling the rock at an angle near-parallel to the water. It skips once... twice... three... four five six seven times, then disappears from view. You enjoy a brief feeling of accomplishment.

All of the sudden, the forest goes quiet. Completely quiet.
No wind, no doves, no sound at all.

You are frozen in the stillness, too scared to move.
You wait a while
The unsettling silence continues. It's almost as if the forest is waiting for something to ... to happen.

From the pond, a slimy ivory tentacle emerges, feeling its way toward you through the dead leaves.

You are transfixed, and powerless with fear.
You wait a while
It is as if you are observing from outside your own body: you watch as the eburnean appendage begins wrapping itself slowly around your ankle.

Suddenly, you are back inside your skin, and feel yourself being dragged toward the pond! You kick at the clammy white arm with your free foot, and desperately dig your fingers into the earth in an attempt to prevent the inevitable.

The surface of the once-placid pond now churns violently.
You hit the tentacle
To your horror, you are pulled beneath the surface!

All is dark. All is still. An unearthly calm consumes you. You cannot breathe, but you do not seem to care. You blink, unable to make out any shapes in the black water.

Then, from the depths, an ivory shape emerges: a many-tentacled creature. The cephalopod floats toward you, coming eye to eye, and you sense something... maybe sadness?...
You ask the creature about the pond
Gently, two white tentacles place a delicate silver chain around your neck. Before you have time to express surprise or gratitude, the pond kraken carries you to shore. You inhale, thankful for the air, and turn back toward the pond just in time to see the last of the creature slip back beneath the surface.
You examine the chain
The locket and chain are silver, surprisingly untouched by the murky depths from which they came. The front of the locket bears a tiny embossed likeness of a kraken. The initials E.C. are engraved
on its back.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
About yourself
As good-looking as ever.

You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken.

The wind picks up again for a moment, and a few leaves fall from above. One of the leaves settles in your hair. You disentangle the leaf and toss it to the ground.
You open the locket
You open the antique locket, revealing a tintype.

The wind comes from a new direction. The skeletons of dead leaves scratch against one another.
You look at the tintype
A portrait of a young but stern-looking woman with dark locks and darker eyes has been placed within the locket. The photograph is, to your amazement, dry and in good nick, despite how it came to be in your possession. You idly wonder if there's anything hidden behind it.
You get it
As you handle the photo, you notice something on its reverse. The handwriting is so small! You marvel at the clarity of the feminine script, which you are just able to make out. It reads:

To my Eliakim,
Eburnean Alderman of
the Variegated Court.
I would follow thee
to the depths of Hell.
- Faythe
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a tintype
an antique locket (being worn and open but empty)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
Close locket
You close the antique locket.
Search leaves
You feel no need to collect any leaves, but you poke at them with your foot, uncovering a flat stone.

For a moment, the wind dies down. Leaves on the ground come to rest.
You take the stone
It reminds you of the stone you skipped across the pond, awakening a long-dormant horror. You cannot bring yourself to touch it.
Skip stone
There is absolutely no fucking way you will try skipping stones again. Ever.
You look around
The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
Branches scramble overhead, straining toward one another in a bid to blot out the sky. Mercifully, light manages to filter down through an opening in the canopy above a small pond. Paths slither away into the forest to the north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a flat stone here.

The wind momentarily stirs up a pile of leaves.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a stochastic pattern resembling television static. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
You go northeast
The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
Branches scramble overhead, straining toward one another in a bid to blot out the sky. Mercifully, light manages to filter down through an opening in the canopy above a small pond. Paths slither away into the forest to the north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a flat stone here.
Go north
The Old Well (Reed Lockwood)
The trees here gather, black with wet; glimmering fingers hung with ragged matter, huddling beneath a cold and gently weeping sky. Beneath your feet, the damp red felt of rotting leaves slopes down toward a still, murky puddle. Nearby is a well, capped off with crumbling cement. A broken-down section of brick wall waits for raindrops to fall along its spine, and an old, half-dead oak straddles an angular boulder studded with quartz. A path through the forest leads south.

You can see a wooden sigil here.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Green Line -- The Woods.
You examine the puddle
A still, murky puddle sits beneath the tree. The slightest of ripples disturb its surface. There's something a little odd about it.
You look at well
An old well cap made of crumbling cement emerges from the forest floor here. Two wrought-iron handles, pitted with rust, emerge from the top. A padlock, also rusted, holds it closed.
You examine the padlock
It's rusted tight, but still solid.
You look at the handles
Two rusty loops of iron jut from the top of the well.
You look at the oak
It's an old, twisted oak tree grown over a granite boulder here. Many of its branches are rotting away, yet it clings to life. It has a hollow knothole at about eye level, and a large, prominent root juts from its base.
You examine the knothole
You peer into the knothole and find an oilcloth parcel. You pick it up.
You examine the parcel
An old rectangular parcel, oilcloth wrapped with twine. Given its size and shape, you're guessing it's a book.
You examine the root
Just a thck root sticking out from the base of the tree. Or is it? This might require a closer look.
You get root
That seems to be a part of the twisted old oak.
Open parcel
You open the parcel, discovering a moldy journal and what looks to be a strange little battery. You toss the wrappings away. They look biodegradable enough. Indeed, they look like they've already begun biodegrading.
You examine moldy
It's heavily damaged by the elements. You can make out the letters "-AGNE" on the front cover.
You read it
You riffle through the pages; only short passages are still legible:

"... circular golden prosthesis seems to have chosen Mabel ... doctor said he can't remove it without harming the child ..."

"... Mabel spends long hours examining stumps and rocks in the woods ... and I are most concerned. Mabel's stories of fairies and HIDDEN LANDS seem more than childish fancy"

(There's a long section of the book here which is ruined and entirely illegible, although you can make out diagrams and the faded, troubling outlines of strange shapes)

"... constructed the sigil out of sculpted and varnished wood after many ... Mabel instructs me on where it should be placed ... spirits she is in communication with have constructed various devices at her command ... creatures I have dubbed microphids ... "

"... Clara still doesn't believe; threatened to get Pastor Crowell involved ... able to dodge him so far ... quit my position at ..."

"... very concerned but there is no body ... up to seven successful SUMMONINGS that have remained docile ... we will never know, and quite frankly these studies are more important than that ... Each creature must process through three ARCHES, through three HABITATS and stages of development before finally maturing through the ARCH and SIGIL ... special GLUE created by that one created via the sequence ->FOREST->(illegible)->CLIFFS ..."

"... at Clara's insistence I have written to the University ... fake name ... one we have dubbed Moppy is friendly enough and a loyal companion to Mabel ..."

"... siphoning off the rest of the inheritance ... haven't seen her in a while ... sent an officer of the law to fetch Mabel, but Moppy took care of him ..."

(another long damaged section)

"... only Tall Pete is left ... lay Mabel in a grave beside Moppy ... TERRIBLE LIZARD-BIRD was raised up from the OCEAN - is still out there somewhere ..."

"... now I wear the PROSTHESIS; now I can see
everything. ... breached the walls of perception ... I am PRODDING the EGG MACHINE on the QUARTZ OUTCROPPING ... dozens of them GATHER to PROTECT me from the LIZARD BIRD ... PULLED the ROOF clear off my SHELTER ..."

And that's it. There's no more. Well, you suppose you didn't actually expect the author to keep writing right up until the point of his death, but you're a little disappointed.
You examine the battery
(the small, rectangular battery)
A slick golden rectangle, slightly bowed, with contacts at one end marked "+" and "-".
You examine the SIGIL
A circular wooden frame is embedded in the ground here, organic arcs of wood carved with strange symbols. Though surrounded by rot, it is entirely intact despite its apparent age.
You look around
The Old Well (Reed Lockwood)
The trees here gather, black with wet; glimmering fingers hung with ragged matter, huddling beneath a cold and gently weeping sky. Beneath your feet, the damp red felt of rotting leaves slopes down toward a still, murky puddle. Nearby is a well, capped off with crumbling cement. A broken-down section of brick wall waits for raindrops to fall along its spine, and an old, half-dead oak straddles an angular boulder studded with quartz. A path through the forest leads south.

You can see a wooden sigil here.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Green Line -- The Woods.
You examine wall
Damp bricks, decades old. They are not quite right, somehow.
You examine the boulder
A jagged gray boulder leans here among the trees, coming to about your waist. It would be largely unremarkable but for the fact that it is straddled by the twisted old oak. A ghostly patch of quartzite graces one corner of it.
You examine quartzite
Pure, translucent white. Something is a little bit off about it.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
Go down
No, the well is sealed shut.
You get SIGIL
That's fixed in place.
About yourself
As good-looking as ever.

You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken.
You examine the puddle
A still, murky puddle sits beneath the tree. The slightest of ripples disturb its surface. There's something a little odd about it.
You examine the Shack
A simple wooden shack, with a closed door in it.
You examine the door
A wooden door, with a keyhole by the handle.
You open the door
It seems to be locked.
Go inside
(first opening the Shack Door)
It seems to be locked.
Go southeast
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You go south
Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

A man is leaning on the bridge rail, staring intensely at you with his only eye.
You go to the southwest
Drinking Fountain (Lucian Smith)
A public drinking fountain is placed in a nook here, nearly overgrown with ivy. You can return to the town square to the northeast.
You look at the Fountain
An ornate brick drinking fountain, with a spout above a silver bowl, a button underneath, and surrounded by ivy.
You examine the ivy
Thick ivy grows around the fountain, obscuring all but the bowl and spout.
You look at the button
A round button set in the brick underneath the bowl of the drinking fountain.
Search bowl
You pull back the ivy from the side of the fountain, revealing, for some reason, a second fountain.
You examine second
(the secondary fountain)
The smaller fountain is nearly obscured by the disturbed ivy. Its bowl is filled with decaying leaves and crawling insects, and rust covers all its exposed metal. A crumbling sign is mounted in the brick above the spout.
Search second
(the secondary fountain)
You find nothing of interest.
You look at your surroundings
Drinking Fountain (Lucian Smith)
A public drinking fountain is placed in a nook here, nearly overgrown with ivy. You can return to the town square to the northeast.

Behind the main fountain, mounted in the same pillar of brick, is a second, somewhat smaller fountain.
Examine button
Which do you mean, the rusty button or the round button?
Rusty
The smaller fountain is nearly obscured by the disturbed ivy. Its bowl is filled with decaying leaves and crawling insects, and rust covers all its exposed metal. A crumbling sign is mounted in the brick above the spout.
You get the sign
That seems to be a part of the secondary fountain.
About you
You're feeling tired, and your hair is a mess.
You look at the schedule
It's unlike any public transit schedule you've ever seen, in that there are no times listed. A cheerfully phrased block of introduction text instructs riders to hang their passes around their necks, proceed to a trolley stop, and WAIT FOR whatever color LINE corresponds with their choice of destination.

Destinations:
Brown Line -- Train Station
Gold Line -- Church
Blue Line -- Library Square
Green Line -- The Woods
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a child's wagon. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.
Go east
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large blasphemous sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

What appears to be a rope is tied around one of the beams of the bridge. A ragged knot ties the other end to some misshapen piece of polished, almost pristine, metal while the rest of the rope is coiled neatly on the planks.
You look at the slats
The calcareous slats that form the walkway feel strangely light underfoot; as though hollowed out and filled with air. In the gaps between, you can see the churning water below, stare too long and you are sure to become nauseous. Each platform stretches your legs as you move from one to the next; the gait of the bridge's architects must have been strange indeed.

The taut cords that give the structure its shape appear to be woven in some complex fungoid plait that elongates and contracts with a slither as you step across.
About you
You're having a hell of a day, but you're determined to keep moving forward. Despite the burning in your limbs and the fact that you could really do with a drink right now, you're still (miraculously) in one piece.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You look at the plait
As you look closer, the puce strands that make up the plait seem to move. Whether some optical illusion caused by their intricate braiding or something altogether more organic, you couldn't say. You look away quickly.
You examine the pillars
Two monolithic pillars form the entrance to the bridge. Their oily green-black stone appears to be carved with hieroglyphics unknown to you, consisting for the most part of conventionalized aquatic symbols such as fishes, eels, octopi, crustaceans, molluscs, whales, and the like. Several characters obviously represented marine things which are unknown to the modern world. You shudder and tear your eyes away.
You look at Bridge
The body of the bridge is formed of some offensive metamorphic stone; as if marble had been tainted by the presence of an abominable fungus that, aeons ago, had been subsumed into its surface. You are currently balancing on a walkway of calcareous slats.
You look at the rope
A thick rope, stained dark with water and made inflexible by remnants of mud. One loop is fastened to the bridge with an impenetrable knot, while the other end is attached to a misshapen piece of polished metal.
You examine doll
The doll has a ferocious scowl on its face and a pull-string in the middle of its back.

It has the sort of head with two faces, one of which is hidden by its hair. Rotate the head and the other face will be forward.
You examine the metal
(the library card)
A battered beige rectangle with rounded corners, printed with the library insignia, and bearing the words:

is entitled to borrow books from
BACKWATER PUBLIC LIBRARY
Backwater, Vermont
and is responsible for all books taken on this card
Expires APRIL 1998
No 19078

A little metal dealy clips through the cardboard, with a mirror-reversed version of the ID number stamped into it.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Flee the strange rock formations.!"
You examine the polished metal
A piece of metal bent into a strange configuration. Sharp prongs curl in and around themselves like a gaping maw. You wouldn't want to cut yourself on those teeth. Curiously, the teeth are hinged, and could potentially be pried open.
You look at the rock
From the roof of the cavern hang strange formation in the jet black rock that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. As if stalactites had been urged to grow sideways by some bizarre quirk of gravity.
Open teeth
You pry the teeth open.
You look at the polished metal
A piece of metal bent into a strange configuration. Sharp prongs curl in and around themselves like a gaping maw. You wouldn't want to cut yourself on those teeth. The teeth are currently pried open.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You get the metal
(the library card)
You already have that.
You get the polished metal
You get your hand under the coils of rope and manage to lift them up. The added weight of the water drags down your tired limbs.
You look at your surroundings
Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large pulsating sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

One end of a rope is tied around a beam of the bridge; the other end is attached to the strange metallic object in your arms.
You examine the sculpture
A labyrinthine network of pipes form the base of the structure, climbing up to a wide, shallow cauldron filled with luminescent green moss. Some crack in the ceiling allows a steady drip of degenerated liquid to fall on the moss and it pulses with light in time with the regular falling of the fluid. At the bottom of the sculpture, one of the pipes flows into a circular pool of liquid. Beside the pool, there is a brazier filled with some manner of desiccated organic material.
You examine the material
Although definitely organic, it's dry and crumbly and long-dead. It's hard to tell at this point whether it was a plant or a moss or something defying classification entirely.
You examine brazier
Formed of twisted iron, it contains clumps of dry vegetation.
You look at the pool
A shallow pool of foul liquid that flows from the mesmerizing pipes of the structure. Next to the pool is a brazier filled with some manner of desiccated organic material.
You examine cauldron
It is too high above you to see clearly from here, but something in the cauldron seems to flare up with each drop of liquid, filling the area with a flickering green light.
You look at the crack
It is too far away to even see clearly, but the foul liquid must be dripping from somewhere.
You examine the liquid
A shallow pool of foul liquid that flows from the wet pipes of the structure. Next to the pool is a brazier filled with some manner of desiccated organic material.
You look at the rope
A thick rope, stained dark with water and made inflexible by remnants of mud. One loop is fastened to the bridge with an impenetrable knot, while the other end is attached to a misshapen piece of polished metal.
You wear the rope
(first taking the rope)
That's fixed in place.
Wear teeth
(first taking the metal claw-trap)
That's fixed in place.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You are also carrying the strange claw-shaped metal trap and the rope attached to it. Its menacing jaw glints in the membranous gloom.
You attach trap
What do you want to attach the metal claw-trap to?
You look around
Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large piscatorial sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

One end of a rope is tied around a beam of the bridge; the other end is attached to the strange metallic object in your arms.
You look around
Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large loathsome sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

One end of a rope is tied around a beam of the bridge; the other end is attached to the strange metallic object in your arms.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You are also carrying the strange claw-shaped metal trap and the rope attached to it. Its menacing jaw glints in the inhuman gloom.
You throw the claw at the sculpture
(first taking the rope)
That's fixed in place.
About you
You're having a hell of a day, but you're determined to keep moving forward. Despite the burning in your limbs and the fact that you could really do with a drink right now, you're still (miraculously) in one piece.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the pillars! Green is the color of poison and untamed growth! Stone means that which is older than human history!"
You examine the pillars
Two monolithic pillars form the entrance to the bridge. Their oily green-black stone appears to be carved with hieroglyphics unknown to you, consisting for the most part of conventionalized aquatic symbols such as fishes, eels, octopi, crustaceans, molluscs, whales, and the like. Several characters obviously represented marine things which are unknown to the modern world. You shudder and tear your eyes away.
You examine the slats
The calcareous slats that form the walkway feel strangely light underfoot; as though hollowed out and filled with air. In the gaps between, you can see the churning water below, stare too long and you are sure to become nauseous. Each platform stretches your legs as you move from one to the next; your foot nearly slips and you cry out as you fling yourself forward so as not to fall.

The taut cords that give the structure its shape appear to be woven in some complex pale plait that elongates and contracts with a slither as you step across.
You examine sculpture
A labyrinthine network of pipes form the base of the structure, climbing up to a wide, shallow cauldron filled with luminescent green moss. Some crack in the ceiling allows a steady drip of pallid liquid to fall on the moss and it pulses with light in time with the regular falling of the fluid. At the bottom of the sculpture, one of the pipes flows into a circular pool of liquid. Beside the pool, there is a brazier filled with some manner of desiccated organic material.
You climb it
With a little difficulty, you manage to haul your way up the sculpture until you are about halfway up. From here, you can see a strange outline under the water.
You look at the outline
The outline of some strange formation under the water catches your eye. Bleached white and unmoving - perhaps a skeleton?
You drop the claw
You let the rope fall in an untidy coil back onto the bridge.

[If you meant to throw it over the side, try THROW ROPE INTO WATER]
You throw the rope into the water
You loop the rope around your hands, placing the strange metal contraption on the wall of the bridge. Giving the nameless apparatus a hard shove, you send it tumbling over the edge into the water. You could climb down the rope now, if you wanted to.
You stand
You get off the protrusion.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large diabolical sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

You peer beneath the sickly, putrid green colour of the river. Strange... From here it almost looks as if you can see the outline of something, just visible under the water.

A rope trails from the post of the bridge off into the turbulent water.
You climb the rope
You gingerly tighten your hands around the fraying fibres and lower yourself until you are just above the water.

Bridge (hanging underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are hanging precariously under the monstrous structure. The frayed rope digs into your palms painfully, but the deafening crash of the water beneath you keeps you clinging on for now.

Hanging from the stone is something similar in form, if not in texture, to a abnormal bat.

There is some strange semi-aquatic weed growing upside-down from the bottom of the bridge, a mesmerizing hybrid of what seems to be a mushroom and a coral.

A rope runs from the bridge above you down into the water below.

You'll need to specify whether you want to go up or down.
You examine the bat
While the creature has the same chiropteran features as a common bat, its "wings" are the color of rotting meat and have a phlegmatic glutinous texture. As you strain your eyes to examine the menacing fauna, it begins to nibble on the strange weed. It opens its mouth in a yawn and you see the creature's tongue coated with a thin film of pale brown powder. After a few moments it gives a gesture approximately equatable to a sneeze before letting go of its perch and dropping into the water like a stone.
You examine the bat
The bat has disappeared beneath the waves, making further zoological study impossible.
You look at the moss
It is too high above you to see clearly from here, but something in the cauldron seems to flare up with each drop of liquid, filling the area with a flickering green light.
You examine the weed
A type of flora or perhaps fungi unfamiliar to you. The orange myceloid root structure apparently anchoring it to the bridge is reminiscent of a mushroom, but the pale, calcified protrusions that extend downwards appear akin to bleached coral, branching out in an almost bronchial form.
You eat the weed
It is a bit too far away to get your mouth to it, though you could reach out and touch it.
You touch it
The cauldron is too far away to reach, but the same liquid seems to flow down through the pipes into the shallow pool.
You take the weed
Your fingers brush against the infernal coral hybrid and are now covered in some strange powder. If the organism is truly analogous to a fungal specimen, you suppose, perhaps, these are its spores.
You look at the spores
Your fingers are coated with pale, brown dust expelled from the congealed weed growing under the bridge.
You eat the spores
Cautiously, you extend your tongue and lick the powder off your fingertips. It tastes like a foaming combination of salt and earth. Almost immediately you begin to choke, the sensation of something germinating rapidly within the walls of your throat. Whatever it is seems to be sucking all the moisture from your windpipe as it grows exponentially, its branching structure blocking the air from entering your lungs.

Your mouth and throat feel horribly dry. You cough painfully.
Go downwards
You thrust your head down into the black water for just a moment and force yourself to swallow. The water seems to sate the confusing fungus, and when you rise up again you manage to cough it out. But for that moment you were underwater, you felt a rush of oxygen in your lungs...perhaps if you had a light, you could stay down there?
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a fungal powder
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
You check your inventory
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key

You are carrying:
a fungal powder
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You turn on the flashlight
You flip the switch a few times, but no light is forthcoming. It must have burned out.
You examine the flashlight
A small flashlight, with a rubber ring where it screws together to keep the water out.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a maple leaf. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You open the flashlight
You open the waterproof flashlight.
You examine it
A small flashlight, with a rubber ring where it screws together to keep the water out. It is currently open.

It currently contains a small light bulb and a dead battery.
You get the battery
(the dead battery)
Taken.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a dead battery
a fungal powder
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You put rectangular in the flashlight
The small, rectangular battery is too large to fit into the flashlight.
Look around
Bridge (hanging underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are hanging precariously under the monstrous structure. The frayed rope digs into your palms painfully, but the deafening crash of the water beneath you keeps you clinging on for now.

A few ripples are the only remaining sign of the batlike creature.

There is some strange semi-aquatic weed growing upside-down from the bottom of the bridge, a oozing hybrid of what seems to be a mushroom and a coral.

A rope runs from the bridge above you down into the water below.
Go upwards
You haul yourself upward, the rope digging into your hands leaving them red and sore. With tremendous effort you finally pull yourself back over the edge of the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large anarchic sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

A rope trails from the post of the bridge off into the turbulent water.
You get the liquid
You cup a bit in your bare hands, but it drips away, leaving only an oily residue which you rub away on your pants.
You look at the jar
A clear glass jar containing a hideous green insect. It's either dead or doing a very good job of playing dead and you have no desire to find out which. The number of legs and eyes appear to change every time you look at it.

It currently has six legs and four eyes.
You put the liquid in the flashlight
You coat the inside of the flashlight with the daemoniac oily liquid.
You put liquid in the flashlight
You coat the inside of the flashlight with the appalling oily liquid.
You close flashlight
You close the waterproof flashlight.
You descend
You gingerly tighten your hands around the fraying fibres and lower yourself until you are just above the water.

Bridge (hanging underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are hanging precariously under the monstrous structure. The frayed rope digs into your palms painfully, but the deafening crash of the water beneath you keeps you clinging on for now.

Hanging from the stone is something similar in form, if not in texture, to a repugnant bat.

There is some strange semi-aquatic weed growing upside-down from the bottom of the bridge, a maddening hybrid of what seems to be a mushroom and a coral.

A rope runs from the bridge above you down into the water below.
You eat the powder
Cautiously, you extend your tongue and lick the powder off your fingertips. It tastes like a absurd combination of salt and earth. Almost immediately you begin to choke, the sensation of something germinating rapidly within the walls of your throat. Whatever it is seems to be sucking all the moisture from your windpipe as it grows exponentially, its branching structure blocking the air from entering your lungs.

Your mouth and throat feel horribly dry. You cough painfully.
Go downward
You thrust your head down into the black water for just a moment and force yourself to swallow. The water seems to sate the effervescent fungus, and when you rise up again you manage to cough it out. But for that moment you were underwater, you felt a rush of oxygen in your lungs...perhaps if you had a light, you could stay down there?
You turn on the flashlight
You flip the switch a few times, but no light is forthcoming-unsurprisingly, since you've removed some key components
You look at the flashlight
A small flashlight, with a rubber ring where it screws together to keep the water out-though some oily substance coats the inside.
Go upward
You haul yourself upward, the rope digging into your hands leaving them red and sore. With tremendous effort you finally pull yourself back over the edge of the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large pulsating sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

A rope trails from the post of the bridge off into the turbulent water.
You examine the pool
A shallow pool of foul liquid that flows from the fungoid pipes of the structure. Next to the pool is a brazier filled with some manner of desiccated organic material.
You put the vegetation in it
The dry vegetation is too large to fit into the flashlight.
You get the vegetation
You rub at one of the ashen leaves and it crumbles under your touch, leaving you with a few brittle flakes.
You put the flakes in the flashlight
The flakes start to pulse with the same verdant glow as the moss when they come in contact with the liquid inside. A contracting and expanding sphere of green light surrounds you.
You close flashlight
You close the waterproof flashlight.
You examine it
A small flashlight, with a rubber ring where it screws together to keep the water out-though some oily substance coats the inside.

Inside the flashlight is a clump of glowing vegetation.
Go downwards
You gingerly tighten your hands around the fraying fibres and lower yourself until you are just above the water.

Bridge (hanging underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are hanging precariously under the monstrous structure. The frayed rope digs into your palms painfully, but the deafening crash of the water beneath you keeps you clinging on for now.

Hanging from the stone is something similar in form, if not in texture, to a fetid bat.

There is some strange semi-aquatic weed growing upside-down from the bottom of the bridge, a foaming hybrid of what seems to be a mushroom and a coral.

A rope runs from the bridge above you down into the water below.
You eat the powder
Cautiously, you extend your tongue and lick the powder off your fingertips. It tastes like a non-Euclidean combination of salt and earth. Almost immediately you begin to choke, the sensation of something germinating rapidly within the walls of your throat. Whatever it is seems to be sucking all the moisture from your windpipe as it grows exponentially, its branching structure blocking the air from entering your lungs.

Your mouth and throat feel horribly dry. You cough painfully.
Go downwards
675geman)

You lower yourself down, through the ceiling of crashing water, until you're beneath the surface. It is so cold you can feel your chest constricting and have to remind yourself to breathe. And surprisingly, down here, you can.

Bridge (in the water underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma
Briggeman)
Beneath the surface of the tumultuous river, it is strangely calm down here. The sickly green water glows around you in a spherical shape, pulsing in time with the luminescent moss. Through the haze of the turbid water, the bleached bones of some long dead creature almost shine with their pristine whiteness.

A thick rope is your only lifeline anchoring you in the dark abyss.
You look at the bones
676geman)

Lurking in the water before you, half-submerged in the silt, is the skeleton of some colossal beast. Its posture is contorted, as though it were twisting around to snap at something above it. The bones are completely bleached white; every scrap of flesh picked clean by a thousand passing creatures. Probably a predator, you determine from the sharp teeth, a few jagged and broken. Its cavernous jaw has been locked in place, open and inviting. The gap is just big enough to swim inside, if you are cautious.
You enter the jaw
(the misshapen skeleton)
Reluctantly letting go of the rope, you pull yourself through the water and into the mouth of the beast. Through the empty eye sockets, you can just make out your only anchor to the world above. You have to keep your limbs tight to your torso to prevent the sharp teeth raking across your skin; you'd hate to think what might come investigating down here if any blood spilled in the water.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman) (in the misshapen skeleton)
You've moved through the cavernous jaws of the long dead beast and into the cavity of its immense chest. The pulsing light from the moss causes the shadows cast by the ribcage to expand and contract; in the semi-gloom it almost looks as if the creature is still breathing.

Several bones are loosely coupled to the skeleton now. They protrude from the spine at an oddly perpendicular angle, almost geometric in its sharpness.

A rope runs upward from a piece of metal sunken in the degenerated silt nearby.
You look at the bones
(the flat bones)
Unlike any skeleton or preserved fossil you have come across in any museum or textbook. These osseous structures are bizarrely flat and rectangular, protruding from the spine at an almost perfect right angle.
You get them
They're firmly attached, some invasive species of coral cementing the skeleton in place. Although they do shift a bit in your grasp, you'll have to apply a bit more force to dislodge them entirely.
You break them
With a violent shove you manage to dislodge the bones from the skeleton. Fragments of coral spiral down into the silt, never to be seen again.
Look around
Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman) (in the misshapen skeleton)
You've moved through the cavernous jaws of the long dead beast and into the cavity of its immense chest. The pulsing light from the moss causes the shadows cast by the ribcage to expand and contract; in the semi-gloom it almost looks as if the creature is still breathing.

Several bones lie loosely across the bottom of the ribcage.

A rope runs upward from a piece of metal sunken in the dreadful silt nearby.
Exit
685geman)

You extract yourself from the skeleton. Without the pulsating light from your lamp the illusion of breath vanishes, leaving nothing but lifeless bone. You take hold of the rope again, grateful to be anchored.

Bridge (in the water underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma
Briggeman)
Beneath the surface of the tumultuous river, it is strangely calm down here. The sickly green water glows around you in a spherical shape, pulsing in time with the luminescent moss. Through the haze of the turbid water, the bleached bones of some long dead creature almost shine with their pristine whiteness.

A thick rope is your only lifeline anchoring you in the dark abyss.
Go upward
You pull on the rope, doing your best not to get caught in the current as your head breaks the surface of the water. You feel the spongiform blockage in your throat dissolve, your lungs filling with untainted oxygen.

Bridge (hanging underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are hanging precariously under the monstrous structure. The frayed rope digs into your palms painfully, but the deafening crash of the water beneath you keeps you clinging on for now.

Hanging from the stone is something similar in form, if not in texture, to a abnormal bat.

There is some strange semi-aquatic weed growing upside-down from the bottom of the bridge, a disgusting hybrid of what seems to be a mushroom and a coral.

A rope runs from the bridge above you down into the water below.
Go upwards
You haul yourself upward, the rope digging into your hands leaving them red and sore. With tremendous effort you finally pull yourself back over the edge of the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large tenebrous sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

A rope trails from the post of the bridge off into the turbulent water.
You examine the slats
The calcareous slats that form the walkway feel strangely light underfoot; as though hollowed out and filled with air. In the gaps between, you can see the churning water below, stare too long and you are sure to become nauseous. Each platform stretches your legs as you move from one to the next; the gait of the bridge's architects must have been strange indeed.

The taut cords that give the structure its shape appear to be woven in some complex putrescent plait that elongates and contracts with a slither as you step across.
You look at the cords
As you look closer, the puce strands that make up the plait seem to move. Whether some optical illusion caused by their intricate braiding or something altogether more organic, you couldn't say. You look away quickly.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a dead battery
a fungal powder
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
Go downwards
You gingerly tighten your hands around the fraying fibres and lower yourself until you are just above the water.

Bridge (hanging underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are hanging precariously under the monstrous structure. The frayed rope digs into your palms painfully, but the deafening crash of the water beneath you keeps you clinging on for now.

Hanging from the stone is something similar in form, if not in texture, to a atrocious bat.

There is some strange semi-aquatic weed growing upside-down from the bottom of the bridge, a malevolent hybrid of what seems to be a mushroom and a coral.

A rope runs from the bridge above you down into the water below.
You eat the powder
Cautiously, you extend your tongue and lick the powder off your fingertips. It tastes like a unclean combination of salt and earth. Almost immediately you begin to choke, the sensation of something germinating rapidly within the walls of your throat. Whatever it is seems to be sucking all the moisture from your windpipe as it grows exponentially, its branching structure blocking the air from entering your lungs.

Your mouth and throat feel horribly dry. You cough painfully.
Go downward
693geman)

You lower yourself down, through the ceiling of crashing water, until you're beneath the surface. It is so cold you can feel your chest constricting and have to remind yourself to breathe. And surprisingly, down here, you can.

Bridge (in the water underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma
Briggeman)
Beneath the surface of the tumultuous river, it is strangely calm down here. The sickly green water glows around you in a spherical shape, pulsing in time with the luminescent moss. Through the haze of the turbid water, the bleached bones of some long dead creature almost shine with their pristine whiteness.

A thick rope is your only lifeline anchoring you in the dark abyss.
You enter the jaws
(the misshapen skeleton)
Reluctantly letting go of the rope, you pull yourself through the water and into the mouth of the beast. Through the empty eye sockets, you can just make out your only anchor to the world above. You have to keep your limbs tight to your torso to prevent the sharp teeth raking across your skin; you'd hate to think what might come investigating down here if any blood spilled in the water.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman) (in the misshapen skeleton)
You've moved through the cavernous jaws of the long dead beast and into the cavity of its immense chest. The pulsing light from the moss causes the shadows cast by the ribcage to expand and contract; in the semi-gloom it almost looks as if the creature is still breathing.

Several bones lie loosely across the bottom of the ribcage.

A rope runs upward from a piece of metal sunken in the gangrenous silt nearby.
You get the bones
(the flat bones)
Taken.
Go outside
696geman)

You extract yourself from the skeleton. Without the pulsating light from your lamp the illusion of breath vanishes, leaving nothing but lifeless bone. You take hold of the rope again, grateful to be anchored.

Bridge (in the water underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma
Briggeman)
Beneath the surface of the tumultuous river, it is strangely calm down here. The sickly green water glows around you in a spherical shape, pulsing in time with the luminescent moss. Through the haze of the turbid water, the bleached bones of some long dead creature almost shine with their pristine whiteness.

A thick rope is your only lifeline anchoring you in the dark abyss.
Go up
697geman)

The bones are impossibly heavy; every inch toward the surface is a chore. You are never going to get much further with their added weight. You'll have to think of another way to get them to the surface.
You put the bones in the claw
698geman)

(the flat bones in the metal claw-trap)
You put the flat bones into the metal claw-trap.
Go upwards
699geman)

You'd better close the metal claw first or you might lose the flat bones.
Close claw
700geman)

You force the teeth shut around the flat bones.
Go upwards
You pull on the rope, doing your best not to get caught in the current as your head breaks the surface of the water. You feel the spongiform blockage in your throat dissolve, your lungs filling with untainted oxygen.

Bridge (hanging underneath) (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are hanging precariously under the monstrous structure. The frayed rope digs into your palms painfully, but the deafening crash of the water beneath you keeps you clinging on for now.

Hanging from the stone is something similar in form, if not in texture, to a alien bat.

There is some strange semi-aquatic weed growing upside-down from the bottom of the bridge, a irregular hybrid of what seems to be a mushroom and a coral.

A rope runs from the bridge above you down into the water below.
You get the rope
You tug on the rope, and it still seems to be firmly anchored up above.
You go upward
You haul yourself upward, the rope digging into your hands leaving them red and sore. With tremendous effort you finally pull yourself back over the edge of the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large monstrous sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

A rope trails from the post of the bridge off into the turbulent water.
You get the rope
You tug hard, finding that something beneath the water pulls against you with equal or even greater force in the very opposite direction, till you are almost dragged off your feet and into the water. A second later, the strange force relents, and you stumble backward, pulling the anchor up onto the bridge.
You put the bones on the cord
(first taking the flat bones)
The bones fit into position easily, settling into the gaps left by the missing slats. You look down at your feet and finally notice: the entire walkway is constructed of the parts of this long dead, wretched creature. You shiver involuntarily as your mind begins to imagine what nebulous race of beings would use bone as architecture. You shake the thought from your mind - it is time to leave this place.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form horizontal bands. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
You go to the west
Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

A man is leaning on the bridge rail, staring intensely at you with his only eye.
You ask the man about Bridge
The one-eyed man blinks, showing some attention, but then ignores you.

"Mrs Cra-gnee, welcome to Backwater. He's been
waiting for you".
Go southeast
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a grimy rock, a long hooked pole, a dying crawfish and a soggy tome here.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
You look at the schedule
It's unlike any public transit schedule you've ever seen, in that there are no times listed. A cheerfully phrased block of introduction text instructs riders to hang their passes around their necks, proceed to a trolley stop, and WAIT FOR whatever color LINE corresponds with their choice of destination.

Destinations:
Brown Line -- Train Station
Gold Line -- Church
Blue Line -- Library Square
Aqua Line -- River Walk
Green Line -- The Woods
About yourself
Has it always been this hot? The air is so close it feels like you have to gulp down mouthfuls of viscous soup to breathe. Being outside for... how long? ... has caused rivulets of hives to spore
in cacographic zigzags along your bare arms. A faint buzzing hums soporifically in your ears. You shiver slightly as though it were snowing. Got to press on.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a dead battery
a fungal powder
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
Swim
(in the pamphlet of home listings)
You are inclined to follow the edicts of the sign. Also, the buoy implies this stretch of the river is being used for freshwater lobster fishing.
You examine the buoy
A buoy the color of a Caucasian's flesh bobs uneasily upon the water. It certainly can't be for the sake of swimmers since the wooden sign makes it very clear this is prohibited. Perhaps some trappers are marking their catch?
You examine the ash
The scaly trunk of the black ash is marked by the signs of both fungal damage and the Emerald Ash Borer. Where sections of bark have flaked away from the trunk, weevil-wheedling paths of pale discoloration caused by the larval secretions of this virulent insect can be discerned. Epicormic shoots shamelessly sprout forth from this blighted trunk like unwanted fingers.
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a pear shape, complete with stem. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
Look around
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a grimy rock, a long hooked pole, a dying crawfish and a soggy tome here.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
You examine the rock
A solitary rock squats at the edge of the river bank, sullenly surveying the fresh, water-slick countenances of its semi-subnautical brethren.
You look at the pole
(the long hooked pole)
A long stick of wood with a rusted copper fishing hook of approximately six inches attached to the end of it with thickly knotted twine. This is known to New England lobster trappers as a "gaff".
You examine the crawfish
A crawfish of unimaginable proportions skulks in a clump of weedy grass at the side of the path closest to the river. The fact that he is out of the water, just perceptibly twitching like a half-squashed insect and slowly drumming his spiny legs like an office worker pensively tapping his fingers on a desk, is a strong indication that under his hard carapace he is crawling with infection. He is broken, mouldering, no damn good despite his considerable size.

As though sensing your judgment, the crawldad's antennae tremble ineffectually.
You get all
grimy rock: Taken.

long hooked pole: Taken.

soggy tome: Taken.
You put the powder on the tome
You rub the powder off your fingers into the soggy tome. It dissipates without effect.
You read tome
You open to the first page of the book and read...

"Crawfish, crawldads, mountain lobsters, mudbugs, yabbies, or however you know these mighty members of the Astacoidea and
Parastacoidea superfamilies, have long been kin to the men of the
New England, forging communities of inviolable hierarchy below water, much as we build and sustain such communities above. As with men, dominance determines these bio-mythic structures..."

You skip ahead.

"Those crawfish stricken by the plague must invariably fall by the wayside much as the Spartans would throw weak and crippled newborn from the top of Mount Taygete, dashing the runts and striplings upon the rocks below."

Rhetoric of this nature seems to continue for several pages.

"My father and I would sit together at the bank of the river and while father told me of the venal deceits of his wife we would catch those smallest crawfish - invariably the females of the species - which attempted to escape from the exit hole of the parlor, and father would delight me by cracking them upon his great bony knees. Later, when confronted with the disappointments of my youngest son, I would imagine taking him as my father had done the runtish bints, cracking him with satisfaction upon my own knee."

You flick ahead to the middle of the book.

"By means of these simple hand-binding exercises you will be able to Set your Claws in Order. While the experience will be painful at first, you must NEVER INDUCE YOURSELF INTO THINKING THAT LIFE IS ANYTHING OTHER THAN PAIN."

There follows pages of bewildering diagrams which seem to depict men with lobster appendages fighting the Swimmerets of Chaos.

"... until the blood takes the form of a transluscent white gel, which you should then inject ... commercial fishing licences ... scream in the water like egg-burst women ... telomerase now in the DNA of your cells is the Chrysopoeia ... baptized by briny Neptune ...
dying and molting and eating oneself in the charnel house of bloodied bones ... "

From hereon in the words become incomprehensible.

Intellectual stuff.
You hit the crawfish with the rock
You raise the grimy rock high above your head and bring it crashing down upon the dying crawfish immediately splitting open its carapace revealing diseased creamy flesh the color of cooked chicken. Its eyestalks swivel wildly towards you and its periopods flicker like the eyelashes of a man trying desperately to awake from a nightmare.

You bring the rock down again and again, smashing rostrum and cephalothorax to shribbons until all that remains are fragments of shell, with a tail and two front claws emerging from a pulped mound of rotting flesh. The stench is intolerable.

While most of the shell of the dead crawfish is riven into tiny pieces, one especially sharp looking shard stands out from the rest.
You look at the shard
An especially sharp and vicious looking shard of shattered crawfish carapace.
You eat crawfish
You choke back vomit.
You examine the crawfish
The giant crawfish is laid splayed and beaten before you, eyestalks rent from his pulverized body. The opaque milky whiteness of its flesh is a telltale sign of aphanomyces astaci aka "crayfish
plague".

The crawfish was clearly a member of some Old Order of crustacean patriarchs, grown huge over perhaps more than a century, year after year shedding his shell for a larger carapace until his metabolism was no longer a match for his hulking ambitions.
You look at your surroundings
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a shattered crawfish here.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a perfect fern, just like in a fancy latte. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You examine River
The river's name is said to date back to the 17th century, Christened by a local Algonquian tribe after the peculiarly black coloration of the cucurbita pepo gourds that sprouted in the floodplains
south of Backwater. Natives believed local Jesuit Ministers to use the gourds in Devil worship and to prevent these rituals from taking place would uproot the warty vegetables and "drown" them in the river.

Across the 19th century, the Makaskuta became increasingly inhospitable to life due to the paper mills of Backwater discharging their untreated waste directly into its water - an industry that flourished in the period due to the competing demands of two local printing establishments which specialized in bound volumes of the letters, prayers and instructions of St. Ignatius of Loyola. By the 1870s the river was regularly running the color of strained tomato soup and, according to the 17th July 1874 edition of the Backwater Gazette, stank of "rank putrescence ... as though nothing borne of this Earth".

Only the interventions of the mysterious philanthropist Dr. Elias Saltz, DDiv in the latter part of the 1960s were able to restore the Makaskuta to its once verdant glories. The good Doctor may also be thanked for the introduction of the C. Robustus genus of
giant crawfish into the Makaskuta, for which it is now justly celebrated.

The river babbles to itself complacently.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.
You examine the trees
contrast to the dreary environs of Backwater, like a feather boa round the neck of a New England clergyman. The surface of the dirt path is riven by tessellating layers of crisping leaves. The slender leaves of the populus balsamifera are shaped like the piques of a
traditional suit of French playing cards and some are stained with an orange resin from which the "balm of Gilead" is derived.
You examine the ash
The scaly trunk of the black ash is marked by the signs of both fungal damage and the Emerald Ash Borer. Where sections of bark have flaked away from the trunk, weevil-wheedling paths of pale discoloration caused by the larval secretions of this virulent insect can be discerned. Epicormic shoots shamelessly sprout forth from this blighted trunk like unwanted fingers.
Fish
What do you want to fish?
You examine the trap
(the freshwater lobster trap)
The trap looks rather like a rabbit hutch, approximately 600 mm in length, almost cuboid but slightly curved at the top edges so that its width is marginally more narrow at the top than at the bottom, where it measures around 300 mm. The framework of the trap seems to be made of slats of ash, which goes some way to explaining its weight. Along one side of the trap is a wire-frame mesh door attached to the body of the trap with copper "J Clip" hinges, long rusted. The door is held shut at the other end by two thin loops of twine, which are tied tight at a point two-thirds up and two-thirds down the length of the door, opposite the hinges. Along the other side of the trap is a funnel-shaped opening of netting, which grows narrower as it recedes into the trap.

The kitchen (the funnel-shaped netting), the parlor (the trap's second chamber), and the bedroom (the trap's false exit) are all parts of the freshwater lobster trap.

In the freshwater lobster trap are an employee ID card and an eggbound crawfish.
You examine the eggbound crawfish
The eggbound crawfish is considerably smaller than the tragic, moldering specimen upon the bank - around six inches in length, but with antenna that resemble long curving tendrils, notably large for her size of body. She reposes in the trap's bedroom, occasionally skittering back and forth like an armor-plated insect.

The crawfish's swimmerets are laden with eggs the size and color of tinned peas. The eggs sway back and forth like grapes upon a vine, wafted by their mother to ensure their aeration.
Open trap
(the freshwater lobster trap)
Currently the trap is being held shut by two thin loops of twine.
You cut the twine with the shard
(the thin loops of twine with the shard of shattered carapace)
You cut through the twine with the sharp edge of the shard of the crawldad's shell. With the twine no longer securing the door of the trap, it swings open.
You examine the employee card
An employee ID card for Vermont Transit Authority, bearing a blurry ID photo and the name "Veeder, R."
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
You go north
Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.
You examine Bridge
A once proud part of Backwater's infrastructure, now crumbling into ruin. The decorative carvings along the sides have worn away to faint impressions, and much of the underside has been patched with lighter-colored concrete.
You look at the hatch
The humidity of the river has rusted the hatch to the color of dried blood, like an old scab on the embankment. Seemingly of the same vintage as the bridge, it lacks any modern logo, markings, or even a handle, though there is an odd rectangular indentation along one edge.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
a soggy tome
a long hooked pole
a grimy rock
a dead battery
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You examine the indentation
The indentation in the hatch is a little over an inch long, about half as wide, and seems too shallow to make a good handle, even if it didn't look like a jagged-edged tetanus-shot-waiting-to-happen... Which, for the record, it does.
You examine the payphone
The payphone has been vandalized exhaustively over the years; The shelter is covered in graffiti, while the phone itself has been scratched, stained, spraypainted, and used as an ashtray, among other things. While there is a grievous wound where a large piece of the phone was torn out, there is still a coin slot in the upper right, a keypad in the center, next to the receiver, and a coin return in the lower right; Probably about as much of a phone as necessary to place a call.

But you find yourself strangely reluctant to touch it, as if you would be disturbing a grave, or a shrine to some nameless Backwater god...
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a jackalope. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
You look at quarter
An ancient, discolored, battle-scarred US quarter, still proudly worth 25 cents. While the tail features a bald eagle, the George Washington profile on the head side has been... damaged.
You look at profile
The head side of the coin has been purposefully defaced. George Washington's eye has been gouged out of the surface of the coin, with a crack leading downward, resembling tears (or blood), his mouth has been carved into a crude, jagged opening, and the "In god we trust" inscription has been obliterated.

While it's probably just another casualty of Backwater teens expressing their angst, you can't quite shake the feeling that the coin was purposefully left where you'd find it.
You look around
Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.
You look at the keypad
A fairly standard telephone keypad. The buttons, once silver, and now more of a muted, nicotine-stained gray, include the first nine digits, in rows of three, followed by a final row containing the star, zero, and pound keys:
1 2 3
4 5 6
7 8 9
* 0 #

Twelve silver keys - Wasn't that an Elizabethan-era occult thing? Something to do with John Dee, Enochian angels, and other nonsense...
You look at the slot
Set into a slightly rounded recess in the phone's faceplate is a thin slot, about the height of a quarter, labeled "5-10-25" and "US COINS ONLY".
You look at the graffiti
There's no obvious place to start reading; Every inch of the panels are inlaid with high school scrimshaw, but your eyes are initially drawn to a cartoon dagger (or acorn? green pepper?) and the inscription "I don't ever wanna feel, like I did that day..."
You continue
You've already lost track of where you started, and find yourself looking at the phrase "Black Number ONE", surrounded by tiny skulls and... hearts?
You continue
Adrift on a sea of outsider folk art, you briefly lock eyes with "LISA LOEB IS A HACK", and a careless scribble you'd politely describe as "genitals".
You continue
Your eyes struggle to find purchase on the maze of scribbles, briefly settling on "For a good time CALL 911"... Sheesh. it doesn't really work as a prank, or a joke..
Continue
Maybe scrimshaw was the wrong metaphor... It's more like the phone went to prison and got all inked up with jailhouse tattoos, such as the letters "AC", an angry looking lightning bolt, and "DC".
Continue
It's like a message board for bored teens; You'd almost say "a fire hydrant for stray dogs", but that seems cruel, even given "PEARL JAM", followed by "Jeremy!" (crossed out), "Black?" (also struck out), and finally, "EVENFLOW" (underlined repeatedly for emphasis).
You look at the receiver
An old, battered black plastic handset, connected to the phone by a segmented metal cable that reminds you of a rat's tail. It is hanging from a metal lever, the unfortunately named "cradle", like an unpleasant piece of meat on a hook.
You examine the phone
(the the payphone)
The payphone has been vandalized exhaustively over the years; The shelter is covered in graffiti, while the phone itself has been scratched, stained, spraypainted, and used as an ashtray, among other things. While there is a grievous wound where a large piece of the phone was torn out, there is still a coin slot in the upper right, a keypad in the center, next to the receiver, and a coin return in the lower right; Probably about as much of a phone as necessary to place a call.
You dial 911
The phone hisses and sputters with static, and then, as if from a great distance, a faint voice growls "Please zzZRrt
twenty-fiiIEERrve cents before continuUURRRRrroo
dial your numMMRRrrrrzzzCHRRt."
You put quarter in the slot
The phone swallows the coin, jingling in satisfaction. Deep inside, something rattles into place, and the receiver begins to hiss softly with static.
You dial 911
There is an odd squawk of static on the line, followed by a few seconds of quiet hissing, before a distorted male voice begins to crackle through the speaker. It's... hard to make out, with gaps of silence and bursts of static, but you're fairly certain it's telling you that Emergency Services are not currently available on this exchange, and to try your call again shortly... Or that "the throne of heaven sits empty?" Something like that.
You hang up
(the phone receiver)
You put the phone back where you found it, and hope it stays there.

Something grinds and clatters grudgingly inside the phone, followed by a muffled clink from the coin return.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a sharknado. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
You continue
The clouds in your cup form a chimera. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
You put the coin in the slot
The coin disappears into the slot, and down some tiny stairs, by the sound of it. Something stirs down in the guts of the mechanism, and the receiver begins to make a rushing sound like labored breathing.
You call Peter
The receiver is still sleeping on the cradle; You'll have to pick it up.
You call Peter
The phone's keypad only has numbers (and * and #, but who even uses those?)
Press pound
Try dialing the entire number you want instead.
You look at the library card
A battered beige rectangle with rounded corners, printed with the library insignia, and bearing the words:

is entitled to borrow books from
BACKWATER PUBLIC LIBRARY
Backwater, Vermont
and is responsible for all books taken on this card
Expires APRIL 1998
No 19078

A little metal dealy clips through the cardboard, with a mirror-reversed version of the ID number stamped into it.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a phone receiver
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
a soggy tome
a long hooked pole
a grimy rock
a dead battery
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You call 911
There is an odd squawk of static on the line, followed by a few seconds of quiet hissing, before a distorted male voice begins to crackle through the speaker. It's... hard to make out, with gaps of silence and bursts of static, but you're fairly certain it's telling you that Emergency Services are not currently available on this exchange, and to try your call again shortly... Or that "the throne of heaven sits empty?" Something like that.
You hang up
(the phone receiver)
You hang up the receiver, wishing you could just hang up on this phone, as a whole.

There is a solemn clunk from the heart of the phone, and something clatters to (an upsettingly crunchy) stop inside the coin return.
You look around
Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
an old quarter
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
a soggy tome
a long hooked pole
a grimy rock
a dead battery
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You read the grafitti
It doesn't seem like there's a whole thesis here, but... at least an anthropology paper? You try to focus, finding yourself looking at "WINONA FOREVER", of which the "NA" has been cleverly scribbled over.
You read the grafitti
If you've learned one thing from this phone, it's to not hang out under a bridge with a bunch of miscreants. That's how you end up inscribed with an enthusiastic but flawed "ASE OF BASE" logo inside a jagged polygon.
You read the grafitti
You must have read everything... Or so you thought, but then you find a whole extra column of scribbles, starting with the phrase "BADMOTORFINGER", presented boldly and without comment.
You read the grafitti
The years have not been kind to this phone, nor was the person responsible for a crude horse, dog (or possibly alligator?) inexplicably labeled "SKANK".
You put coin in the slot
The coin clatters down into the depths of the machine. There is a buzzing and rattling deep inside, before a faint hiss of static becomes audible from the receiver.
You get the receiver
You pick up the receiver, trying not to look at the hundreds of tiny holes at both ends, or thinking about what might be inside them (especially as you hold them to your ear...)
You call 258-0987
As you dial the number, pressing the buttons down the middle row, and then across the next-to-last row, from left to right, you realize that you have made the sign of the cross on the keypad... But upside-down and backwards.

It's pretty typical high-school occult bullshit, but before you can roll your eyes, the phone buzzes to life, and, as if from a great distance, you begin to hear ringing on the other end of the line.

The ring repeats three times, and then stops, leaving you in an ominous silence. Even the restless sound of the river behind you has stopped, and you are suddenly conscious of how, facing the payphone, you've turned your back on the water.
You hang up
(the phone receiver)
That number you dialed has done something... You're not quite sure what, but you're even less sure what'll happen if you hang up now.
You look at the water
The surface of the river has become completely still, like a mirror; You feel as though you could fall through it, into the blue sky beyond the bridge...

The bridge in the reflection is sound and whole, new as the day it was built, and instead of rotting patches of concrete, the underside is covered in a colorful painted mural. Roughly oval in shape, it features a vivid green, eel-like creature with a wavy frill, curled around as though ready to bite its own tail. You don't totally follow the motto encircling it... Something about the commission of an officer? Or an office? But the words "Croceate" and "Variegated Court" stand out.

You tear your eyes away from the mural, to the railing of the bridge, as a woman leans over the edge, wearing an old-fashioned hat...

"VAAAAAAA!" shrieks the phone, causing you to jump and almost drop the receiver, "DIIIIIIIIIGH..."

You frantically slam the phone back down into the cradle, out of sheer panic, and there is a loud splash behind you.
You look at the water
The surface of the river is white with foam, and splashes violently against the embankment, as though something large had just dove under the surface...
You search it
The river splashes fitfully against the crumbling stone of the embankment, dark and murky in the shadows. The wrinkled surface of the water yields a rough reflection, an animated expressionist painting of the bridge and sky above, except for where a trail of bubbles mars the view, as though something... large... had recently swum past.

The bridge in the reflection is sound and whole, new as the day it was built, and instead of rotting patches of concrete, the underside is covered in a colorful painted mural. Roughly oval in shape, it features a vivid green, eel-like creature with a wavy frill, curled around as though ready to bite its own tail. You don't totally follow the motto encircling it... Something about the commission of an officer? Or an office? But the words "Croceate" and "Variegated Court" stand out.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a biplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.
Go south
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
Go east
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large ghastly sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.
You go to the east
Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window.

You can see a newspaper box and a rusty piece of metal here.
You look at the box
The metal paperbox has a door, with a foggy glass window through which you can still see some of the newspapers inside. There is a large handle that would be used to open the box and beside the handle is a coin slot and a faded sign that reads "25 cents." One of the legs of the rusted paperbox has broken away and has left the newspaper box leaning at an angle. A rusty bar of metal, which appears to be the remains of the leg, lies on the sidewalk.

In the newspaper box are some yellowed newspapers.
You examine the newspapers
Through the foggy window you can just make out part of the headline, "Ful... Court ....Dead."
Go west
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large nameless sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.
You go southeast
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
Go south
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
Go east
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large detestable sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a rusty piece of metal
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
a soggy tome
a long hooked pole
a grimy rock
a dead battery
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (open but empty)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
a library card
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You put the library card in the side pocket
You put the library card into the side pocket.
You close side pocket
You close the side pocket.
You look around
You pause on the sidewalk as you approach the entrance to the pub as you hear a faint whistle in the distance.

Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window.

You can see a newspaper box here.
About you
The wind is blowing through your hair as you walk through this area of town making you look a bit unkempt.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You look at the sign
The painted wood sign is faded near-unreadability. But you think the last two words are "Last Home".
You examine the window
You move closer to the window and attempt to peer through. It's dark inside and the window is very dirty, but you see human-like shapes moving around inside.
You examine the sidewalk
The uneven sidewalk looks like it hasn't been repaired in quite some time. You see many loose bricks and you risk tripping over them if you're not careful.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
loose bricks
a rusty piece of metal
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
a soggy tome
a long hooked pole
a grimy rock
a dead battery
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You examine the brick
(loose bricks)
The brick is quite heavy.
You throw brick at box
(loose bricks at the newspaper box)
You throw the brick as hard as you can at the paperbox. It hits the window just right, shattering the glass.

The glass of the paperbox is now broken out.

In the newspaper box are some yellowed newspapers.
You read the newspapers
The paper is dated, July 26, 1970. The headline reads "Fulvous Alderman of the Variegated Court Found Dead."

Below the headline is a photo of someone you assume is Fulvous dressed in all black with black tie and black top hat. He is standing in front of an old church and strangely enough, there's a duck at his feet, almost posing.

The article reads, "Fulvous Alderman of the Variegated Court was
found dead yesterday. His body was found by an unnamed man who was exploring a remote area when he came across an abandoned white house. When the young man entered through a back window to explore the home, he found the body of Fulvous in the attic. He was slumped over a table with what appears to be a ceremonial dagger in his back. Other than the knife and some dull orange duck feathers scattered around the room, no other clues were found regarding the culprit or the
motive."
You describe your surroundings
Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window.

You can see a newspaper box here.
You get newspaper
You pick one of the old yellowed papers off of the stack.
You look at the paper
Which do you mean, the yellowed newspapers or the repaired page?
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
some yellowed newspapers
loose bricks
a rusty piece of metal
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
a soggy tome
a long hooked pole
a grimy rock
a dead battery
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You go to the north
The Invisible Worm (Sam Kabo Ashwell)
A dimly-lit tavern, old enough that all its straight lines have worn or warped slightly out of shape, and everything feels cluttered and a little too small; you've had apartments with living-rooms bigger than this. Heavy, dark beams support a low ceiling, and the walls are crowded with ancient farm tools and yellowing photographs. A cramped doorway, south, leads back outside.

The bartender impassively surveys the room. He might have raised his eyebrows slightly in acknowledgement as you entered, but you wouldn't swear to it.

Old-timers monopolize the fireplace nook; a straggle of teenagers hunch in a corner.

The old-timers opine on the time Reverend Wilcox caught his daughter in the dairy with Reverend Hagburn. Somehow this relates to one of the old-timers owing another money.
You look at the photographs
Floods of sepia; you don't think there's anything dating from after the 1940s. It's mostly portraits and group shots; their subjects look world-weary and frayed around the edges, and nobody seems comfortable. The women are uncertain, prepared to be angry, as though the camera is being wielded by an unfavored nephew who can't be trusted with the exercise; the men are ciphers, eyes tired and defensive in a mask of weathered flesh.

The old-timers opine on how the ghost of a runaway slave wrought vengeance on Makepeace Osgood.
You look at the tools
The difference between a museum and a midden is mostly organisation. This falls about halfway in between: at some point someone rummaged through a series of old sheds and barns, grabbed anything with no useful future, and pegged it to the wall. You can identify about half of it, horseshoes and scythes and the like: the remainder suggests either the management of very odd livestock, an art student newly possessed of a welding-iron, or highly specialised forms of sexual deviancy.

Most of it is affixed to the wall with wire and nails; but just about at eye level, on the wall facing the bar, there's a well-used whetstone that's just balanced on a couple of wooden pegs.

The old-timers talk about the time Meg Martin's daughter lived in sin with Abe Crackstone's son.
You examine the whetstone
A dark grey, smooth whetstone, great for sharpening any cutting implements.

The old-timers squabble over the time Virgil Thursley had a warrant issued for adulterating maple syrup and died in a shoot-out near Bear Flats.
About you
As good-looking as ever.

You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken.

The old-timers squabble over the time Adam Collamore burned down James Crowley's nephew's chicken-shed. Somehow this relates to one of the old-timers owing another money.
You take the whetstone
Nothing about the bartender's manner suggests tolerance of rude tourists. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to steal the decor while he's watching.

The old-timers discuss the time Dusty Poole's damn fool son came at Farmer Buxton with a grain flail to impress a girl.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form the engine of a train. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.
You look athe old-timers
The three old boys around the fireplace - one pipe-smoker, one roll-up, one Lucky Strike - are fumigating the premises and talking shit about their families and neighbors.

The old-timers talk about the sad tale of how Parson Norris ran off to Syracuse to get famous, got involved with homosexuals, and was born again and returned home. In the process they insult one another in ways that would be fatal to any friendship you've ever had.
You look around
The Invisible Worm (Sam Kabo Ashwell)
A dimly-lit tavern, old enough that all its straight lines have worn or warped slightly out of shape, and everything feels cluttered and a little too small; you've had apartments with living-rooms bigger than this. Heavy, dark beams support a low ceiling, and the walls are crowded with ancient farm tools and yellowing photographs. A cramped doorway, south, leads back outside.

The bartender impassively surveys the room.

Old-timers monopolize the fireplace nook; a straggle of teenagers hunch in a corner.

The old-timers argue about the time Sorrow Mullins's youngest caught her husband up to no good with a married woman.
You talk to the bartender
(the bartender)
He makes a vague noise of acknowledgement, with a look that makes it clear he doesn't regard it as his responsibility to maintain lively banter.
You talk to the teenagers
They stare back at you with blank (and slightly fish-like) contempt.
You go to the south
Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window.

You can see a newspaper box here.
You go east
Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A tangled rampart of trees and dense undergrowth obstructs passage to the south.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You examine the bones
The mineralized remains of a gargantuan predatory beast.

You don't know much about ancient bones. Perhaps the paleontologist could tell you more.
You ask the man about the bones
He seems surprised.

"Huh, what was that? Oh, hello. Sorry, bit distracted there. This is an amazing find! What was it you needed again? Dr. Daniel West from Miskaton University, by the way." He moves to shake your hand. "Just call me Dan."
You ask Dan about the bones
"So what are you doing here?" you ask.

"Excellent question. At first, I thought we were wasting our time digging out a hoax, but after the preliminary lab results, it appears we're unearthing the greatest scientific find of the century! You see the vertebral structure? It's obviously piscine, and the armored plating on the anterior portion of the body along with the shearing toothplates clearly indicates that it's an exceptionally large arthrodire, most likely from the Devonian."

You just nod uncomprehendingly as he continues.

"Now, I know what you're thinking. How could a fish possess clawed limbs? Surely it's a tetrapod? Not so! The limb structure is inconsistent with any known vertebrate, fossil or extant, and the rock strata isn't Devonian at all. It's Cambrian! Both radiometric dating and analysis of surrounding fossil material confirms it! This will rewrite the entire history of life on this planet. Let Herbert suck on this one!"
About you
You brush an errant tentacle from your fifth eye and quickly check yourself over. All of your writhing slime-streaked appendages seem to be in order. Gill slits are gorgeous. Your ventral scales could use a bit of a polish though.
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form -- weird, they've entirely dissipated. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
You look at the student
The young man focuses intently on the task of unearthing the fossil.
You ask the student about the bones
He just gives a quick irritated wave as if to say sod off then returns to his work.
You ask Dan about Dan
"Me? I'm just a humble scientist from good old Miskaton U up in Anchorhead. Creepy town, crazy people, but one of the best schools on the east coast."
You ask Dan about yourself
"I'm afraid I don't really have much to say on that subject. Look, if it's not about the fossil then I should probably be getting back to work. This beastie won't crawl out of the ground on its own."
You look around
Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A tangled rampart of trees and dense undergrowth obstructs passage to the south.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You look at the bench
A wooden bench bearing the inscription "This room is dedicated to the memory of Christine Cunningham (Ataraxy)."
Go northeast
Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
[ HINT: you can type "hints" for a hint for this location ]

You follow a mud-trampled trail, which leads you blindly through a narrow trench bordered by overgrown brambles and shrubs, once smartly trimmed hedges around the Cragne property. The intimidating thorn-studded walls arch over you, all but obscuring the grey marbled clouds overhead.

Turning the corner, you feel the ground beneath your feet suddenly harden. Although the shrubs recede behind you, the shadows deepen as you walk towards a clearing set into the hillside, surrounded on three sides by black cliffs.

As you advance, sound is conspicuous by its absence -- gone is the squealchy sound of the muddy trail, the cracking of branches underfoot, and the rustling sounds of trailside wilderness. You are left contemplating the rocky bowl cut into the cliffside, a natural amphitheater.

Or is it? Could this hollow have been worked by the hand of man in some earlier time? How much labor and what dedication would have been required in an earlier era to work the ageless Vermont granite into such a perfect shape?

Your eye is drawn to a raised, brown mass centered before the cliffs; you muse that if the rockface formed a parabola, that mass would be at its focus, like an altar in a cathedral. The earthen lump grows in your vision and you realize that you must have walked towards it, lost in your thoughts. It has already been a long day, and it has barely started.

Up close, you realize that it is not an earthen mound, but a pile of long, rusted iron railway tracks. Tons of them. Stacked taller than you in this remote corner of the estate and forgotten.

You move your head in just the right way and light glances sharply off a glistening corner of track, momentarily blinding you. You rub your eyes reflexively, and when your vision clears, you realize with some embarrassment that a woman sits not even an arm's length from your face atop the pile.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a bonnet-clad woman here.

The woman looks into the distance and sighs.
You talk to woman
"Oh, so you can see me, then, can you?" she asks, taking a step back.

"Can you see me?"
You say yes
You can only do that to something animate.
You say yes to the woman
"How wonderfull!" She sits on a rail jutting out of the pile and pats the space beside her. "Tis a frightfull long Tymme since I did haf the Oppourtunity to speake with One graced with the Seight -- no
Crâne, then you, but one among our Number. Do then, please,
speake to me about yourself."

She pauses for a breath, "Oh, but first, where are my Manners? I do beg your Pardon most sincerely: I am called Christabell."

She looks at you with anticipation.

[ HINT: you can ask or sometimes tell people about various
subjects ]
You ask about Manor
Christabell says, "I have wondered that myself."
You ask about the sight
You consider whether it is prudent to kick off a conversation with this stranger, secluded as you are in this deathly quiet corner of the Cragne Property, but your gregarious nature carries the day.
You reason that she's only a stranger because you haven't met her yet, and considering that you don't really know anything about
Peter's family, maybe it is time to start reaching out a little
more. You sit down next to the woman, and she rewards you with a smile and rapt attention.

[ HINT: For short, say "a subject" or "t subject" to
ASK/TELL about a subject ]

The term is not familiar to you, so instead you ask, "I never heard of the 'sight' -- what is it?"

Christabell appears surprised, but patiently replies, "It is a
Gifte, which I now presume to be hitherto unknown to You. Let
us not make Haste with what does follow, for Experience has shewn me that Understanding may train behind my Wordes." She pauses for emphasis, "The spektral Seight is the Ability of somme
so-favoured by God's New Grace to see Spirits as
Substance. Thus, you are able to see and converse with me."

"Spirits?" You think to yourself that this conversation just
jumped the shark.

You shake your head trying to put her words into some order that makes more sense. "Back the truck up, honey. Spirits? As in
ghosts?"

"Not precisely, but on Balance more Reight than Wronge -- and whilst you are styll of Mynd to listen, I should add that the Gifte is restricted a lineage, which does fill me with Curiosity." She
looks appraisingly at your face, taking in the features.

"Wait. Ghosts?" you cannot get past the word. You brain
doesn't seem to be working very well just now.

"Indeed." She places a hand on your shoulder, but rather than the reassuring pressure and warmth of human touch, you feel a wave of coldness wash over you. "Tarry a Moment," Christabell instructs, "until your Mind ceases its Fievre, lest it berne through the
Knotte of reason and unravell you."
About yourself
This little weekend getaway with Peter has done you some good. So relaxing.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
some yellowed newspapers
loose bricks
a rusty piece of metal
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
a soggy tome
a long hooked pole
a grimy rock
a dead battery
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a cast iron spire
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You ask about the ghosts
You rub your temples to dispel the growing headache. "Ghost,
spirit -- seems like six of one, half a dozen of the other."

"Equateth not these Quantities within the Newe Mathimaticks?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. I suppose. But that's my point -- I say ghost,
you say spirit, to-may-to, to-mah-to, what's the difference?"

"I do see whence your Confusion proceeds. Before my own Deathe,
I would not have quibbled, but nowe the Difference is made Manifest. Simply put -- and must needes simply prai you attend my Wordes with do Conviction: Ghosts be not real, but Confabulaycion onely; the
Sorte told to afrayten Childeren and enjoin theyre Obedience. Any One who maketh the Claym of having one caught Seight, I say is a
lying Dog and owt Penance gainst such Sinne."

"So, ghosts fake, spirits real -- is that the gist?"

"You have shivvered the very Shaft of mei Arguement with the whetted Arrow of Comprehencion."

"I'll take that as a yes."
You ask about Knotte of the reason
"The Knotte of Reason is the fibre within our Being what doth
together bind in a regular manner our Faculties of Ratiocination, the Wellspring of our Creativity, the Vital Forces which impart our Weal, the Tepid Vapors of our Emotions, and the Restraining Compass of Moral Direction," explains Christabell.

Seeing your glazed expression, she continues, "The Knotte of
Reason doth pull the Needful against tensions be they substantial
and invisible. Onely with the Knotte remaining intackt can you
rest lucid of Speech and Wit. Let not it yield lest your sanity flow out of your Heade like the Newe Moon Tiyd."

Caught up in the conversation, the surrealism of your situation now lands with its full weight and you take a long breath.

"My friend, wherefore doth your Countenance so cloud?"

"I just realized how weird it is to be talking to a ghost."

"A spirit."

"Okay, a spirit," you concede. "Maybe all this hanging around
with the Cragnes has rubbed off on me. Maybe I'm the one who
has lost her marbles."

"Nay, your Marbles be firmly within your Skull, and your Knotte of Reason still tightly woven."

"Mark my words, Peter is going to have a field day when I tell
him how my day has gone."

"That I cannot mark, it being beyond my powers."
You look at the coffee
This is unusual. As you watch the swirls in your cup, they form a pair of perfectly shaped hearts that orbit the cup, maintaining a steady distance from each other.

You remember that twin objects like this mean you are split between two intricately entangled destinies, and that at any given moment, one of them will be the right place for you to be, but the coffee can't tell which. Way to drop the ball there, coffee.
You ask about the new grace
Christabell replies, "Has Worde of Mattanit's Third
Covenant not reached All even in these late Days? Why, it is by
HIS New Grace that many Myrickles are accomplished, the dead browt to life, the Globe delievered to its righteous End."
You ask about Mattanit
"Who," you begin, "or what is Mattanit"Christabell passes her hand five times in front of her heart and replies, "HE is the last Face of God, and blest are we for coming to know him."

This seems to take some of her strength and she rests her hand on a rail, "I long to say moor, but 'tis so very draining… I haf not such moor straynthe within mee."
You ask about Christabell
"I think you may be the only Christabell that I know," you say.

"In truth? This does surprize me greatly, for in mei Youth it
was a most common Appellation. There were... let me render the Account," Christabell counts on her fingers, "four of us in the Whole of the Towne. Contrarywise, "til this Day I had met ne'er a
Naomi, thow the Name be familiar, being fownde in the Booke of Ruth."
You ask about Youth
"So," you begin, "what was your childhood like?"

Pleased to be the center of attention, Christabell reminisces, "My early Youth I did spent in Engeland, Mother's youngest Daughter, so was coddled. I saw little of Father in that time, him being all-waies at Worke in the Forges of one great Towne or an Other."

"I did notice the accent," you add. "Are you originally from London?"

"Nay, never yet Lundon; we did sayle from the Port of Bristoll and came we to the Towne of Lin.

"Never heard of it."

"No, even in that day it was a Hamlet, somewhat removed from larger Settlements. In later Dayes, I do believe it were better known as Saugus for the River that did nearby course. We were deliwered
there by the very Hand of Providence, for Lin was blessed with a River, plentifull Bog Ironne, and no lack of Wood."

"About when was this?" you ask.

"That Providence delivered us to the Colonie of Massachusetts? That Date I dewe know'th by Hearte: It was the Year of the Lord Sixteen-Hundreds and Fourty-Four, and I was but a Gyrll of eleffen Years."

"Sorry -- did you say 1644?"

"Yes, and I did die in the Year of Our Lord Sixteen-Hundred and Fifty-Three; since whych I have existed as naught but a
Spirit."
You talk Death
"Really?" says Christabell.
You ask about Saugus
"Tell me of Lin," you say.

"In that Tymme, the Towne was barely establyshed, us being
among the first to settle along the River where the Mill came to be built. The Ironworkes were already conceived of and Fowndacion
layd when they did sent for my Father, he being versed deeply in the Arts of Forging and also much skilt in the Emplacement of Edifices for such Worke."

Are we far from Lin?" you prompt.

"Some many Miles, I do thynk, for we are Nowe ourselves in
Vermont, but Lin found itselff within the Governance of
the Massachusetts Colonie." Christabell looks to the distance
and adds, "Not all of us did call it Lin -- my Mother and
Systers -- we did know it rather for the Indian Name of the
River whereby we were set: Saugus."
You ask about Massachusetts
She answers you factually, "You do speake of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, which was settled by the Company of the same Name. I do
thynk you harbour some confusion between it and the Plymouth
Colony, to hear you speake of it, and that many such Factes do
stew about unproductively within your Brains, like Cud recently chewn within Cattel Tripes."

arrive to the Towne of Lin, and though there were summe
Commerce betwixt, I did find them a queer and standoffish Lott."
You ask about Ironworkes
"It was a Marvell of its Day. I have not in mei minds Eye a simple Forge nor even a Company of Smithies, but an entyre Factorie
that did smelt the Earth's Ores into Pigs and thence crafte them to wrought Werkes putting to shame anything carried on the Sea to us. Even the Masters that did instructe upon a Tymme my Father, they did say howe fynne were his Pieces and I think they did harbour summe not little Jealousy thereby."

"It sounds remarkable," you add.

"It did make us Prowde, yes, but did become to an Undoing." Christabell casts her eyes to the ground, and for a moment, she seems less substantial -- you have the impression of looking straight through her towards the dark cliffs that frame this hollow. "No
more need be sayed upon this dower Subjekt."
You ask about the cliffs
"They be nothing like any Marble Granite that I do know, first by their Colour, which is unnatural dark, but also by their Durabilitie. Summe Tymme ago, Men did come with their Tools up from the
Crâne Manour, and did try for Dayes to saw and pierce the stony
Walls of this Hollow, but theyr Tools dulled, they made not a Scratch upon the timeless Stone here. That crafted in an earlier Ayge cannot be rewrought by too soft Hand of modern Man."
You ask about the lineage
"Surely, you suspect -- your Eyes, your Fayce, your Carriage -- all about you I have seen in the Looking-glass. We are of a common Stock, you and I, whence stems your Spektral Seight."

"Because we're both Cragnes?" you ask.

"Nay, neither, I reckon. No Crâne Blood runs -- fynne, I allow,
did run, for sayke of Correctness -- did run through my Veinnes. My surname is 'Burt', in case that catches notice. And if I do not mistake, you have not the Aspect of Fruite fallen from the gnarled Tree of the Crânes -- although I did once wot by Providence wot Happenstance, know a Crâne also, a certain Carol, of Our
Lineage."

"Am I a Cragne? No. I married one. Peter is a
Cragne -- I just married in. We had blood tests and everything.
Our kids won't have two heads. I'm sure he and I aren't related."

"Tell me of your Ancestors," Cristabell asks.

"Going back a generation on my father's side, he and his dad were carpenters in Lithuania and came to the US in 30s. He had a little shop in Hull..." Cristabell waves you on impatiently; clearly, that part of your ancestry does not excite her. "But on my mom's side -- my birth mom, that is, her family traces back to the UK. My cousin did a school report on our family tree, and I think we go back to the Bassetts on that side. Does that ring any bells?"

"Like a Papist Belfry on the Newe Year."

"..."

Christabell clarifies, "My owne Mother was but one Generation remouved from Family Bassett. A wealthey Family, they did dwell not far a-way."
You look at the coffee
This is unexpected. As you watch the swirls in your cup, they form a pair of daggers that orbit the cup, maintaining a steady distance from each other.

You remember that twin objects like this mean you are split between two intricately entangled destinies, and that at any given moment, one of them will be the right place for you to be, but the coffee can't tell which. Way to drop the ball there, coffee.
You look
Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see Christabell here.
You ask about Carol
"Carol. Yes, what to say of Carol..." Cristabell stares
into the sky, collecting her thoughts. "I do not Knowe. In different Tymmes, she was many things to mee, and I to her, being related not onely of Lineage but of Minde. She lived not far from here in
Manse of Family Crâne."

"Then you knew her in your youth?"

"No, not mine but hers -- I had long before met my owne Deathe.
In her Youth, she would oft come here and suffer my
Companionship; less so, as she did flower to Womanhood, though. I do sincerely avow committing every Efforts and Care to her goode and proper Upbringing and polite Formation, but she was remarkable headstrong and sharp of wit like broken Glass. Even with my
Mark set upon her, she did suffer the Corruption and Poyson of
that House. I urged her to remain away, but every Summer it did call her back to itself."

"Is she still there? In the mansion?"

"I need so beleeve, though I have not seen her since her
Deathe."
You ask about Death
Christabell says, "I wish I knew."
You ask about deathe
Christabell says, "Good question."
You ask about Mark
"A Mark is a special Touch whereby a Spirit does grant
Favour to One still a-live by laying upon the One so-gift'd
summe small Splintre of their own Essence. Those haffing the
seight will reckognise it a brawnish Stain upon the marked, but
Others will not it ken."

"Sounds like an evil cow brand for the soul."

"The Marking is neither maleficent nor beneficent, it being onely a Reflection of Spirit from whence it doth floe."

"Why would anyone agree to be marked, though?"

"In a sense, it be a Blessing for it doth warde the One a-gainst depredations of inimickal Spirits and by its Presence exclude unwillful Markings thereafter. More of a Pointe, such Magickal Capacities as possessed the Donor are bestown thereby for exercise upon the Will of the Begift'd."
You ask about the gift
"You mentioned 'a Gift' -- that's an odd turn of phrase. A gift
from whom?"

"Yes, One of the many gifts of Mattanit, one of the ways
his new Grace doth manifest."
You ask about new Grace
According to Christabell, it is a gift that Mattanit bestowed upon his worshippers.
You ask about Youth
Christabell is only too happy to reminisce about her youth, going on about herself, her mother and father at length.
You ask about the iron
(the cast iron spire)
Christabell says, "I don't have a good answer for that one."
You ask about the heap
Christabell says, "I wish I knew."
You ask about the Ironne
"For as long as this great Pyle of Ironne Metall has
been here, so have I."
You ask about Vermont
Christabell replies, "There be not much to say on my Part,
Vermont, being far from where I spent my youth. In
truth, I never set my Foote here all the Tymme I did live, but onely did come tardily some many Yeares after my own Deathe, and that
not of my Volition. Thus, there is little I can add of local flavour beyond the Explorations that you may set upon your own Selffe."
You take the iron
(the cast iron spire)
You already have that.
You put the spire in side pocket
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the cast iron spire, then zip the side pocket back up again.
You take the iron
That's hardly portable.
You examine it
Long shafts of weathered, rusted iron, jutting in all directions for a great mound as if dropped like puny sticks from the sky.
You ask about the pile
"It has been here a long, long time," says Christabell.
You tell about diary
"Interesting," says Christabell.
You tell about Peter
"As for Peter, my husband, what you see is what you get: he's a lovable teddy bear."

"Is he?"

"Yes, but a bit of a workaholic. He puts in a full day, but then he's up all night with the books. I've never seen anyone pour their soul out so much over a job."

"Into what Sorte of Bookes does he pour his Soul?"

"At this point, he's management, so mostly going over audit summaries. In truth, he'd rather do the bean counting himself. Crunching numbers floats his boat."

"I am amazed to hear such Newes as you have to tell; the Worlde is greatly changed since my Youth."
You tell about Phyllis
"Uh-huh," says Christabell.
You talk peter
You ramble on for a while about your husband, Peter.
You tell about yourself
"Well," you begin, "I am Naomi, and you probably already know my husband, Peter -- Peter Cragne."

Christabell shakes her head, "A Crâne? No, I have not the Pleasure of his Acquitenance, or at least not yet. But I am sure there are many Hereabouts unknown to me of Late."

"Yes, he's a little introverted, so I'm not surprised," you continue. "In fact, while he's met my entire family, I have not even met his parents -- yet. No pressure there, right?"

"Assuredly, so."

"We took this opportunity to shoot up to Vermont and I figure
we'll do the family thing and while we're at it a little touring around: Ben & Jerry's, some covered bridges, get a bucket of maple syrup -- or however they sell it -- and check out some of the mountains. Two birds with one stone!"

"Two with but a single Stoning? Indeed, what you have laid out sounds a fruitful Application of your Labours."
You talk vermont
"Geography isn't my strong suit," you admit. "I think I was supposed to have gone to Vermont when I was a kid, but the ski trip got canceled." Looking around, you remark, "I'm not sure Vermont quite agrees with me. The weather seems kind of gray here."

"More like that be a Reflexion of the Locale."
You go to the southwest
Cristabell calls after you, "I do thank you for diverting summe Houres with mee in Discourse sweet. I do entreat you return upon your Convenience that we may again share some Werdes."

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A tangled rampart of trees and dense undergrowth obstructs passage to the south.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You examine gate
A set of spiked wrought iron bars towers across an opening in the north wall. On a section of the wall adjacent to the gate rests a large bronze plaque.
You examine the plaque
A bronze plaque which reads "Municipal Jail".
Go north
The closed gate bars your way.
You open gate
At the slightest brush of your fingertips, the gates slowly begin to creak open.
You go to the north
Backwater Jail (Marshal Tenner Winter)
The air is stale in this wood-paneled sheriff's office. You feel as if you've stepped back in time maybe twenty years as the office furnishings in here are simple and utilitarian. A desk, generic in style but wide enough for an outdated-looking computer, is near the window. A swivel chair is behind it and a wooden visitors chair is on the other side. Despite the meager light that creeps in the window, there's still a bleak glow from fluorescent bulbs overhead. Other furnishings include a file cabinet and, what appears to be, a locker that was literally ripped out of a high school and placed against the wall in here.

Otherwise, a cheap door with a unisex bathroom sign on it is to the west and a secure door, obviously the lock-up, is to the north. The exit is south.

On the desk is a clipboard holding some paperwork.
About yourself
As good-looking as ever.

You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken.
Inventory
You are carrying:
some yellowed newspapers
loose bricks
a rusty piece of metal
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
a soggy tome
a long hooked pole
a grimy rock
a dead battery
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
an antique locket (being worn and closed)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a trolley schedule
a trolley pass (being worn)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a postcard of Big Ben
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a backpack features guide
a book list
Peter's jacket
a faint chill (haunting you)
a waterproof flashlight
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a pull-string doll
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a familiar gold wristwatch
a brass winding key
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a cronut. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
You examine paperwork
This is a list of the day's arrestees. The date is a week old with no further entries beyond it. The entries are:
Jeff Moore - public intoxication.
Alana Cook - possession of cannabis.
Matthew Grobe - discharging a firearm within city limits.
Tony Overton - disorderly conduct.
Robert Morales - reckless driving.
Eugene Kunkle - petty theft.
You examine computer
It looks bulky, even by today's standards, and on it is a faded decal stating, "...ateway". The nicotine-stained monitor sitting before it might bear a closer look.
You look at the monitor
This bulky monitor, roughly the size of a child's coffin, looks heavy and grimey. Whoever worked with this computer and monitor must've smoked like a Turkish tobacco caliph. The whole thing is sticky with a jaundiced film and the screen is covered with smudged fingerprints.

On the nicotine-stained monitor is a Post-it® note.
You look at the post-the it
Keep the evidence key in the last arrestee's file. It's usually
the active file.
-Sarge.
You examine the file cabinet
It's a wide, cream-colored file cabinet. It's about waist-high.
You open the cabinet
You open the file cabinet, revealing the Kunkle file and some disorganized files.

That's already open.
You examine the kunkle file
A meager file; the arrest report gives few real details of anything. Apparently this Eugene Kunkle stole a library book. Otherwise, nothing useful can be gleaned from the paperwork within.

In the Kunkle file is an aluminum key.
You take the key
(the aluminum key)
Taken.
Look around
Backwater Jail (Marshal Tenner Winter)
The air is stale in this wood-paneled sheriff's office. You feel as if you've stepped back in time maybe twenty years as the office furnishings in here are simple and utilitarian. A desk, generic in style but wide enough for an outdated-looking computer, is near the window. A swivel chair is behind it and a wooden visitors chair is on the other side. Despite the meager light that creeps in the window, there's still a bleak glow from fluorescent bulbs overhead. Other furnishings include a file cabinet and, what appears to be, a locker that was literally ripped out of a high school and placed against the wall in here.

Otherwise, a cheap door with a unisex bathroom sign on it is to the west and a secure door, obviously the lock-up, is to the north. The exit is south.

On the desk is a clipboard holding some paperwork.
You go north
(first opening the secure door)
It won't budge.
You unlock Door
Which do you mean, the secure door or the bathroom door?
You secure Door
What do you want to unlock the secure door with?
You go west
You peek inside the bathroom and find literally nothing beyond a toilet and sink. There's no mirror and someone even swiped the shit tickets. You close the door again.
You unlock the Locker with the aluminum
You unlock the evidence locker.
You open the Locker
You swing open the locker and are greeting by a desiccated corpse falling into you. Startled beyond rational thought, you collapse to the ground, beneath the corpse, unconscious.

Padded cell (Marius Müller)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a faint chill (haunting you)
a strait jacket (being worn)
About yourself
You look about as you'd expect after everything that happened to you in all the other rooms.
You look at the jacket
It's a canvas strait jacket, the kind used to immobilize violent or spastic mental patients. It fastens up the back with a complex series of buckles and straps, while the sleeves cross the chest and fasten around back, making it quite impossible to escape.
You look at the chest
A metal, military looking chest with a lot of complicated snaps. The lid doesn't close fully. Through the crack you can see a giant milkweed leaf.
No way you'll open it while stuck in this damn strait jacket.
You examine the lightbulb
Its an old-fashioned, big, glass one. You might have some use for it, if it weren't protected by a cage of wire mesh.
You examine the cage
A thin, fragile looking wire-mesh cage houses the lightbulb, presumably to keep patients from messing with it. One corner of it has been pulled outward, and the whole thing seems to hold to the ceiling only barely.
You look at the tiles
The uneven floor tiles are cracked and smeared with dirt. In your mind, you compare them to other floors you've seen in the Manor.
You look at the chill
A chill emanates from behind you, fading as you turn.
You examine the padding
Thick cloth padding covers the floors and ceiling, fastened by deep-set buttons. One of them catches your eye. Where all the others are cloth-covered, this one is brass.
You pull the button
It is fixed in place.
You open jacket with the knob
(first taking the brass button)
You'd need your hands for that.
You look
Padded cell (Marius Müller)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

You've noticed a strange brass button among those that fix the padding to the wall.

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.
You examine the chest
A metal, military looking chest with a lot of complicated snaps. The lid doesn't close fully. Through the crack you can see The
Dollmaker's Journal.
No way you'll open it while stuck in this damn strait jacket.
You look at the mesh
A thin, fragile looking wire-mesh cage houses the lightbulb, presumably to keep patients from messing with it. One corner of it has been pulled outward, and the whole thing seems to hold to the ceiling only barely.
You stand on chest
It's surprisingly hard to do without your hands, but you manage to climb onto the chest. The metal is cold beneath your feet.
You take the mesh
The height is right, but the bulb and its housing is out of reach in the middle of the room.
You get off the chest
You get off the chest less than elegantly.

Padded cell (Marius Müller)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

You've noticed a strange brass button among those that fix the padding to the wall.

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.
You look
Padded cell (Marius Müller) (on the metal chest)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

You've noticed a strange brass button among those that fix the padding to the wall.

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.
You pull the mesh
Since you don't have the use of your hands, you do a little jump and bite down on the edge of the mesh as hard as you can. You hang in the air for the fraction of a second before gravity does its work and the mesh is pulled down and you land on your shoulder awkwardly. (Here's hoping you didn't fall on your shoulder in an earlier room as well.) Even though you cut your lip a little, from where you lie on the ground you can see the solitary lightbulb, shining it's dim light, free of its cage.

Padded cell (Marius Müller)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

You've noticed a strange brass button among those that fix the padding to the wall.

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.
You examine the bulb
Its an old-fashioned, big, glass one.
Break bulb
You firmly plant your feet on the metal chest. It's good you did all the yoga before you came to the manor (and maybe since?), for you balance perfectly, aim your forehard at the bulb and ... headbutt it. There is a disappointingly low and short shattering sound. The light in the cell goes out, but there is enough room from the door to illuminate it in quite the same way as before. You think you've cut yourself on the face, but feel strangely sure that this wound won't bother you much once you leave this room.
You look
Padded cell (Marius Müller) (on the metal chest)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

A big shard of glass lies here, in a pool of his useless smaller brothers.

You've noticed a strange brass button among those that fix the padding to the wall.

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.
Cut jacket
Even with your nimbleness (yoga), you can't quite hold the shard in a way that would allow you to cut the straitjacket (which is made of thick cotton). Maybe you could find something else to hold it for you?
You put the shard in the chest
You'd need your hands to open the chest, but there is a small
crack where the lid doesn't fully close.
You put the shard in the crack
You gently push the shard into the crack (with your foot) and it fits snugly, with the sharp end pointing outwards conveniently.
Cut jacket
You kneel and begin to rub the back of the straitjacket, where the arms are tied behind your back, against the shard of glass. It's slow, dull, throbbing work. After endless minutes you feel the jacket giving some room in your shoulders, and with some more cutting and wriggling the fabric finally gives. You rub your arms for a good minute, willing feeling back into them. Finally, you can feel your aching fingers again. Okay, time to get out of here. Somehow.
Open chest
You open the metal chest, revealing an aluminum key, loose bricks, a rusty piece of metal, some yellowed newspapers, a shard of shattered carapace, an employee ID card, a book list, a soggy tome, a long hooked pole, a grimy rock, Peter's jacket, a trolley schedule, Twin Hearts Between the Planes, a pamphlet of home listings, a small, rectangular battery, a moldy, waterlogged journal, a repaired page, The Dollmaker's Journal, a dead battery, a waterproof
flashlight, a pull-string doll, a glass jar containing an insect, a half-full styrofoam coffee cup, a familiar gold wristwatch, a brass winding key, a trolley pass, a Jansport backpack, an antique locket and a giant milkweed leaf.
You take all
pamphlet of home listings: Taken.

metal chest: Oof. Too heavy, even when you lift with your knees. aluminum key: Taken.

loose bricks: Taken.

rusty piece of metal: Taken.

yellowed newspapers: Taken.

shard of shattered carapace: Taken.

employee ID card: Taken.

book list: Taken.

soggy tome: Taken.

long hooked pole: Taken.

grimy rock: Taken.

Peter's jacket: Taken.

trolley schedule: Taken.

Twin Hearts Between the Planes: Taken.

small, rectangular battery: Taken.

moldy, waterlogged journal: Taken.

repaired page: Taken.

The Dollmaker's Journal: Taken.
dead battery: Taken.

waterproof flashlight: Taken.

pull-string doll: Taken.

glass jar containing an insect: Taken.

familiar gold wristwatch: Taken.

brass winding key: Taken.

trolley pass: Taken.

Jansport backpack: Taken.

postcard of Big Ben: Taken.

diary of Phyllis Cragne: Taken.

The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Taken.

backpack features guide: Taken.

antique locket: Taken.

giant milkweed leaf: Taken.

glass shard: Taken.

half-full styrofoam coffee cup: Taken.
You examine the leaf
A giant milkweed leaf, curled in such a way that it could cling to your face like a mask. It even has two milk-ringed holes for your eyes.
You wear it
You put on the giant milkweed leaf.
You wear the backpack
You put on the Jansport backpack.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
an aluminum key
a pamphlet of home listings
a faint chill (haunting you)
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You turn the knob
You turn the brass button and this whole section of the padded wall swings open, revealing a small secret compartment with a switch inside. A dusty trophy tumbles out of it and to the floor.
You look at the trophy
It's a trophy, depicting of a greyhound in mid-jump. The plague reads: To  "Jonathan B. Cragne, Puce Alderman of the Variegated Court, for winning the Cragne Village Dog Race with Bloodfang."
You examine Door
It's a thick, padded door.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You look at your surroundings
Padded cell (Marius Müller) (on the metal chest)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

A secret compartment in the wall has swung open, revealing a small switch and some graffiti that says "THEY THOUGHT THEY COULD TRAP ME IN MY OWN CELL".

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.

You can also see a trophy for a dog race here.
You pull the switch
Nothing obvious happens.
You examine the switch
It's nothing but a small, unremarkable switch.

The switch is currently switched on.
You switch the switch
You hear a promising click from the door.
You open Door
You open the padded door.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
Go south
(first getting off the metal chest)
You get off the chest less than elegantly.

Padded cell (Marius Müller)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

A secret compartment in the wall has swung open, revealing a small switch and some graffiti that says "THEY THOUGHT THEY COULD TRAP ME IN MY OWN CELL".

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.

Backwater Jail (Marshal Tenner Winter)
The air is stale in this wood-paneled sheriff's office. You feel as if you've stepped back in time maybe twenty years as the office furnishings in here are simple and utilitarian. A desk, generic in style but wide enough for an outdated-looking computer, is near the window. A swivel chair is behind it and a wooden visitors chair is on the other side. Despite the meager light that creeps in the window, there's still a bleak glow from fluorescent bulbs overhead. Other furnishings include a file cabinet and, what appears to be, a locker that was literally ripped out of a high school and placed against the wall in here.

Otherwise, a cheap door with a unisex bathroom sign on it is to the west and a secure door, obviously the lock-up, is to the north. The exit is south.

You can see a desiccated corpse here. It fell out of that locker, which now stands open.

On the desk is a clipboard holding some paperwork.
You examine the corpse
This withered and horrible corpse will be hard to identify as the poor soul seems to have been dead for a good while now. You're pretty sure it was once female as the clothes, while dirty and torn, are a feminine style.
Search corpse
Delicately, you pad around the clothes on the corpse just in case anything useful can be found. Unfortunately, you find nothing but a black business card which you grab.
You look at the card
Which do you mean, the black business card or the employee ID card?
You examine the black card
Congratulations! You've just encountered Vaadignephod's
Anti-Personnel Squad!
You search the Locker
In the evidence locker is Tolerating An Asinine God.
You look at God
This book looks to be an old school text book but it is in surprisingly good shape. You're not too sure why you're surprised at this. But there is a faded sticker on the front bearing the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book, which you realize might be redundant.
You read it
You skim through the pages and glance at a passage or two. "God
may exist but he isn't alive / for to die is to live / and to live is to die."

A snap like ice cracking behind you makes you jump. You turn to see a chalky spark hovering near you.

As you finish reading the passage, the spark moves through the book with an eerie hum, leaving frost behind on the library insignia.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
an aluminum key
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You examine the spark
Something like a spark of chalk hovers in the air behind you. As you watch, it fades, only to reappear to your right in a wash of cold.
You go south
Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A tangled rampart of trees and dense undergrowth obstructs passage to the south.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You wait for the aqua Line
You sit on the memorial bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the aqua line. Within moments, a mistlike trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
You wait for the blue Line
You sit on the memorial bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the blue line. Within moments, a ghostly trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
You wait for the Orange Line
You lean against the library steps, hold out your pass, and wait for the orange line. Within moments, a mistlike trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A tangled rampart of trees and dense undergrowth obstructs passage to the south.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
Go northeast
"Ah, I do bid you again Greeting, my friend. You do seem much busy to-Daye in your Wanderings."

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see Christabell here.
You look at the cliffs
The granite walls are sheer and angle ever so slightly inward, overhanging the clearing; they would be impossible to climb without assistance from the top. The granite itself is fine-grained, but far darker than Vermont granite, is the color of burnt candle wick, all but invisible in this light save for tiny inclusions of reflective, jet-black mica, which impart a numinous glow.
You look at the mica
The granite walls are sheer and angle ever so slightly inward, overhanging the clearing.
Go southwest
"Do endeavour to mind yourself amongst the Crânes!"

"I will. I always do." You shout back, as you walk away.

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A tangled rampart of trees and dense undergrowth obstructs passage to the south.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
About you
You brush an errant tentacle from your fifth eye and quickly check yourself over. All of your writhing slime-streaked appendages seem to be in order. Gill slits are gorgeous. Your ventral scales could use a bit of a polish though.
You go to the northeast
"I am glad your Pilgrimage does take you mie Waie yet once moor, dear girl!" says Christabell as she prances up beside you along the path.

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see Christabell here.
You examine the vegetation
Nothing grows anywhere near the pile of railroad track in the center of the clearing; perhaps the soil has been compacted by eons of spectators who stood in that very place, watching or taking part in ceremonies, perhaps dancing around whatever had occupied the central place. Or maybe the ground here is just unwholesome, unwelcoming to life, poisoned in some way. Only at the periphery, does nature scratch its way towards redemption of this lost grotto. A somber carpet of flaky lichens and mouldering moss gives way to bent fingers of crippled weeds at the edge of the clearing. Some trailheads leading away are barely distinguishable between snaking tendrils of withered vine and fungus-covered rotting stumps that mark the boundary of the surrounding woods.
You examine the trailheads
Seething nature guards its distance from this place. Between the wispy weeds and degenerate, stunted trees that edge the clearing, you can distinguish three potential escape routes, one each to the north, southwest, and southeast, as the crow flies.
Go north
"I shall not keep you further from your most industrious Perambulations," Christabell jests.

"See you later," you call back to her.

"I do most fervently so desire!"

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You examine the placard
It reads "31." The house address, presumably.
You look at the manikin
A faceless three-foot straw figure in a flowered bonnet and plaid skirt. It looks like a figure from some ancient harvest rite--somewhat like the harvest manikins in Stowe outside such establishments as The Startled Cat, The Buxom Crow, The Ambulatory Barnacle, and Tweebones.
You get it
It's just a piece of local whimsy. No need to bother with it.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
an aluminum key
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You are also wearing a pair of extremely muddy clogs.
You examine the clogs
You picked these clogs as sensible walking shoes, but you didn't count on it being this wet. They're caked in mud almost all the way to your ankle.
You examine the porch
A brief flight of steps leads up to the porch. The thick screens block any view inside.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.
You go northeast
Cragne Family Plot (Mark Britton)
A cramped and neglected place on unwholesome yellow soil. Over the years the gravestones have shifted like teeth in an overcrowded mouth, collapsing one atop the other. Crabgrass pokes up limply between them, urine-yellow and parched-looking. The earth mounds up around the shabby crypt, as if it's sunk over the years into the Vermont topsoil. You wonder who would want to be buried here--and who would willingly consign their ancestors to this brutal place. Perhaps that's why it's been so neglected.

Four squat columbariums stand north, east, south, and west of here. A winding and uncertain path leads southwest. By stepping over collapsed gravestones and bleached obelisks you can go northwest. Carefully. You could also enter the crypt from here, if you were able to open it.

Three graves nearby draw your eye. One headstone teeters drunkenly, half overrun by lichen. One headstone has collapsed entirely. An adjacent plot stands open, overlooked by a blank headstone. The grave within is flooded almost to the top with bubbling rainwater.

You can see some rotten flowers and a china urn here.
About yourself
The cuffs of your jeans are soaked with greasy, pale-yellow mud. You stink of rot, and the sweat mingling with rain on your cheeks burns like vinegar.
You look at the crypt
A sprawling and brutish monument with a skeleton incised into its metal door. You wonder who'd want to be interred somewhere so grim. You wonder if there's a space inside for your husband.
Look around
The rain hits your face like a swarm of horseflies, leaving you blinking. You shiver.

Cragne Family Plot (Mark Britton)
A cramped and neglected place on unwholesome yellow soil. Over the years the gravestones have shifted like teeth in an overcrowded mouth, collapsing one atop the other. Crabgrass pokes up limply between them, urine-yellow and parched-looking. The earth mounds up around the shabby crypt, as if it's sunk over the years into the Vermont topsoil. You wonder who would want to be buried here--and who would willingly consign their ancestors to this brutal place. Perhaps that's why it's been so neglected.

Four squat columbariums stand north, east, south, and west of here. A winding and uncertain path leads southwest. By stepping over collapsed gravestones and bleached obelisks you can go northwest. Carefully. You could also enter the crypt from here, if you were able to open it.

Three graves nearby draw your eye. One headstone teeters drunkenly, half overrun by lichen. One headstone has collapsed entirely. An adjacent plot stands open, overlooked by a blank headstone. The grave within is flooded almost to the top with bubbling rainwater.

You can see some rotten flowers and a china urn here.
You examine Door
A crude skeleton, grinning and capering, is incised into the metal. It reminds you of medieval art you saw in college, primitive and alien--but there's something odd about the shape of the skull. A banner above the skeleton reads, worn and barely legible, "Mors ultima linea rerum est."
Northern
The door is shut. The geometric shapes incised deep into the marble prick at your eyes. No explanatory plaque is affixed. You wonder whose name was obliterated.
You examine the western
The door is shut. The marble is blank. Mold has seeped into its pores, dyeing it a fungal yellow. You don't want to touch it.

A bouquet of flowers, black with rot, lies at the foot of the columbarium.
You examine the flowers
A bouquet of half-liquefied flowers. The heavy stench of the rain blocks out the smell. You wonder who left them here, and why.
You examine the eastern
The door is shut. Crude figures are incised into the white marble door. One is jackal-headed, cringing and skeletal. Another is fat and imbecilic as a maggot. The tarnished plaque's name has been eaten away; in its place someone has scraped "O homines ad servitutem paratos!"
You examine southern
The southern columbarium's front panel hangs ajar, as if ripped asunder. Battered by the wind, it swings; the sound drills into your skull. Your gums ache.

Into the granite wall, someone has carved "MEDIA VITA IN MORTE SUMUS" in long, ugly slashes.
You look at the teetering
A perfectly round face gawps up at you, its eyes and mouth neatly drilled out. Deep gashes score the granite, the name obliterated. You wonder how long it took. You wonder how much hate it took.

Just readable beneath a carpet of lichen is the inscription: "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat-" Here the inscription has been pulverized. A line below it continues: "-till thou return unto the ground; for out of it was thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto-" The inscription crumbles away. An entire line has been scraped off.

The quotation's almost familiar, but there's something off-putting about the missing words. They draw the eye like wounds.
You look at collapsed
The stone is pitted, perhaps acid-eaten. A litter of dead insects and blackened leaves leaks from every cranny. Almost unreadable is the inscription "Zadie Cragne, 1829."

One date. You search in vain for a second, then glance round at the jostling tombstones and wonder how many infants lie beneath.
You examine blank
It's fresher than the others, not yet crusted with lichen. Search as you might, you can't find a name.
You look at flooded
Mildewed and splintering boards cover the nearest grave. Beneath, gritty ocher water, thick as paint, laps the soil. The grave is open. A granite headstone looms over it, implacably blank.
You examine urn
The urn's been half reduced to colorful powder, seeping into the mud.
You get all
rotten flowers: Taken.

china urn: As you scoop up the urn, it disintegrates into gritty powder. Chunks of bone crumble apart in your fingers and are swept away by the rain.
You look at your surroundings
Cragne Family Plot (Mark Britton)
A cramped and neglected place on unwholesome yellow soil. Over the years the gravestones have shifted like teeth in an overcrowded mouth, collapsing one atop the other. Crabgrass pokes up limply between them, urine-yellow and parched-looking. The earth mounds up around the shabby crypt, as if it's sunk over the years into the Vermont topsoil. You wonder who would want to be buried here--and who would willingly consign their ancestors to this brutal place. Perhaps that's why it's been so neglected.

Four squat columbariums stand north, east, south, and west of here. A winding and uncertain path leads southwest. By stepping over collapsed gravestones and bleached obelisks you can go northwest. Carefully. You could also enter the crypt from here, if you were able to open it.

Three graves nearby draw your eye. One headstone teeters drunkenly, half overrun by lichen. One headstone has collapsed entirely. An adjacent plot stands open, overlooked by a blank headstone. The grave within is flooded almost to the top with bubbling rainwater.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a jackalope. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
Go down
You kneel by the grave, your gorge rising. The boards crumble, staining your hands yellow, as you push them aside. As you disturb the murky rainwater it bubbles, an acrid stink wafting up; your eyes itch and water.

It's easily six feet deep. You imagine the water closing over your head with a soft slurp, soaking through at once to your skin. You could drown there, clawing at the melting earth walls, your feet never scraping bottom.

You sit back, gasping for air. Your skull fizzes. An earthy taste remains on your tongue, and the wind spattering your face as you get to your feet is an odd relief.
You'll have to find another way down.
Go inside
(first opening the crypt door)
You push and shove, putting your back into it, but the door remains locked. The skeleton grins stupidly down at you.
Search flooded
The water in the grave is too murky to see through.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the trouble of graves!"
You examine grave
Mildewed and splintering boards cover the nearest grave. Beneath, gritty ocher water, thick as paint, laps the soil. The grave is open. A granite headstone looms over it, implacably blank.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Flee the portent of the western columbarium!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the crypt! A door suggests passage out of life!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the jeopardy of the northern columbarium! What merely appears deep may be unmeasurable!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the flooded grave! A gritty texture represents hesitation! Water bespeaks a thirst that cannot be assuaged!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the trouble of the cheap trick! To think something is cheap indicates your own feelings of inadequacy!"
You open the northern
The door is shut tight. You prod and pry, the marble panel squeaking on the granite. At last it gives way. Inside, just visible in the dark, is a bronze urn.
You examine the bronze
The metal seems to absorb all light. Unfamiliar colors dance iridescent on its surface. It's greasy to the touch.
You open the eastern
You mumble an apology that the rain drowns out. The door gives way easily. Inside, gleaming in the scant light, is a silver urn.
You examine the silver
(the antique locket)
The locket and chain are silver, surprisingly untouched by the murky depths from which they came. The front of the locket bears a tiny embossed likeness of a kraken. The initials E.C. are engraved
on its back.
You look at the silver urn
The incised shapes nauseate you; they whirl and dance in a frenzy, contorting and bulging, spreading like a fungus. You blink once, twice, and they were never there.
You open the western
You don't want to touch it, but you grit your teeth. The mold leaves a fine yellow smooch on your hand. You see a copper urn here.
You examine the copper
The smell leaches through the metal, clinging to your skin, your hair. Your stomach rumbles. You're almost hungry.
You look at the western
The marble is blank. Mold has seeped into its pores, dyeing it a fungal yellow. You don't want to touch it.

A bouquet of flowers, black with rot, lies at the foot of the columbarium.
You put the silver urn in the western
You put the silver urn into the western columbarium.
Open copper
Greasy red liquid flows out over your hands, itching like centipede legs. Something deep in the urn is just visible, adhered to the side. It is not ashes. Tiny hands, half-reduced to corpse-liquor, fold over a tiny blackened face.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a copper urn (open but empty)
a bronze urn (closed)
some rotten flowers
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
an aluminum key
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
Close copper
You close the copper urn.
Open bronze
The stench is thick enough to blind you. Gagging you fall to your knees, shapeless forms whirling behind your eyelids; colors flash, almost solid, as if they have physical presence. You see stars bursting, flesh sloughing off the delicate bones of something curled in a damp and pulsating womb, a face that is not human and not animal. You'll have nightmares tonight, if you sleep tonight.
You close it
You close the bronze urn.
You open the silver urn
You open the silver urn, revealing a key from an urn.
You get key from the urn
Which do you mean, the silver urn, the copper urn or the bronze urn?
Inventory
You are carrying:
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
some rotten flowers
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
an aluminum key
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You examine the key from an the urn
The key is greasy with fine ash. Was it burned? Who interred this key, and why?
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a gunblade. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
You look at flooded
Mildewed and splintering boards cover the nearest grave. Beneath, gritty ocher water, thick as paint, laps the soil. The grave is open. A granite headstone looms over it, implacably blank.
You enter flooded
Your throat closes up at the thought of touching the water.
You'll have to find another way down.
You examine blank
It's fresher than the others, not yet crusted with lichen. Search as you might, you can't find a name.
You put the flowers in flooded
You put the rotten flowers into the flooded grave.
You get them
You imagine reaching into the murky rainwater to retrieve the rotten flowers, and nearly vomit.
You examine grave
Mildewed and splintering boards cover the nearest grave. Beneath, gritty ocher water, thick as paint, laps the soil. The grave is open. A granite headstone looms over it, implacably blank.

In the flooded grave are some rotten flowers.
Dig
You dig at the mud with the toe of your shoe. Lukewarm water seeps in around your toes, soaking your sock.
You look at the cup
The clouds in your cup form a mermaid. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
Go northwest
You make your way to the rear of the manor house toward its back garden, playfully keeping to a trail of broken flagstones leading the way. Your simple amusement fades as you turn a corner to see a distant gate with an incredible amount of overgrowth choking the forward path. Knee-high grass blankets the ground while thick, thorny bushes crowd the way. You plow ahead, fighting through the hairy grass as it grasps and wraps itself around the fabric of your jeans, making every step a struggle. The slog is made worse by the overgrown bushes which seem to lean in further to assail you with their wicked, long thorns. You finally reach the gate with torn and deeply-itchy skin. Using the momemtum you'd built charging through the overgrowth you forcefully open the gate, snapping the vines draped over it which were holding it shut. The now-broken vines dangle downward from an arch over the gate, forming a swaying curtain of thorns which you delicately part and step through.

You nearly jump back at the sight of the writhing scene before you.

The Cragne Manor's Back Garden (Austin Auclair)
Vines splay across the landscape, every direction they shoot, seemingly racing to the tops of trees to pull them down. The vines wind up and around every structure, overrunning them with sheer, sinister mass. The vines grow in hypnotic tracks across the yard, almost to suggest that they were woven, braided, and arranged with care. It's both unnerving and unusually pretty. If there are windows or a door on the back of the manor house they're utterly smothered by the vines that clamber up the wall and onto the roof, and nothing less than a chainsaw could crack open that tomb.

In the center of the yard is a large, vine-strangled structure that's most likely a fountain. On the left side of the garden is something with the suggested shape of a birdbath, neatly wrapped up in thorny coils. And there's one rather large, building-shaped hill of vines just in front of the southeast corner. Paths out of here lead southwest and southeast.

You can see a large patch of poison ivy (in which is a pair of garden shears) here.
About yourself
It has been a long day and the setting sun reminds you of how little you've accomplished. You've come dressed to work, however, with sturdy boots, stiff denim, a shirt you're willing to sacrifice, and a bandana wrapped around your forehead. This old mansion likely needs some love and maintenance and you're wearing the uniform for getting things done.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
an aluminum key
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a row of trees. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.
You examine the vines
There are so very many vines in this back garden. Flowering, thorny, hairy, and vines in many hues of green and brown. You might be better off asking about the object your target vine has wrapped itself around.
You look at the Fountain
Trumpet Vine with its bright orange, conical flowers strangles what seems to be a marble fountain. Looking closer you see that the top of the fountain features a cherub giving a peace sign with one of its hands and is pointing at its feet with the other. You determine that when the water is actually flowing, the naked churub pees into the main basin. Disconcertingly, a vine has erupted from the cherub's ...ahem... and it dangles freely. You involuntarily wince.
You look at the bird bath
Morning Glory with bright, many-hued flowers has wrapped itself around what bears the shape of a birdbath.

You walk over to take a closer look at the birdbath, circling it, and to the west of it, your foot immediately sinks into the vine-covered ground. Ice-cold water floods into your boot and you struggle to break the vines that have helped snare your limb in this hidden water. In a panic you brace yourself on the birdbath, pulling your foot out of the mire, knocking over the birdbath in the process.

Your attention is split between the revelation that there's a pond hidden here and the flat, inscribed stone that was under the birdbath.
You look at Stone
(the grimy rock)
A solitary rock sat in the palm of your hand.
You examine inscribed Stone
You take a closer look at the flat stone that was under the birdbath and scratched into is, "I hid the key from the vines when they weren't looking. That made them angry."
You get it
The flat stone is firmly stuck in the ground.
You examine pond
The cold water from the once-hidden pond squelches and croaks from your boot with every step you take. Now that you know it's there, you can identify the depression that forms the line of this body of water. Vines cover the surface of the water, hiding it completely. You try pulling them aside so you can peer into the water but they're too tautly strung. You'll need something stronger than your bare hands to cut them.

When you push down on any portion of the vines, they undulate across the surface of the water, reminding you of the weird water bed your parents had for years. You shudder in disgust for multiple reasons.
You examine the building
From the sloping roof it's obvious that the massive pile of vines at the southeast corner of this garden is actually a shed. More Honeysuckle vine than man-made structure, it's hard to see how the shed hasn't yet been obliterated by the plants seeking to consume it. Despite the distractingly intoxicating smell of the Honeysuckle flowers, after a few minutes of poking around the structure you identify the location of the door.

A stout bronze padlock (in addition to layers upon layers of vines) keeps the shed's door firmly closed. You also notice a shelf of gardening supplies just to the left of the structure, it too fully crocheted by vines.
You look at the padlock
A solid wooden door with a fairly new-looking bronze padlock keeping it closed. For extra security the vines growing on the shed also grow tightly against the door.
You examine the shelf
A wood 3-tiered shelf leans against the shed, fully ensconced in Honeysuckle. You paw through the vines to see cracked pots, broken seed trays, and a few rotted wooden stakes. The only thing of note is a jug of white vinegar.
You examine the vinegar
A gallon jug of white vinegar. The label is fairly faded but part of it reads, "Possible uses: cleaning appliances such as coffee makers, dishwashers, and washing machines, making hardboiled eggs easier to shell, deodorant, and pouring it on hard-to-pull weeds in your driveway to kill them."
You look at the ivy
All you can think about is the aphorism, "Leaves of three, leave them be" as you stare at this particularly vigorous and noxious-looking patch of poison ivy vines. Your skin crawls and your imagination runs wild with the nightmare of you falling into the poison ivy and having to scratch your skin until it turns bloody. Their hairy tendrils almost seem to drip with sticky poison.

In the large patch of poison ivy is a pair of garden shears.
You examine the shears
They're long-bladed garden shears, like a giant pair of scissors. They're currently completely surrounded by vile poison ivy.
You pour the vinegar on the ivy
Taking the jug of vinegar and following the instructions on the label for dealing with troublesome weeds, you pour it on the poison ivy vines guarding the garden shears. The effect is shockingly immediate and surprisingly, the vines audibly squeal in pain as they melt into goo. The garden shears are left unprotected.
You get the shears
Now that awful poison ivy has been cleared away...

Taken.
You cut all the the vines
You're going to have to be a lot more specific. There are countless varieties of vines here.
Cut pond
Using your newly-acquired garden shears you attack the vigorous vines covering the pond. After some thorough cutting you reveal the surface of the water.
You cut the shelf
You trim some of the vines off the garden shelf and you level up your hoticulture skill.
You look in pond
After cutting away the vines sealing the pond like a thorny pool cover, you reveal most of the pond's surface. The pond is surprisingly clear, even with the early evening's sun ducking behind the horizon. The water is so clear in fact, that you can't miss the rotted skeletal remains of a person sitting down at the bottom of the pond.
Cut shed
You trim some of the vines off the shed and particularly those that are helping to keep the door shut. The shears are nowhere near strong enough to tackle that padlock though.
You look at skeleton
The body of a person wearing gardening overalls and a rotted straw hat lies at the bottom of this once-hidden pond. Their flesh has mostly melted away, leaving a grinning skull that belies their violent end. Vines are hungrily wrapped around the gardener's skeleton and one of the person's hands still clutches at their own throat. Their other hand grasps a rusty screwdriver.
Cut skeleton
Cutting it up would achieve little.
You examine the screwdriver
A flathead screwdriver that is rusty from being underwater for too long.
You get it
The body of the dead gardener is shallow enough in the pond that you can dip your arm into the water and pry the screwdriver from its death grip. The water is freezing cold and smells like it's been steeped in... well, dead body.

Taken.
You examine the screwdriver
A flathead screwdriver that is rusty from being underwater for too long. It was underwater because it was being held in the rotting death grip of a gardener (who may have been murdered by vines) before you pried the tool from the person's gross, skeletal hand.
You read flat Stone
"I hid the key from the vines when they weren't looking. That made them angry."
Look around
The Cragne Manor's Back Garden (Austin Auclair)
Vines splay across the landscape, every direction they shoot, seemingly racing to the tops of trees to pull them down. The vines wind up and around every structure, overrunning them with sheer, sinister mass. The vines grow in hypnotic tracks across the yard, almost to suggest that they were woven, braided, and arranged with care. It's both unnerving and unusually pretty. If there are windows or a door on the back of the manor house they're utterly smothered by the vines that clamber up the wall and onto the roof, and nothing less than a chainsaw could crack open that tomb.

In the center of the yard is a large marble fountain adorned with a chubby cherub. On the left side of the garden is the birdbath that you knocked over. To the left of the fallen birdbath is the outline of a once-hidden pond and a flat stone stuck in the ground where the birdbath used to stand. Near the rear, southeast corner of the garden is a large garden shed with an adjoining shelf of supplies.
Search fountain
One of the fountain cherub's hands deliberately points downward at its feet. Taking that as a message of sorts, you poke and prod the fountain, its basin, and the cherub statue thoroughly; almost find nothing of value. It's when you inspect the fountain's drain that you see a bronze key, green from age, stuck down inside. You poke at the drain's cover but its screws are rusted too tightly to turn for anything less than a screwdriver.
You unscrew the drain
Wielding the screwdriver you took from the dead body, you quickly remove the screws from the fountain's drain cover. It's short work from there to hook the key out from the drain pipe.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a bronze key green from age
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
an aluminum key
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You unlock padlock with bronze key
The key from the fountain's drain fits and turns in the padlock perfectly. You rip away the vines trapping the shed door and it swings open without a fuss.
Go inside
You open the door further to allow you to pass through. You go inside the garden shed.

The Shambolic Shack (Michael Fessler)
A dimly-lit shack with crude plywood walls. An octagonal window set high on one wall admits a feeble shaft of moonlight. Rickety wire shelving sits precariously in one dimly lit corner, and a battered metal wheelbarrow rests in the opposite corner. A rough doorway leads back out.
You look at the window
Moonlight struggles to make its way through the patina of dirt on the octagonal window mounted high up on one wall.
You look at the shelving
Cheap wire shelving that has seen better days. It wobbles to the touch.

On the rickety wire shelving are some mildewed leather gloves.
You examine the gloves
A pair of malodorous gardening gloves spotted with what you presume is mildew. It's particularly dense and pungent around the gloves' opening.
You look at the wheelbarrow
A battered metal wheelbarrow. Or at least, it used to be when it still had a front wheel. With only a twisted axle remaining, I guess now it's just a "barrow". It is full of glistening black soil.
You examine soil
Glistening black soil fills the wheelbarrow nearly to the brim. The soil's surface heaves and churns. There is something alive in there.
About you
Just fine. I mean, you have a slightly distant gaze and a mild nervous twitch, but nothing a stiff drink and six weeks on a tropical beach wouldn't put right. So basically fine, then.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a bronze key green from age
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
an aluminum key
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a sharknado. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
You put bronze key in the key pocket
You put the bronze key green from age into the key pocket.
You put the aluminum key in the key pocket
You put the aluminum key into the key pocket.
You close the key pocket
You close the key pocket.
You look at the key
Which do you mean, the key from an urn or the brass winding key?
You get gloves
As you gingerly pick up the mildewed gardening gloves, a rust-streaked iron key hidden beneath them drops to the ground.
You look at it
A hefty iron key, its wards streaked with rust.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a dromedary camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.
You get the soil
You eye the soil's turbulent surface warily. Nope. Not touching that with your bare hands.
You wear the gloves
You pull the mildewed gloves onto your hands with a reluctant shudder. Your palms begin to itch almost instantly.
You ask the soil about the soil
But there's no one to talk to here.

The itching of your hands grows maddening, and begins to work its way up your wrists. You feel feverish.
You search soil
Your hands shielded by the thick cloth gloves, you reach beneath the surface of the heaving soil. You grit your teeth as you feel mandibles nip fiercely at your hands -- but the gloves hold. You grope around for a few moments, frustrated by the lack of fine sensation.

You encounter a small metallic object that scrapes against the wheelbarrow floor as you fumble for it, but you can't quite get a grip on it. Abandoning it, you cast about in frustration and rising panic...there! You seize on something large and pull it out of the soil. It's a spray bottle.
You look at the spray
A plastic spray bottle labelled "Handwavizole: For Rapid Treatment of endomycorrhizi yuggothi Infestation".
You spray the gloves
You douse the mildewed leather gloves with a billowing cloud of fungicide, emptying the bottle in the process. You hear a satisfying sizzle as it does its work.
However, it doesn't penetrate to the skin below, which remains just as itchy.
You spray yourself
You douse your gloved hands with a billowing cloud of fungicide, emptying the bottle in the process. You hear a satisfying sizzle as it does its work. However, it doesn't penetrate to the skin below, which remains just as itchy.
You remove the gloves
You take off the mildewed leather gloves.
You spray yourself
You douse your hands with a billowing cloud of fungicide, emptying the bottle in the process. You feel immediate relief from the fierce itching as your skin sizzles merrily.
You wait awhile
Time passes.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a hefty, rust-streaked iron key
some mildewed leather gloves
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You examine coffee
The swirls in your cup form a gunblade. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.
You go to the southwest
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You wait for the brown Line
You lean against the gravel path, hold out your pass, and wait for the brown line. Within moments, a phantom trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 2:35 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Brown Line -- Train Station.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a hefty, rust-streaked iron key
some mildewed leather gloves
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a brass winding key
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)

Thunder rumbles in the distance.
You examine the iD
An employee ID card for Vermont Transit Authority, bearing a blurry ID photo and the name "Veeder, R."
You unlock Locker with the iD
The card swiper flashes a green light, and the door of the locker swings open. Inside you can see a suitcase.
You examine it
A plain brown leather suitcase. You would recognize it as your husband's even without the monogrammed initials P.C. on the side. It has a four-digit combination lock set to 0000.
You set the lock to 0319
The lock clicks open.

The clock gives a deep, booming chime on the quarter hour.
You examine the suitcase
A plain brown leather suitcase. You would recognize it as your husband's even without the monogrammed initials P.C. on the side. It has a four-digit combination lock set to 0319.

You step in an old wad of gum. Yuck.
You open it
You open the suitcase, revealing a mysterious silver box.
You look at the silver box
A smooth, solid silver box. It rattles when shaken, but has no visible hinges, latch, or any other way to open it. On the top is an embossed image of a train.
You examine the image
The image on the box depicts an old-fashioned steam locomotive with cars coupled behind. You can just make out the words "Anchorhead Express" on the side of the train.

You shiver for no reason at all, as if someone has just walked over your grave.
Shake box
When you shake it, you can hear a faint rattle from inside.

A leak in the ceiling drips water into a puddle.
You look at your surroundings
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 2:54 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Brown Line -- Train Station.

You shiver for no reason at all, as if someone has just walked over your grave.
You put the box on the tracks
(first taking the mysterious silver box)
You put the mysterious silver box on the tracks.

A garbled message plays over the PA system, in which the only understandable word is "blood".
You describe your surroundings
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 2:57 pm; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Brown Line -- Train Station.
You examine the schedule
(the trolley schedule)
It's unlike any public transit schedule you've ever seen, in that there are no times listed. A cheerfully phrased block of introduction text instructs riders to hang their passes around their necks, proceed to a trolley stop, and WAIT FOR whatever color LINE corresponds with their choice of destination.

Destinations:
Brown Line -- Train Station
Gold Line -- Church
Blue Line -- Library Square
Aqua Line -- River Walk
Orange Line -- Constabulary Road
Green Line -- The Woods
Purple Line -- Cragne Manor
You examine the schedule board
The board lists a schedule of train times:
Providence     CANCELLED
Dunwich        CANCELLED
Innsmouth      CANCELLED
Anchorhead     13:37
Arkham         CANCELLED
You examine the clock
The clock face seems almost to be staring at you, as the second hand sweeps hypnotically around it. The time shown is 3:00 pm. You can't see the clock very closely from down here.

The clock tolls 3 times, each stroke rattling your teeth and resounding hollowly around the empty station.
Break box
Violence isn't the answer to this one.

For no apparent reason, the PA system plays a three-second snatch of bagpipe music.
You examine the brick wall
A crumbling brick wall with some strange graffiti painted on it.
You turn the box
Nothing obvious happens.

A leak in the ceiling drips water into a puddle.
You say vaadignephod
You can only do that to something animate.
You say the ialdabaoloth
Suddenly Peter stands and approaches you. He slaps you hard across the face, knocking you to the ground. Then he walks off into the darkness. You stare after him for a while. When you finally turn around, you notice the gate is also gone.
You look at the winding
A small brass key used for winding a clock.
You stand on the bench
You get onto the bench.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.
You look at the clock
The clock face seems almost to be staring at you, as the second hand sweeps hypnotically around it. The time shown is 3:09 pm. Standing on the bench, you can see a small keyhole on one side of the clock.
You put the winding in the keyhole
The winding key fits neatly into the hole, ready to be turned.
Wind clock
Turning the key will change the time on the clock. You should pick a time to set it to.
You get the coin
You can't reach that while you're up on the bench.

A garbled message plays over the PA system, in which the only understandable word is "blood".
You stand
You get off the bench.
You get the coin
Taken.

You step in an old wad of gum. Yuck.
You examine it
A tarnished circle of bronze. The heads side depicts a misshapen figure with what look like tentacles. The tails side has a strange glyph which seems to shift as you look at it, but looks almost like an R fused with a V. Or maybe a J fused with a P? No, it's definitely an R fused with a V.

A leak in the ceiling drips water into a puddle.
You examine the vending
Similar to a gumball machine, but it's the kind that dispenses toys in little plastic bubbles. At the bottom is a chute where the contents come out. There is a coin slot, but instead of a price next to it, there is a strange squiggled glyph.

In the vending machine is a plastic bubble.
You put the coin in the slot
Which do you mean, the rectangular slot or the coin slot?
Coin
The coin drops into the slot with a clunk. A plastic bubble falls into the chute.
You examine it
A small transparent plastic capsule with a lid.

In the plastic bubble is a golden eyepiece.

The clock gives a deep, booming chime on the quarter hour.
You open it
You open the plastic bubble.
You examine the eyepiece
A misshapen golden disc, studded with lenses. It looks like it could fit flush with your eye socket. On its surfaces are a round button, a triangular button, and a small rectangular slot.

The golden eyepiece is currently switched off.

You shiver for no reason at all, as if someone has just walked over your grave.
You wear it
(first taking the golden eyepiece)
You try holding it up to your eye, but it just falls off. Perhaps there are additional steps.
You look at the round button
You see nothing special about the round button.

The PA system crackles with static, but no words are intelligible.
You enter the bench
You get onto the bench.
You stand
You get off the bench.

Is it your imagination, or do you see something approaching down the track?
You enter the tracks
You get onto the tracks.
Wait
Time passes.

A monotonous voice over the loudspeaker recites a seemingly random series of numbers.
Wait
Time passes.

Is it your imagination, or do you see something approaching down the track?
You look at the clock
The clock face seems almost to be staring at you, as the second hand sweeps hypnotically around it. The time shown is 1:39 pm. You can't see the clock very closely from down here.

Yes... there's definitely something coming, though you can't seem to see it clearly...
Wait
Time passes.

There is a sudden gust of wind and a headlight shining in your face. You can just make out the translucent shape of an old-fashioned steam locomotive bearing down on you as you stand frozen on the tracks. You close your eyes, expecting it to hit you at any moment, but instead of a solid impact you feel a rushing current like a hurricane wind. There is no time even to scream as it tears the very soul from your body, carrying you along on its spectral journey.
You stand
You get off the tracks.

You step back just in time, as an old-fashioned steam locomotive comes hurtling down the tracks from the west. It appears translucent, almost insubstantial, but the rush of wind and noise created by its passage fills the station: the clatter of the wheels, the chugging of the engine, the clanging of the bell, and the mournful blowing of the whistle. It whooshes through the station without stopping, and then is gone as swiftly as it appeared. In the sudden silence, you look down the tracks to the east, but can see no sign of it.
You examine the eyepiece
A misshapen golden disc, studded with lenses. It looks like it could fit flush with your eye socket. On its surfaces are a round button, a triangular button, and a small rectangular slot.

The golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew) is currently switched off.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew)
a plastic bubble (open but empty)
a mysterious silver box
a suitcase (open but empty)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a hefty, rust-streaked iron key
some mildewed leather gloves
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
a small, rectangular battery
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
a pamphlet of home listings
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You examine the black card
Congratulations! You've just encountered Vaadignephod's
Anti-Personnel Squad!

The clock gives a deep, booming chime on the quarter hour.
You put the black card in the rectangular slot
That can't contain things.

The wind blows stray leaves across the tracks.
You drop the gloves
Dropped.
You wear the eyepiece
You try holding it up to your eye, but it just falls off. Perhaps there are additional steps.

A leak in the ceiling drips water into a puddle.
You wear the eyepiece
You try holding it up to your eye, but it just falls off. Perhaps there are additional steps.
You wear the eyepiece
There's a sudden pinching sensation as the device clamps onto your face. Panicked, you struggle to remove it, but it won't budge. You feel a long needle pierce your eye, and then nothing. Your vision is normal once more - better than normal, even. Previously mundane surfaces now shimmer with possibility.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a mansion. Objects of desire either mean that you are surrounded by great treasures and opportunities or that you need to be more careful with your physical belongings. Possibly both.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a stochastic pattern resembling television static. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go south
Train Station Lobby (Shin)
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go south
Exterior of Train Station (Emily Short with additions from Graham Nelson)
Go south
You pass over the bridge. The ravine has become a white river, teeming with creatures: you see a fin, a gill, a plaintive upturned face, before each is swept away.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)
You go to the south
A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a dromedary camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You wait for blue Line
You lean against the keyhole, hold out your pass, and wait for the blue line. Within moments, an insubstantial trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You go northwest
Shack Exterior (Michael Lin)
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a biplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go northwest
The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
You can see a flat stone here.
You go to the north
The Old Well (Reed Lockwood)
You can see a wooden sigil here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Green Line -- The Woods.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a pear shape, complete with stem. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at your surroundings
The Old Well (Reed Lockwood)
The trees here gather, black with wet; glimmering fingers hung with ragged matter, huddling beneath a cold and gently weeping sky. Beneath your feet, the damp red felt of rotting leaves slopes down toward a still, murky puddle. Nearby is a well, capped off with crumbling cement. A broken-down section of brick wall waits for raindrops to fall along its spine, and an old, half-dead oak straddles an angular boulder studded with quartz. A path through the forest leads south.

You can see a wooden sigil here.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Green Line -- The Woods.
You look at well
An old well cap made of crumbling cement emerges from the forest floor here. Two wrought-iron handles, pitted with rust, emerge from the top. A padlock, also rusted, holds it closed.
You examine the padlock
It's rusted tight, but still solid.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
some mildewed leather gloves
a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
a plastic bubble (open but empty)
a mysterious silver box
a suitcase (open but empty)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a hefty, rust-streaked iron key
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open but empty)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
a dead battery
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule
Peter's jacket
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a hovering spark (haunting you)
Close tp
You close the trash pocket.
You put the suitcase in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit the suitcase, then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You put the bubble in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit the plastic bubble, then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You put the silver box in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit the mysterious silver box, then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You put the peter's jacket in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit Peter's jacket, then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You put the dead battery in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit the dead battery, then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You look at the brick wall
Your vision zooms in on the crumbling bricks to reveal a howling maze of rust-red crevices, between which swoop screeching black eagles. The red rock is perforated by innumerable cavities in which dwell scurrying insects.

You can see the wooden arch, the marigold arch, the violet arch and the pink arch here.
You examine the root
Peering at the twisted root, your vision distorts, distorts again. Suddenly you see as a forest of gray fungus over rich, piled soil. Strange little bipeds clamber among the stalks, pale with bulbous heads.

You can see the wooden arch, the marigold arch, the teal arch and the mint green arch here.
You look at the puddle
Kneeling to examine the puddle, you witness a violent sea, plumed with frothing foam. Below the surface, the shadows of sea-life, cresting and rolling their smooth gray bodies.

You can see the wooden arch, the teal arch, the violet arch and the sky blue arch here.
Inventory
You are carrying:
some mildewed leather gloves
a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a hefty, rust-streaked iron key
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll
a waterproof flashlight
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You examine moldy
It's heavily damaged by the elements. You can make out the letters "-AGNE" on the front cover.
You read it
You riffle through the pages; only short passages are still legible:

"... circular golden prosthesis seems to have chosen Mabel ... doctor said he can't remove it without harming the child ..."

"... Mabel spends long hours examining stumps and rocks in the woods ... and I are most concerned. Mabel's stories of fairies and HIDDEN LANDS seem more than childish fancy"

(There's a long section of the book here which is ruined and entirely illegible, although you can make out diagrams and the faded, troubling outlines of strange shapes)

"... constructed the sigil out of sculpted and varnished wood after many ... Mabel instructs me on where it should be placed ... spirits she is in communication with have constructed various devices at her command ... creatures I have dubbed microphids ... "

"... Clara still doesn't believe; threatened to get Pastor Crowell involved ... able to dodge him so far ... quit my position at ..."

"... very concerned but there is no body ... up to seven successful SUMMONINGS that have remained docile ... we will never know, and quite frankly these studies are more important than that ... Each creature must process through three ARCHES, through three HABITATS and stages of development before finally maturing through the ARCH and SIGIL ... special GLUE created by that one created via the sequence ->FOREST->(illegible)->CLIFFS ..."

"... at Clara's insistence I have written to the University ... fake name ... one we have dubbed Moppy is friendly enough and a loyal companion to Mabel ..."

"... siphoning off the rest of the inheritance ... haven't seen her in a while ... sent an officer of the law to fetch Mabel, but Moppy took care of him ..."

(another long damaged section)

"... only Tall Pete is left ... lay Mabel in a grave beside Moppy ... TERRIBLE LIZARD-BIRD was raised up from the OCEAN - is still out there somewhere ..."

"... now I wear the PROSTHESIS; now I can see
everything. ... breached the walls of perception ... I am PRODDING the EGG MACHINE on the QUARTZ OUTCROPPING ... dozens of them GATHER to PROTECT me from the LIZARD BIRD ... PULLED the ROOF clear off my SHELTER ..."

And that's it. There's no more. Well, you suppose you didn't actually expect the author to keep writing right up until the point of his death, but you're a little disappointed.
You examine the quartz
Leaning in close to the patch of quartz, your vision swirls. Visions of a strange, microscopic world appear: A shallow pool of aquamarine fluid sits within a vast white desert woven with lavender capillaries, a soft network of exotic flora. Beside the crater, a chrome-plated, cylindrical machine protrudes from the ground.

You can see the wooden arch, the mint green arch, the pink arch and the sky blue arch here.
You look at the machine
A chrome plated cylinder, studded with rivets. A chute extends from one side, toward the aquamarine pool. It is located in the languid plain.
You examine the SIGIL
A circular wooden frame is embedded in the ground here, organic arcs of wood carved with strange symbols. Though surrounded by rot, it is entirely intact despite its apparent age.
You examine the aquamarine
The calm pool of aquamarine fluid is in the languid plain.

You see nothing special about the calm pool of aquamarine fluid.
You examine the wooden arch
A wooden archway carved with eldritch symbols. It is located in the roiling ocean.
You look at the mint green
The mint green arch connects the languid plain to the blessed forest.

A mint green arch.

(You can see all arches discovered so far by typing "x
arches".)
You examine the arches
Arches found so far:

wooden arch ----> wooden sigil
mint green arch: languid plain <---> blessed forest
pink arch: languid plain <---> howling labyrinth
sky blue arch: languid plain <---> roiling ocean
teal arch: roiling ocean <---> blessed forest
violet arch: roiling ocean <---> howling labyrinth
marigold arch: howling labyrinth <---> blessed forest
You turn it on
You can't manipulate something that small with your bare hands. Try prodding it with the laser on your eyepiece.
Prod machine
The chrome-plated machine shivers and lurches, and an egg trundles down its chute and splashes into the aquamarine pool below. The shell breaks apart, the pieces rapidly dissolving, leaving behind only a small, translucent blob.

("p" can be used as an abbreviation for "prod")
You examine the blob
A nascent, translucent blob of flesh rolls and shivers on the surface of the aquamarine pool. It is located in the languid plain.
Prod blob
The tiny blob shrivels up and dies in the heat of the beam.

("p" can be used as an abbreviation for "prod")
Prod machine
The chrome-plated machine shivers and lurches, and an egg trundles down its chute and splashes into the aquamarine pool below. The shell breaks apart, the pieces rapidly dissolving, leaving behind only a small, translucent blob.
Prod mint green
The tiny blob wriggles up onto dry land and passes beneath the mint green arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The tiny blob emerges in the blessed forest and transforms into a small quadruped.
You look at quadruped
A half-formed thing with four trunk-like legs, browsing at the fungal nodes with soft probing lips. It is located in the blessed forest.
Prod teal
The creature saunters through the teal arch. It disappears from the blessed forest.
The small quadruped emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a bumpy whale.
You look at the whale
How this whale is covered with pleasing round bumps; it dives to fetch the boneless lurkers of the deep. It is located in the roiling ocean.
Prod violet
The whale dives to the violet arch. It disappears from the roiling ocean.
The bumpy whale emerges in the howling labyrinth and transforms into a armored climber.
You examine the climber
A large, armored creature, somewhat reminiscent of giant armadillo climbs among the rocks, licking the insects from the crevices. It has beautiful eyes. It is located in the howling labyrinth.
Prod wooden
(the wooden sigil)
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A great, armor-plated monster trundles forth from the sigil and off into the forest with hardly a backwards glance.

(For future reference, you can use the command "birth" to lay
another egg; "forest", "plain", "cliffs", and "ocean" to switch the creature between microcosms you've discovered; and "summon" to summon a mature creature into the sigil.)
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Birth
The chrome-plated machine shivers and lurches, and an egg trundles down its chute and splashes into the aquamarine pool below. The shell breaks apart, the pieces rapidly dissolving, leaving behind only a small, translucent blob.
Forest
The tiny blob wriggles up onto dry land and passes beneath the mint green arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The tiny blob emerges in the blessed forest and transforms into a small quadruped.
Plains
The creature saunters through the mint green arch. It disappears from the blessed forest.
The small quadruped emerges in the languid plain and transforms into a glassy horse.
Cliffs
This horse gallops gaily toward the pink arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The glassy horse emerges in the howling labyrinth and transforms into a slime ape.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

The cycloptic ape extends its arms over the edge of the sigil, heaving itself into your pathetic material world, dripping gobs of sticky slime across the forest floor. It leaps atop the clearing and onto the well cap. It turns and catches you in its monocular gaze. An understanding passes between you. Maybe even - love? It turns again, bolting into the bushes.

"W-Wait," you say, but the moment has passed.

Only the creature's sticky goo is left behind on the well.
You examine well
An old well cap made of crumbling cement emerges from the forest floor here. Two wrought-iron handles, pitted with rust, emerge from the top. A padlock, also rusted, holds it closed. The entire thing is covered in sticky goo.
You open well
You place your hands on the handles and give them a good, solid pull. No good.

When you try to remove them, however, they do not budge. With growing alarm, you struggle to free your grasp from the well's handles, but it is no use. In the process, your shoe also gets stuck, and then your elbow.

You scream for help, but no one answers. Soon, night will fall.
Cliffs
The tiny blob wriggles up onto dry land and passes beneath the pink arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The tiny blob emerges in the howling labyrinth and transforms into a wriggling worm.
Plains
The little worm squirms its way into the pink arch. It disappears from the howling labyrinth.
The wriggling worm emerges in the languid plain and transforms into a somnambulant snake.
OCEAN
The creature inches its way lazily toward the sky blue arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The somnambulant snake emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a gulping eel.
Prod eel
The gulping eel shrivels up and dies in the heat of the beam.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A freakish, big-mouthed black eel erupts from the sigil. It swallows you whole before falling to the ground and perishing. Unfortunately, you're unable to escape from its belly.
OCEAN
The tiny blob wriggles up onto dry land and passes beneath the sky blue arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The tiny blob emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a slightly more robust blob.
Plain
The blob sinks beneath the surface of the waves, presumably to find the sky blue arch. It disappears from the roiling ocean.
The slightly more robust blob emerges in the languid plain and transforms into a undulating slug.
OCEAN
The slug inches toward the sky blue arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The undulating slug emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a all-consuming blob.
Prod blob
The all-consuming blob shrivels up and dies in the heat of the beam.
OCEAN
This horse gallops gaily toward the sky blue arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The glassy horse emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a hungry seal.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

The absurd and frightening seal appears before you; it moves frighteningly fast, even on land. It pins you down and clenches its enormous human teeth against your skull.
Prod seal
The hungry seal shrivels up and dies in the heat of the beam.
Plains
The monster is already there!
Cliffs
The blob sinks beneath the surface of the waves, presumably to find the violet arch. It disappears from the roiling ocean.
The slightly more robust blob emerges in the howling labyrinth and transforms into a gas-belching sphere.
OCEAN
The creature descends toward the violet arch. It disappears from the howling labyrinth.
The gas-belching sphere emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a floating strangler.
You examine the strangler
An abominable polyp of flesh floats above the sea, pulling up fish with its hook-studded tendrils. It is located in the roiling ocean.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

The misshapen polyp appears before you, lashing out with its tendrils. You are caught fast in an instant, thousands of tiny hooks digging into your flesh. It yanks you up, up, until you can see all of Backwater, Vermont and its surrounding territories. Sadly, the view is spoiled by the burning venom coursing through your veins.
Prod monster
The floating strangler shrivels up and dies in the heat of the beam.
Forest
The blob sinks beneath the surface of the waves, presumably to find the teal arch. It disappears from the roiling ocean.
The slightly more robust blob emerges in the blessed forest and transforms into a swarm of burrowing insects.
OCEAN
The swarm coalesces upon the teal arch. It disappears from the blessed forest.
The swarm of burrowing insects emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a school of ravenous shrimp.
Cliffs
The creature saunters through the marigold arch. It disappears from the blessed forest.
The small quadruped emerges in the howling labyrinth and transforms into a winged scavenger.
OCEAN
The creature flaps toward the violet arch. It disappears from the howling labyrinth.
The winged scavenger emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a fearsome pteranodon.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A fearsome pteranodon emerges from the sigil. For half a moment, you are both completely still, it regarding you with a fierce intensity, you too panicked to move.

With an abrupt flurry of its colossal wings it comes directly at you, seizing you in its talon. It carries you high, and you are already bleeding out.
You read BOOK
Which do you mean, Tolerating An Asinine God, The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, the diary of Phyllis Cragne, the postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal, the moldy, waterlogged journal, Twin Hearts Between the Planes or the soggy tome?
You read moldy
You riffle through the pages; only short passages are still legible:

"... circular golden prosthesis seems to have chosen Mabel ... doctor said he can't remove it without harming the child ..."

"... Mabel spends long hours examining stumps and rocks in the woods ... and I are most concerned. Mabel's stories of fairies and HIDDEN LANDS seem more than childish fancy"

(There's a long section of the book here which is ruined and entirely illegible, although you can make out diagrams and the faded, troubling outlines of strange shapes)

"... constructed the sigil out of sculpted and varnished wood after many ... Mabel instructs me on where it should be placed ... spirits she is in communication with have constructed various devices at her command ... creatures I have dubbed microphids ... "

"... Clara still doesn't believe; threatened to get Pastor Crowell involved ... able to dodge him so far ... quit my position at ..."

"... very concerned but there is no body ... up to seven successful SUMMONINGS that have remained docile ... we will never know, and quite frankly these studies are more important than that ... Each creature must process through three ARCHES, through three HABITATS and stages of development before finally maturing through the ARCH and SIGIL ... special GLUE created by that one created via the sequence ->FOREST->(illegible)->CLIFFS ..."

"... at Clara's insistence I have written to the University ... fake name ... one we have dubbed Moppy is friendly enough and a loyal companion to Mabel ..."

"... siphoning off the rest of the inheritance ... haven't seen her in a while ... sent an officer of the law to fetch Mabel, but Moppy took care of him ..."

(another long damaged section)

"... only Tall Pete is left ... lay Mabel in a grave beside Moppy ... TERRIBLE LIZARD-BIRD was raised up from the OCEAN - is still out there somewhere ..."

"... now I wear the PROSTHESIS; now I can see
everything. ... breached the walls of perception ... I am PRODDING the EGG MACHINE on the QUARTZ OUTCROPPING ... dozens of them GATHER to PROTECT me from the LIZARD BIRD ... PULLED the ROOF clear off my SHELTER ..."

And that's it. There's no more. Well, you suppose you didn't actually expect the author to keep writing right up until the point of his death, but you're a little disappointed.
Birth
The cylinder buzzes, and a tinny recording plays:

"Only one microphid in the nursery constellation at a time, please."
You examine the monster
It shrieks above the sea, borne on great and leathery wings. It seizes great fish with grasping claws, lifting them from the water. It is located in the roiling ocean.
Cliffs
The cylinder buzzes, and a tinny recording plays:

"This microphid is now mature, and will no longer change habitats."
Forest
This horse gallops gaily toward the mint green arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The glassy horse emerges in the blessed forest and transforms into a polyphonic ungulate.
You look at the monster
A hoofed mammal stands among the fungus, emitting dissonant tones from the many holes in its body. The smaller creatures worship it with a cult-like fervor. It is located in the blessed forest.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

The ungulate struts forth from the sigil, piping its dissonant tune.
You look at the ungulate
A hooved mammal stands here, emitting dissonent tones from the many holes in its body.
Forest
The little worm squirms its way into the marigold arch. It disappears from the howling labyrinth.
The wriggling worm emerges in the blessed forest and transforms into a drill-headed worm.
OCEAN
The creature emerges from the loam, headed toward the teal arch. It disappears from the blessed forest.
The drill-headed worm emerges in the roiling ocean and transforms into a bloody nematode.
You look at the nematode
At first, you see nothing but a sick whale, rolling over in the water. A long, crimson thread emerges from its flesh, polluting the sea with its foul emanations. It is located in the roiling ocean.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A horrid red nematode squirms forth from the sigil, shedding blankets of mucus. Before you can react, it burrows into your flesh, is gone. Your innards writhe and ache, and a strange feeling comes over you: You can no longer consciously control your own movements! Then why, why, why do you continue to move?
Prod nematode
The bloody nematode shrivels up and dies in the heat of the beam.
Look around
The Old Well (Reed Lockwood)
The trees here gather, black with wet; glimmering fingers hung with ragged matter, huddling beneath a cold and gently weeping sky. Beneath your feet, the damp red felt of rotting leaves slopes down toward a still, murky puddle. Nearby is a well, capped off with crumbling cement. A broken-down section of brick wall waits for raindrops to fall along its spine, and an old, half-dead oak straddles an angular boulder studded with quartz. A path through the forest leads south.

You can see a polyphonic ungulate and a wooden sigil here.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Green Line -- The Woods.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A fearsome pteranodon emerges from the sigil. Screeching, it attacks the polyphonic ungulate. Alone, the creature cannot defend itself.
The pteranodon seizes the polyphonic ungulate and carries it into the sky.
Forest
The creature flaps toward the marigold arch. It disappears from the howling labyrinth.
The winged scavenger emerges in the blessed forest and transforms into a colorful bird.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

The vivid bird appears on top of the sigil. It flutters about the clearing, singing its song.
It joins the polyphonic ungulate.
Plains
The creature flaps toward the pink arch. It disappears from the howling labyrinth.
The winged scavenger emerges in the languid plain and transforms into a peaceful glider.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

The great gliding bird appears above the sigil. It circles higher and higher, until it is barely a speck in the sky.
Forest
The whale dives to the teal arch. It disappears from the roiling ocean.
The bumpy whale emerges in the blessed forest and transforms into a space whale.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A beautiful space whale appears before you, levitating in psychedelic paisley.

"Well met, human," it says, lights flickering across its patterns. "It is a shame that you are not yet far enough in your evolution - too prone to violence, to selfishness. Someday, perhaps I shall return to you, and we shall ride to glory among the nebulae. So long, my poor friend."

And with that, it soars skyward, vanishing to a single far-off mote, and then to a mere memory. Not knowing what else to do, you weep bitter tears.
Plains
The whale dives to the sky blue arch. It disappears from the roiling ocean.
The bumpy whale emerges in the languid plain and transforms into a many-legged beast.
You examine the beast
It is like a great land-bound whale, gnashing at the purple moss with teeth the size of roof tiles. It is located in the languid plain.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A massive whale-like creature emerges from the sigil, replete with elephantine legs. But, like all your so-called friends, it stomps off into the forest never to be seen again.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A great, armor-plated monster trundles forth from the sigil and off into the forest with hardly a backwards glance.
Forest
The creature inches its way lazily toward the mint green arch. It disappears from the languid plain.
The somnambulant snake emerges in the blessed forest and transforms into a comfy snake.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

The padded snake slithers from the sigil.
It joins the colorful bird and the polyphonic ungulate, falling
asleep among the leaves.
Summon
The air above the sigil crackles with energy.

A fearsome pteranodon emerges and perches on the handles of the well-cap. It screeches at the other monsters, but they band together to defend themselves. Defeated, it attempts to fly off, but its feet are stuck fast to the well-cap. It screeches and shrieks, flapping its colossal wings, sending clots of leaves and muddy droplets spiraling into the air. At last, the cement cracks, and the top of the well breaks off in the creatures claws as it soars higher and higher. Only the open top of the well remains.

In the chaos, a piece of debris must have hit the golden device, for now it the eyepiece shows only black. With a whine, it falls from your face, sputtering acrid green smoke.
You look at the ungulate
A hooved mammal stands here, emitting dissonent tones from the many holes in its body.
Go downwards
Circular Room (JP)
You walk into a circular, high-ceilinged room made of roughly-shaped gray stones. This room really looks like a capped well, but its location in the building suggests otherwise.

There appears to be a small wad of cash just inside the sunken area.
About yourself
As good-looking as ever.

You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken.
Inventory
You are carrying:
some mildewed leather gloves
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a hefty, rust-streaked iron key
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form the Mona Lisa. Objects of desire either mean that you are surrounded by great treasures and opportunities or that you need to be more careful with your physical belongings. Possibly both.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at it
It smells a little musty and is deeply creased into an almost solid lump.
Look around
Circular Room (JP)
You walk into a circular, high-ceilinged room made of roughly-shaped gray stones. This room really looks like a capped well, but its location in the building suggests otherwise.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the stones! Grey is the tint of that which is already beyond recovery!"
Go upwards
The Old Well (Reed Lockwood)
The trees here gather, black with wet; glimmering fingers hung with ragged matter, huddling beneath a cold and gently weeping sky. Beneath your feet, the damp red felt of rotting leaves slopes down toward a still, murky puddle. Nearby is a well, a ragged, gaping hole in the earth. A broken-down section of brick wall waits for raindrops to fall along its spine, and an old, half-dead oak straddles an angular boulder studded with quartz. A path through the forest leads south.

You can see a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew), a comfy snake, a colorful bird, a polyphonic ungulate and a wooden sigil here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Green Line -- The Woods.
You wait for the aqua Line
You lean against the pink arch, hold out your pass, and wait for the aqua line. Within moments, a noncorporeal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the hatch
The humidity of the river has rusted the hatch to the color of dried blood, like an old scab on the embankment. Seemingly of the same vintage as the bridge, it lacks any modern logo, markings, or even a handle, though there is an odd rectangular indentation along one edge.
You examine the indentation
The indentation in the hatch is a little over an inch long, about half as wide, and seems too shallow to make a good handle, even if it didn't look like a jagged-edged tetanus-shot-waiting-to-happen... Which, for the record, it does.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a wad of cash
some mildewed leather gloves
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a hefty, rust-streaked iron key
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar
a key from an urn
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (closed)
Tolerating An Asinine God
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
an antique locket (closed)
a backpack features guide
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
loose bricks
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a hovering spark (haunting you)
You unlock hatch with the iron key
At first you have some doubts, but with some coaxing, but the key (more or less) fits into the indentation in the hatch.

You give the key a good solid twist to the left, but it squeals to a stop after a quarter-turn, jammed in place.
You continue
You give it a good heave, this time with both hands, but the key may as well be welded to the hatch.
You turn the key
(the key from an urn)
Nothing obvious happens.
You turn the iron the key
Nothing obvious happens.
You look at the hatch
The humidity of the river has rusted the hatch to the color of dried blood, like an old scab on the embankment. Seemingly of the same vintage as the bridge, it lacks any modern logo or markings, aside from the metal key protruding from an indentation along the edge.
You pull the iron key
Using the key as a handle, you slowly, painfully drag the hatch open as it screeches in protest.
Go downward
The hatch leads to a narrow flight of metal steps. As you twist past the door it swings shut behind you.

You descend the steps until suddenly, there are none, and also no floor. You throw out your arms to catch yourself, but there is nothing to hold. Worse, everything you are carrying slips from your grasp and goes flying, including your waterproof flashlight, which rolls across the hard stone floor and goes dark. Your fall lasts barely a moment however, ending with a painful twist of your ankle in chillingly cold water.

You can't see a damn thing now. You have the impression of light off to the northwest.
Go northwest
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a pile of rags.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a hovering spark (haunting you)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
You look at the rags
You approach the pile of rags in the corner but take a step back as soon as you can make things out: It's a human being! A man has curled up in the corner to sleep, and due to the dim light you mistook him for a pile of rags! Probably it's a hobo. Hopefully he's not dangerous!
You examine the hobo
This place is dry and sheltered from the wind, so a hobo has chosen it as his sleeping place. From what you can see the man is old and in poor health. Badly mending... wounds cover the few spots of skin you can see, his face is red and turgid, and his greasy grey hair is scraggy and hasn't been cut in ages.

The poor man wears an outsized coat of brownish-greyish colour against the cold. Brown corduroys and aged black leather shoes without laces complete his outfit. He has curled himself up against the southwestern corner and is sound asleep. There appears to be something clenched tightly in his right hand.
You look at Hand
The hands of the hobo show marks of a life full of deprivation: Deep wrinkles, dirt and scurfy old wounds. His right hand forms a fist, as if he was holding something in it.
Open Hand
The man emits a sharp bark and clutches the thing in his hand even tighter. Apparently brute force won't work here.
You examine the coat
The hobo is wearing an outsized coat of brownish-greyish colour, made from some coarse and thick material that hopefully protects him from the cold.
Look around
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.
You look at the ladder
A rickety metal ladder is leading down the funnel, ending on the ground right at the vertical wall to the northwest. The rungs don't look very stable, but you've made it down here without any problems and could probably climb back up without any as well.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.
You examine the mannequin
It's a single-piece female model with articulated joints. It's missing its head; someone has raggedly hacked it away, leaving a rather sharp edge. There's a single red eye painted on its torso. It's wearing a gold jacket.
You examine the Eye
A heavy-lidded malevolent eye stares back at you from the mannequin's torso. Even though it's just paint, the pupil seems to exert a psychic tug from which you struggle to free yourself. A hollow, faraway voice calls to you for blood. Blood! You find yourself not wanting to disappoint it.
About you
You're pretty certain that you're the only black woman in Backwater, Vt. Possibly the only one ever. The horrors of the day have taken a heavy toll on the Pam Grier vibe you have been cultivating of late. And the hair care product assortment at the pharmacy is discouraging.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a hovering spark (haunting you)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
You cut yourself
The thrill of death washes over you as you run your finger along the sharp edge of the mannequin's neck and apply some pressure. Blood flows from your tiny wound, dripping onto the mannequin's stump, trickling down to the blazing eye. The eye closes with a look of satisfaction. When it opens, it is replaced by an oozing, bloody socket, throbbing with eldritch power.
You examine the socket
It's a pulsing, oozing orifice with three small holes.
You look at the tv
It's a 29-inch model, perhaps even bigger. It has all the features of a TV and a VCR, including a four-digit counter that tells you where you are on a tape. A single power button controls the whole thing, and the counter has a reset pin you can push. With a tape in, you can PLAY, EJECT, REWIND, or FAST-FORWARD TO (FF TO) a specific spot.

The huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo is currently switched off.
You look at the tapes
There's about a half-dozen tapes, some of them in slipcases, some not, most with peeling labels, none of them fully rewound, and all with the write-protect tabs broken off. They are numbered from 8 to 13. You can refer to them as TAPE 8, TAPE 9, and so forth.

All of the slipcases have the same logo: a stylized tentacle creature in a copper-colored hexagon. Must be some weird local brand you've never heard of.
You get the rug
If you insist. Taken.
You cut a rug
You do the Charleston for a bit, then remember yourself.
You wear it
It's probably a crime in Vermont to impersonate a real estate agent, and the jacket is soaked in the blood of the innocent, but what the hell. You slip it on.
You examine the jacket
A patch on the left breast reads "Century 21 Real Estate." There's dried blood all around the collar.
You examine the clothes
You poke at the clothes with your foot. They're a mix of women's and men's, old and young. Many are torn, some are bloodstained, others are fouled with something black and viscous.
You look at the tapes
There's about a half-dozen tapes, some of them in slipcases, some not, most with peeling labels, none of them fully rewound, and all with the write-protect tabs broken off. They are numbered from 8 to 13. You can refer to them as TAPE 8, TAPE 9, and so forth.

All of the slipcases have the same logo: a stylized tentacle creature in a copper-colored hexagon. Must be some weird local brand you've never heard of.
You look at the TAPE 8
They're all basically the same, except for the numbers on them. You notice that they are all EP tapes, meaning that in theory they could each be up to six hours long. Which in turn means you have a lot of potential viewing ahead of you unless you're looking for something specific.
You go downwards
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.
Go southeast
You can't see a damn thing now. You have the impression of light off to the northwest.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)

"You really shouldn't have come here..." You're pretty sure you aren't just hearing voices and that it came from the darkness ahead, but since you can't see anything, who knows. You can also hear what sounds like the scrabble of many small legs.
Wait
Time passes.

"Far be it for me to complain... so nice to have visitors..." Something is definitely coming closer. Most of it seems to be coming from in front of you off to the left.
You wait
Time passes.

"You aren't trying to leave us, are you? You've only just arrived!" The skittering sounds are all around you now, though much of it seems to be above your head. You feel something drop onto your shoulder and almost immediately it starts to burn.
You wait
Time passes.

More specks drop onto you, crawling through your hair, down your face and along your arms. Pain blossoms wherever they land, causing you to cry out and shake yourself, desperate to be rid of them. The voice is silent now accept for a dry, self satisfied chuckle.
Wait
Time passes.

Blinded by sheer panic, you start running. It doesn't take long before you come crashing into a wall and fall thrashing to the ground. More of the many-legged creatures fall onto your chest and neck and begin to feed. Unable to rise, you are quickly (though certainly not painlessly) devoured by the swarm. Once your corpse is desiccated and picked clean by the ravenous horde, they depart in search of fresher, tastier meat.
You take back
Your fatal mistake wasn't that long ago! Try UNDO instead.

Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)?
You get the coat
That would be theft, and really evil.
You examine the dirt
The ground seems to be made up of dirt treaded down. Or maybe it's just a layer of dirt on rock. An any case it's solid, and dirty.
You look at the bricks
Old, reddish-brown bricks form the walls and ceiling of the tunnel leading southeast. They are crumbling at the corners, and the mortar between them has dropped off here and there. The tunnel must be old, much older than the electric wire leading along its angular point, and even that looks antique. It is unclear which purpose the tunnel had when it was built. Maybe smuggling.
You hit bricks
Violence isn't the answer to this one.

For a moment you think you see something moving in the shadows, but it's probably just your mind playing tricks on you.
You search the bricks
You find nothing of interest.

You hear a sound from somewhere down the tunnel. Maybe a rat. Hopefully a rat.
You examine the ceiling
The tunnel is a barrel vault of sorts, and so the bricks that constitute the vertical walls start to form a semicircular arc at about hip height. Two blind lamps hang from wires high above, but the days when they provided light are long gone.
You look at Walls
Crumbling, auburn bricks form the walls of this tunnel. Until about hip height they run vertically, then they form an arc above your head. The tunnel ends at a vertical wall to the northwest, from where a ramshackle metal ladder leads up a funnel and back to the surface. That vertical wall looks pretty solid, and newer than the old masonry forming the tunnel.

A small metal hatch is set into the vertical wall. About ten or twelve feet down the tunnel you spot a mysterious opening in the left wall, about the size of a duffelbag.
You look at hatch
A small metal hatch is set into the northwestern wall, about 15 by 10 inches large. The name of a power company is engraved into the heavily corroded surface in long outdated ATF Garamond letters: "Vermont United Gas and Electric Company." There is a hexagonal hole of about 6 or 7 milimeters diameter set into the middle of the right frame of the hatch - probably for an Allen key of matching size, functioning as a key to what's behind the hatch.
You examine the lamps
The wire running along the ceiling connects lamps lodged there about every ten feet. You can make out two lamps before darkness engulfs everything. The covers are of a milky, brownish colour, clearly as sign of old age.
You examine the opening
There is a recess in the northeastern wall, a bit above ground level. You take a step closer and astoundedly notice it is some kind of altar, deliberately built into the wall. The recess has an extent of about 15 by 25 inches and is about 10 inches deep. The upper part is arched in symmetry with the tunnel, with seven slightly protruding bricks arranged in a semicircle rounding out the structure towards the front. The base of the altar features a candleholder with a circle of eight sockets. All sockets are empty. The rear wall is almost completely taken up by the picture of a girl.

In the altar is a metal flask.
You look at the picture
Most of the rear wall of the recess is taken up by the picture of a girl. It looks like a print of a black and white photo and was probably glued to the wall, for no other means of attachment can be seen. The girl itself seems to be in her late teens or early twenties - in the dim light down here it's hard to tell any details. The photo is a portrait photo with a three-quarter view - she is standing a bit sideways but looking at the camera. Part of her upper body is visible.

Below the photo there's a free space of about 5 cm that's raw stone. There seems to be some writing on that free space, but with the current light conditions you can't make out what it says.
You examine flask
A hand-sized, silver-coloured metal flask without any ornaments. The cap is attached to the flask through a thin metal chain so it can't get lost.
You get candleholder
The candle holder is securely bolted to the bottom of the recess.
You open the flask
You open the flask. It seems to have contained a very strong booze not too long ago, for it stinks beastly of alcohol. You see the hobo's nose twitch.
You give the flask to the hobo
You hold the open flask in front of the hobo's face and wave it around a little. The smell seems to get through to him even during sleep - he makes a few nondescript grimaces, opens and closes his mouth and moans uncontrolledly, then suddenly opens his eyes and locates the bottle. He grabs it faster than you can withdraw your hand (dropping something his right hand was clutching earlier), leads it to his mouth and disappointedly thows it away when he notices it's empty. He then stares dead ahead and mumbles uncomprehensible gibberish, probably maledictions against you.

The hobo shakes his fist in your direction and nags about something you don't understand.
You get all
Allen key: The hobo yells, "Sh mine! Mine! Mrrnnn back!" He grabs the Allen key and clenches his fist around it.
metal flask: Taken.

brown corduroys: That would be theft, and really evil.
outsized coat: That would be theft, and really evil.
Tun1-shoes: That would be theft, and really evil.

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.
You ask the hobo for the key
The hobo shakes his fist in your direction and chunters "Hufforrmmmashhole*rattle*hglglglrhubarb! Rhubarb!!"

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.
You ask hobo about the photo
The hobo shakes his fist in your direction and chunters "Arrglllhmmmmoron*rattle*arglfarglrhubarb! Rhubarb!!"

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.

The hobo slumps into an orthopaedically questionable position and falls asleep again.
You examine bottle
A hand-sized, silver-coloured metal flask without any ornaments. The cap is attached to the flask through a thin metal chain so it can't get lost.
You smell it
The flask is already open. It stinks!
You examine photo
The photo has faded over the years so it's hard to make out details. Her dark hair and the simple blouse or dress she's wearing indicate the picture is very old - early 20th century or even older, you're not sure. She's wearing a lace collar held together by a brooch. Her hair style is weird from today's point of view - curly at the forehead, then short, flat and upswept at the back of the head. Her dark eyes are almond-shaped, and she has high cheekbones.
You examine the altar
Looks indeed like someone has built an altar here, in this
godforsaken place. The recess has an extent of about 15 by 25 inches and is about 10 inches deep. The upper part is arched in symmetry with the tunnel, with seven slightly protruding bricks arranged in a semicircle rounding out the structure towards the front. The base of the altar features a candleholder with a circle of eight sockets. All sockets are empty. The rear wall is almost completely taken up by the picture of a girl.
You examine the lamps
The wire running along the ceiling connects lamps lodged there about every ten feet. You can make out two lamps before darkness engulfs everything. The covers are of a milky, brownish colour, clearly as sign of old age.
You examine sockets
Which do you mean, the top left socket, the top middle socket, the top right socket, the middle left socket, the middle right socket, the bottom left socket, the bottom middle socket or the bottom right socket?
You look at the bricks
The rectangular recess is surmounted by some sort of semicircular ledge, formed by seven bricks that stick out a little from the wall. Probably the most ornate design one could fit such an altar with.
Search altar
The altar is empty.

You feel an air draft for a second. Where did that come from?
You examine the brick
Which do you mean, the first brick, the second brick, the third brick, the fourth brick, the fifth brick, the sixth brick or the seventh brick?
First
One of the seven bricks that form the semicircular ledge above the recess with the strange altar in it.
You examine the candelabra
In the middle of the altar-like recess is a candle holder with eight sockets in the shape of a circle. The sockets are small, like thimbles, and probably made from brazen, or bronze. All sockets are empty.
You examine photo
The photo has faded over the years so it's hard to make out details. Her dark hair and the simple blouse or dress she's wearing indicate the picture is very old - early 20th century or even older, you're not sure. She's wearing a lace collar held together by a brooch. Her hair style is weird from today's point of view - curly at the forehead, then short, flat and upswept at the back of the head. Her dark eyes are almond-shaped, and she has high cheekbones.
You examine the writing
Below the photo there's a free space of about 5 cm that's raw stone. There seems to be some writing on that free space, but with the current light conditions you can't make out what it says.
You examine the socket
Which do you mean, the top left socket, the top middle socket, the top right socket, the middle left socket, the middle right socket, the bottom left socket, the bottom middle socket or the bottom right socket?
You look at top left socket
A threaded metal socket.
You get the photo
That seems to be a part of the picture.
You get the picture
The picture is glued to the wall.
You examine the first brick
One of the seven bricks that form the semicircular ledge above the recess with the strange altar in it.
You ask the hobo about the rhubarb
Apart from a twitch of his ear there is no reaction. The hobo is sound asleep.
You get key
That seems to belong to the hobo.
You give the flask to the hobo
You hold the open flask in front of the hobo's face and wave it around a little. The smell seems to get through to him even during sleep - he makes a few nondescript grimaces, opens and closes his mouth and moans uncontrolledly, then suddenly opens his eyes and locates the bottle. He grabs it faster than you can withdraw your hand (dropping something his right hand was clutching earlier), leads it to his mouth and disappointedly thows it away when he notices it's empty. He then stares dead ahead and mumbles uncomprehensible gibberish, probably maledictions against you.

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.
You get the key
The hobo yells, "Sh mine! Mine! Mrrnnn back!" He grabs the Allen key and clenches his fist around it.

The hobo shakes his fist in your direction and nags about something you don't understand.
You ask the hobo about the shrine
The hobo tries to sit up but fails miserably and chunters "Huffhmmmashhole*cough*hglglglrhubarb! Rhubarb!!"

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.
You ask the hobo about the rhubarb
The hobo tries to sit up but fails miserably and chunters "Huffhmmyummidiot*rattle*rrrpfched losht! Losht!!"

The hobo shakes his fist in your direction and nags about something you don't understand.

The hobo slumps into an orthopaedically questionable position and falls asleep again.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
You give the flask to the hobo
You hold the open flask in front of the hobo's face and wave it around a little. The smell seems to get through to him even during sleep - he makes a few nondescript grimaces, opens and closes his mouth and moans uncontrolledly, then suddenly opens his eyes and locates the bottle. He grabs it faster than you can withdraw your hand (dropping something his right hand was clutching earlier), leads it to his mouth and disappointedly thows it away when he notices it's empty. He then stares dead ahead and mumbles uncomprehensible gibberish, probably maledictions against you.

The hobo mumbles something incomprehensible.
You give the rug to the hobo
The hobo doesn't seem interested.

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.
You ask the hobo about the life
The hobo bends in your direction and chunters "Hufforrmmmashhole*rattle*arglfarglrhubarb! Rhubarb!!"

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.
You ask the hobo about the hhobo
The hobo tries to sit up but fails miserably and chunters "Hufforrmmmashhole*gasp*hglglglmustn't! Mustn't!!"

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.

The hobo slumps into an orthopaedically questionable position and falls asleep again.
You get the key
Taken.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.
You open the hatch with Allen
You unlock the hatch.

You feel an air draft for a second. Where did that come from?
You open hatch
With the help of the Allen key you open the hatch. Behind it is a niche with an archaic fuse box, and a few old looking tools some worker probably left behind. All this looks like this hatch hasn't been opened for a hundred years or so. The niche contains the first candle, the second candle and a mallet.
You get all from hatch
the first candle: Taken.

the second candle: Taken.

mallet: Taken.
You look at fuse
The rear wall of the niche in the northwestern wall is made up of some fuse box of sorts. It consists of three stacked panels with holes with screw threads in each of them. The top panel has three holes, the bottom panel as well, and the middle panel is missing the middle hole, where instead a badge with the Vermont United Gas and Electric Company logo is attached. There are old fuses in the middle left and bottom right holes.

Next to the fuses is a large switch labeled "Southeast Tunnel." It is currently switched off.
You switch the switch
You flip the power switch to the on position, and the southeast tunnel lights up.

You feel an air draft for a second. Where did that come from?
You go to the south-east
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins. The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

"BOO!" The apparent source of the voice you've been hearing stands before you: a woman about your height, smiling and waving at you from a small niche in the wall to the north.

You can also see a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew), a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide, a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed), a bronze urn (closed), a key from an urn, some mildewed leather gloves, a gallon jug of white vinegar, a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew), a rusty flathead screwdriver, a trophy for a dog race, a glass shard, a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew), loose bricks, Tolerating An Asinine God, a rusty piece of metal, some yellowed newspapers, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew), a book list, a soggy tome, a long hooked pole, a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew), a backpack features guide, a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes, a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew), a moldy, waterlogged journal, an antique locket (closed), a wad of cash, a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal, the diary of Phyllis Cragne, a postcard of
Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass jar containing an insect, a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew) and a familiar gold wristwatch here.

"Psst! Hey! This way! Can you hear me?"
You get all
pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

spray bottle that used to contain fungicide: Taken.

copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

bronze urn: Taken.

key from an urn: Taken.

mildewed leather gloves: Taken.

a gallon jug of white vinegar: Taken.

pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

a rusty flathead screwdriver: Taken.

trophy for a dog race: Taken.

glass shard: Taken.

black business card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

loose bricks: Taken.

Tolerating An Asinine God: Taken.

rusty piece of metal: Taken.

yellowed newspapers: Taken.

shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

book list: Taken.

soggy tome: Taken.

long hooked pole: Taken.

grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

backpack features guide: Taken.

trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Twin Hearts Between the Planes: Taken.

moldy, waterlogged journal: Taken.

antique locket: Taken.

wad of cash: Taken.

repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

The Dollmaker's Journal: Taken.
diary of Phyllis Cragne: Taken.

postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Taken.

pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

glass jar containing an insect: Taken.

familiar gold wristwatch: Taken.

half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

"Psst! Hey you! Come closer! Can you hear?"
About yourself
Seized by a morbid curiosity, you aim your light down at the water so you can get a good look at your face. What you see is not encouraging. Put simply, being attacked by goddamn bugs has significantly degraded your look. If you had known you would go traipsing around in flooded underground caverns, you would not have opted to go with stockings. Your hair is tangled and grungy, your makeup is probably running and you'd really just like a nice hot shower if that isn't too much to ask.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the woman in the wall pull
what looks like a mirror from her pocket and examine herself. She also does not appear to like what she sees.

"Hey, you! I'm waiting! Hellooooo?"
You look at the woman
A woman, dressed in filthy clothes, slouches against a wall. She turns to look at you, staring at you with eyes eerily similar to yours. When you look away, she does too. It's hard to tell much about her features from this light without getting closer.

"Psst! Hey you! This way! Yoohooo?"
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a Viking longboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"Psst! Hey! C'mere! Hellooooo?"
You talk to the woman
You say hello to strangely familiar woman.

"Hey, you! Come closer! Can you hear me?"
Go north
The woman waves and smiles as you approach. As you slide into the alcove beside her, she reaches back behind her head and pulls a hereto unseen lever. You hear a grinding sound behind you and whirl around just in time to see a stone block slide across the entrance, sealing you inside. You turn towards the woman, only she's not a woman. Her form has broken apart into a wriggling swarm of insects. They surge toward you, leaving behind the bones of some other unlucky sap who must have wandered down here never to escape.

The wrytheing mass flow over you, feeding off your flesh with a frightening frenzy. You open your mouth to scream and it is instantly filled with squirming crawling biting things, chewing at everything they can reach. Your end is painful, but swift; within moments you are stripped down to a pile of bones to join the first.
You go northwest
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

You can see a metal flask here.
You put candles on the altar
Which do you mean, the second candle or the first candle?
You examine the first candle
A white electric candle, a good five inches long and as thick as your thumb. On one end is a glass bulb, on the other is a threaded metal base. It is unlit.
You put first candle in the top left socket
You screw the first candle into the top left socket.
You put the second candle in the bottom left socket
You screw the second candle into the bottom left socket.
You examine candelabra
In the middle of the altar-like recess is a candle holder with eight sockets in the shape of a circle. The sockets are small, like thimbles, and probably made from brazen, or bronze. One candle is placed in the top left socket. One candle is placed in the bottom left socket.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.
You get the candles
Which do you mean, the first candle or the second candle?
You put second candle in the middle left socket
You screw the second candle into the middle left socket.
You get first
(the first candle)
Taken.
You put the second candle in the bottom right socket
(first taking the second candle)
You screw the second candle into the bottom right socket.
You examine the candelabra
In the middle of the altar-like recess is a candle holder with eight sockets in the shape of a circle. The sockets are small, like thimbles, and probably made from brazen, or bronze. One candle is placed in the bottom right socket.
You put first candle in the middle left socket
You screw the first candle into the middle left socket.

With an abrupt pop, both candles flicker into brightness. You must have completed a circuit.
You examine the picture
Most of the rear wall of the recess is taken up by the picture of a girl. It looks like a print of a black and white photo and was probably glued to the wall, for no other means of attachment can be seen. The girl itself seems to be in her late teens or early twenties - in the dim light down here it's hard to tell any details. The photo is a portrait photo with a three-quarter view - she is standing a bit sideways but looking at the camera. Part of her upper body is visible.

The candles in the sockets illuminate the word someone has painted on the wall under the poster: "CEECEE". Obviously her name was Cecilia.
You hit the third brick with the mallet
You carefully hit the third brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'E'.
You hit the fifth brick with mallet
You carefully hit the fifth brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'G'.
You hit the fourth brick with the mallet
You carefully hit the fourth brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'F'.
You hit the second brick with the mallet
You carefully hit the second brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'D'.

You feel an air draft for a second. Where did that come from?
You hit the first brick with the mallet
You carefully hit the first brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'C'.
You hit the third brick with the mallet
You carefully hit the third brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'E'.

As soon as you gently hit the brick with the hammer you hear a grinding noise from somewhere behind the brick wall. You frightenedly jump backwards as a part of the wall, the "altar" being a good part of it, slowly swings backwards like a door, making horrible grinding noises. Finally the grinding stops, and a forbidding black hole gapes in the northeastern wall, leaving you with fearful thoughts what unspeakable evil might lurk inside.
You look at coffee
The clouds in your cup form -- weird, they've entirely dissipated. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go northeast
Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.
You look at the crates
Three crates were left behind by the last visitor of this chamber. They're small wooden freight crates as you've seen them in old movies, with hinged lids with logos of freight companies on them. One crate in a corner is quite large, the second one next to it is pretty small, and theres a medium-sized crate in the middle of the chamber. Hopefully you don't have to shift them around to achieve something.
You look at the small crate
The smallest of the three crates is placed close to the wall, next to the large crate. Its lid bears the writing "Backwater Library". An antique padlock keeps the crate shut.
You examine the medium
A medium-sized wooden crate.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine large
In the corner is a crate that is the largest of the three. As the others it is made of light, sturdy wood. The hinged lid bears an emblem of a dog listening to a grammophone, but with no company logo or other hints as to who used to be the owner of this crate.
You examine bottle
Which do you mean, the metal flask or the spray bottle that used to contain fungicide?
You get all
phonograph: You lift the phonograph out of the crate. It's heavy, and probably very fragile, so you carefully place it onto the ground.
horn loudspeaker: Taken.

old record: Taken.
You unlock crate with the key from an the urn
Which do you mean, the large crate, the medium-sized crate or the small crate?
You examine the padlock
The padlock has numbers from 0 to 9 on it, so it's probably a combination lock, but it's unlike any other combination lock you know. The metal holder sits on top of a thick metal circle. The figures are arranged in a circle around the middle which makes the lock look a little like a clock. In the middle there's a knob with a pointer on it that currently points towards the 0.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Beware the thing that isn't here!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the hazard of the large crate! Something large signifies overwhelming force!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Flee the threat of the small crate! Something small means secret ability!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the ground! Dirt symbolises thriftiness and frugalness!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the portent of the thing that isn't here!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Beware the jeopardy of the thing that isn't here!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Flee the omen of the medium-sized crate! Wood remembers the antediluvian forest!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Beware the hazard of the ground! Dirt suggests thriftiness and frugalness!"
You examine the dirt
The ground seems to be made up of dirt treaded down. Or maybe it's just a layer of dirt on rock. An any case it's solid, and dirty.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the ground! Dirt represents thriftiness and frugalness!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the hazard of the ground! Dirt bespeaks thriftiness and frugalness!"
You open the medium crate
You open the medium-sized crate, revealing an old newspaper.
You read it
You browse the newspaper and spot an article that awakens your interest:

In a festive act the new logistics complex of the Littlewit East Indian Trading Company at Ferryman's Dock has been dedicated. In the presence of mayor Slater and other notabilities, EITC owner Mr. Humphrey Littlewit held a speech about the possibilities the new complex opens up for Backwater, with cranes able to unload two five-gross-tons cargo ships from New York or Burlington simultanously within four hours and an equally fast re-consignment for distribution via commercial vehicle to the whole of Vermont. Mr. Littlewit emphasized the importance of the logistics complex for the war enfeebled economy of Backwater, but also brought to mind the nine persons who died in the mysterious fire that destroyed the old, smaller complex. A photo shows Littlewit handing the tall mayor a pair of scissors to cut the ribbon barring the entrance of the storage depot.
You read it
You turn the pages and check the next article:

Renown surgeon Dr. Basil Elton held a private lecture in pathology yesterday that the entire Backwater Police force attended. In the basement of his practice (that serves as a branch of the pathologic department of the Providence hospital) explained classical traces of external forceful impact at recently deceased persons. The cause for the lecture was the tragic death of young pregnant shop assistant Cecilia Pickman which was declared an accident until Dr. Elton found evidence of foul play weeks later. A photo shows Chief of police Mr. Jervas Hyde and three of his men attentively watching Dr. Elton cutting into a hematoma on a dead human body.
You read it
The next article is also quite interesting:

ANOTHER MURDER?
Police confirmed yesterday that missing Carola Parris, 22, is dead. Her body was found on Wednesday in the woods near Copper's Mill. The body of the popular bank clerk is said to have been battered by animals, but according to a source who wishes to remain anonymous, the cause of death was a cut to the throat. Yesterday, a small crowd gathered in front of the Backwater Police station, demanding vociferously an end to the series of killings of young women that started with the death of Cecilia "Ceecee" Pickman almost a year ago. Deputy Chief of police promised a "wholehearted" investigation.

The words "almost a year ago" have been underlined so heavily that they're nearly crossed out. "10 months 24 days" is scrawled in the margin with fading ink.
You read it
You turn the pages and check the next article:

Yesterday the Backwater Police inaugurated a police car determined to support urgent operations. The Chevrolet 490 Touring is a generous donation from Mr. Humphrey Littlewit, founder and owner of the Littlewit East Indian Trading Company, who said the car is supposed to make Backwater's streets safer by giving the police means that were common in cities like Boston or Providence. Chief of police Mr. Jervas Hyde is quoted saying "Finally Backwater Police closes the gap on bigger neighbouring cities regarding prompt presence at the place of action. This is the first emergency vehicle the Backwater Police has at its disposal, and the police and the citizens of Backwater are very grateful to Mr. Humphrey Littlewit for this generous donation." An accompanying picture shows the Chief of police looking up to the industrialist holding his speech while looking into the camera.
You examine it
It is an old issue of the Backwater Chronicle, a local newspaper that ceased to be decades ago. This issue is dated July 31, 1920. The local museum should see this! It's a pain with this dim light, but if you holded the newspaper into that little light shining in from the entrance, you might be able to read it.
You examine the padlock
The padlock has numbers from 0 to 9 on it, so it's probably a combination lock, but it's unlike any other combination lock you know. The metal holder sits on top of a thick metal circle. The figures are arranged in a circle around the middle which makes the lock look a little like a clock. In the middle there's a knob with a pointer on it that currently points towards the 0.
You open the small crate
The locked padlock prevents you from opening the crate.
You set the knob to 9
You turn the knob to 9.
With a last, satisfying *klick* the padlock springs open. You remove it and heedlessly throw it into a corner. Now will you open the crate to see what's inside? Of course you will!
You open the small crate
You open the small crate, revealing an old paperback book.
You get the paperback
(the old paperback book)
Taken.
You examine it
The old paperback book is pretty thick, and the pages are yellowed and lacerated here and there. You're not a bookworm, but the condition of the book and the outdated font and style of drawing on the cover tell you it was printed decades ago, maybe at the beginning of the century.

Judging by the cover the book seems to be a bit pulpy. It shows a large, old and eerie house on a clearing in the woods. The title is "ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY." A scraggy sticker with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, on it indicates that by no means you want to pay the fine for exceeding the return deadline.
You look at the book list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
The Dollmaker's Journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
Tolerating An Asinine God
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
Venator in Tenebris
'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
The Seven Gaunts
New England and the Bavarian Illuminati
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY
You read the paperback
Which do you mean, the old paperback book or Twin Hearts Between the Planes?
You read the old paperback
Someone has hollowed out the pages of this book to make a hiding place for something. Whatever it was, it's long gone now.

As you finish reading the passage, the spark moves through the book with an eerie hum, leaving frost behind on the library insignia.
You examine the spark
Something like a spark of chalk hovers in the air behind you. As you watch, it fades, only to reappear to your right in a wash of cold.
You look at coffee
The swirls in your cup form horizontal bands. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look in the large crate
You give the large crate a thorough look. There are several things inside of it, but what's most eye-catching about it is definitely this old phonograph in it.
You examine the record
An old 12" record in an unlabeled white sleeve. Given this was in a crate together with a phonograph it's probably shellac - did this stuff even last longer than a few years? You feel a surge of curiosity to try the record out with the phonograph you discovered. A red label in the middle of the record could maybe tell you what's on the record, or at least was on it.
You examine the label
A circular label is attached to the middle of the record, as it's still done today. The font looks very old-fashioned. The label reads "Enrico Caruso and the Red Herring Orchestra: Capo di un'Ancora."
You examine the loudspeaker
A brazen horn loudspeaker, funnel-shaped, about as big as the phonograph it belongs to. The funnel walls are rather thin so that the loudspeaker is not too heavy. It leads into a thread with which it can be screwed on the phonograph.
You put the loudspeaker on the phonograph
You screw the horn loudspeaker into the designated hole on the side of the phonograph. The thread cants a little, but with a little nudging here and a lot of swearing there you finally succeed.
You put the record on the phonograph
You carefully put the record on the turntable. Next to it is a switch that you flip - it should set the turntable in motion. But it doesn't. Maybe the batteries are empty? Did they already have batteries when this thing was built? You pick up the record again.
You look at the phonograph
A phonograph from the early 20th century. This specimen is laid-out for sound transmission through a horn loudspeaker, so it was probably built before 1920 when this technique started to be considered unaesthetic or even vulgar. This gem definitely belongs in a museum! It bears the logo of its manufacturer, the Victor Talking Machine Company. A horn loudspeaker is attached to the phonograph. The right side panel of the phonograph features a crank.
You put the record on phonograph
You carefully put the record on the turntable. Next to it is a switch that you flip - it sets the turntable in motion. Finally you lift the pick-up and place it on the border of the record. A cracking noise from the horn loudspeaker indicates it's working. Exciting!

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "She came from cordial Texas"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "To abrasive Vermont"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The reason was her sexus"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "She was all but flamboyant"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Her husband simply went to work"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Left standing in the rain his spouse"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Forced her to get the keys, this jerk"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The keys to their new horror house"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The broker's office: Locked. Oh please!"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The shit then hit the fan"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Coz she broke in and stole the keys"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "And brought them to her man"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The couple took a stroll through town"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "In love, no sign of tension"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "A sight made our heroine frown:"
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Their home, the Verlac mansion"
You wait for a while
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "There was no electricity"
You wait for a while
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "And so the night came early"
Wait
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "No nooky, just pudicity"
Wait
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Her dreams were hurly-burly"
Go southwest
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a horse in mid-gallop. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "And leaves alone his spouse"
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet
an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "She steals an ID of this jerk"
You put Allen in the key pocket
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "And romps about the house"
Go up
Although you have to skip a couple of steps, they bear your weight. Huh. It's possible that your architectural engineering intuition is not that well-honed.

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
You emerge into a tiny windowless office. Stark whitewashed brick walls close in on all sides beneath a low vaulted ceiling. There is something fundamentally wrong with the architecture in here. Lines that should be parallel or perpendicular seem ever so slightly off, making you feel distinctly uneasy.

An enormous desk overflowing with stacked papers takes up most of one side of the room. A package in brown wrapping paper is nestled amongst the stacks with a note resting on top of it. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.
About yourself
You imagine that you have that wide-eyed look that Peter always says you get when you are worried, but there isn't a mirror nearby to confirm. Probably for the best - you drove through most of the night to get to Backwater and haven't slept.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "At this stage the author ran out of time."
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a sharknado. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The music from the phonograph fades.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
a book list
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)

There's only crackling noises coming from the phonograph.
You examine the desk
Calling it oversize would be an understatement. It's probably eight feet long and looks like it's made of solid oak. Stacks of paperwork are scattered haphazardly all over it. Someone was clearly in desperate need of a filing system. A package in brown wrapping paper is nestled amongst the stacks with a note resting on top of it.
You look at the note
(the book list)
ATTENTION PETER CRAGNE

This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
The Dollmaker's Journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
Tolerating An Asinine God
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
Venator in Tenebris
'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
The Seven Gaunts
New England and the Bavarian Illuminati
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY
You examine package
The package is about as big as your hand and has been neatly wrapped in plain brown paper.
You put the book list in the side pocket
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the book list, then zip the side pocket back up again.
You look at the note
(first taking the short note)
Peter,

I was very glad to hear of your impending arrival. Your family line has been separated from Cragne Manor for far too long. Call me old-fashioned, but I wanted to give you something as a "homecoming" present. Truth be told, I'm really just returning your property. The object you'll find inside was something your father gave to me many years ago. He said that it had originally belonged to your great uncle Luther. He never explained why he wanted me to have it, and seemed to take great pleasure in the fact that the object's purpose or function was a conundrum that I couldn't solve. Following his death, I'm somewhat embarrassed to say that I ended up simply using it as a rather elaborate paperweight. Maybe you'll have better luck figuring it out. Lord knows, it's not like the extended Cragne family hasn't dealt with its share of mysteries.

Yours truly, Daniel Baker.
You get the note
You already have that.
You open it
You carefully unwrap the packaging and discover an ornate metallic box.
Examine box
The palm-sized box seems to be carved out of a dull gray metal. A clear seam around the top of the box suggests that it should be able to be opened. The lid is adorned with elaborate painted panels. On one side you see a large flat button and five smaller engraved buttons.
You examine the panels
There are four separate images painted on the top of the box, arranged from one end to the other. The first is a bird. The second is a camel. The third is a strange three-legged toad. The fourth is a snake.
You examine the flat button
The flat button is larger than its cousins and is bereft of markings.
You examine the buttons
There are six buttons on the box. One button is large and flat. The five remaining buttons are smaller and are each engraved with a different symbol - a circle, a vertical line, a V-shape, a Y-shape, and an X-shape.
You open the box
You open the box, revealing a tiny leather book. To your horror, dozens of inch-long insects crawl out from under the book, scurry up the inside edge of the box, and then begin climbing onto your hand. In a blind panic you shake them off wildly, and the box falls to the floor with a loud thud. Your breathing slows when you realize that they were just harmless silverfish.
Describe the surroundings
Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
Stark whitewashed brick walls close in on all sides beneath a low vaulted ceiling. There is something fundamentally wrong with the architecture in here. Lines that should be parallel or perpendicular seem ever so slightly off, making you feel distinctly uneasy.

An enormous desk overflowing with stacked papers takes up most of one side of the room. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room.

You can see an ornate metallic box (in which is a tiny leather journal) here.
You examine the leather journal
(first taking the tiny leather journal)
It's a tiny leather book. It's plain except for an unusual and quite striking design that has been embossed on the cover. Although discolored by age, the initial pages are quite legible. Unfortunately, many of the later pages have suffered heavily due to the silverfish and are covered with a patchwork of irregular, notched holes - only fragments of the once clear handwriting remain.
You get all
ornate metallic box: Taken.
You read Journal
Which do you mean, the tiny leather journal, The Dollmaker's
Journal (smelling faintly of mildew) or the moldy, waterlogged journal?
You read the leather journal
(You can repeat this command to read each journal entry)
You continue
September 8th, 1932.
Returned from Czechoslovakia this evening. I can barely contain my excitement! I managed to obtain an artifact that we of the Variegated Court have long sought. The foolish Cikáni that I purchased it from for only a few koruna had no idea what it was.
You keep going
September 12th, 1932.
Spent the past few days absorbed in Mathers' The Book of Abramelin. The key is the harvest moon, and I am in luck that I do not have to wait an entire year. My almanac shows that the next harvest moon occurs in only two days. I must prepare.
Continue
September 15th, 1932.
I am confused and frustrated. Beneath the pale orange light of last night's moon, I followed the instructions from the Abramelin text precisely, but after completing the evocation I experienced nothing.
Keep going
September 16th, 1932.
Continuing my research. Looking for a secondary translation as Mathers' is widely known to contain many errors and omissions. My position as Niveous Alderman is at stake.
Continue
September 17th, 1932.
Didn't get a wink of sleep last night. The dogs started barking at a very early hour in the morning and simply would not stop.
Continue
September 18th, 1932.
The dogs were at it again last night. I went outside to investigate but found nothing. I thought I saw something at the edge of the tree line, but it may have simply been my mind playing tricks upon me at that late hour.
You continue
September 19th, 1932.
Another sleepless night. Dogs were terrified, alternating between fearful wimpering and barking into the silent darkness. I'm now convinced that something is visiting each night - something that I must have unwittingly awakened under that fateful full moon four nights ago.
Keep going
September 20th, 1932.
My hand still trembles as I write this entry, and I am not entirely sure that I am not overcome with some madness. Last night, after waking from a few hours of fitful sleep, I saw something inhuman at the window, pawing ineffectually at the glass. THEN IT SPOKE MY NAME.
Continue
The remaining pages are too badly damaged.

(You turn back to the beginning)
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a mermaid. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Look around
Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
Stark whitewashed brick walls close in on all sides beneath a low vaulted ceiling. There is something fundamentally wrong with the architecture in here. Lines that should be parallel or perpendicular seem ever so slightly off, making you feel distinctly uneasy.

An enormous desk overflowing with stacked papers takes up most of one side of the room. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room.
You examine the desk
Calling it oversize would be an understatement. It's probably eight feet long and looks like it's made of solid oak. Stacks of paperwork are scattered haphazardly all over it. Someone was clearly in desperate need of a filing system.
You search it
You idly rifle through some of the papers, but nothing looks very interesting. As you push paper around, you hear something fall off the desk and hit the floor with a metallic clink. Looking down, you see a large brass key.
You look at the brass key
A large and important-looking brass key. Someone wrote a two digit number on the bow. It's mostly worn off, but the first digit looks like a 3.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a child's wagon. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at Door
It's a perfectly ordinary wooden door. You try the handle, but it appears to be locked.
You go downward
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.
You go southeast
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins. The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey, you! This way! You're not deaf, are you?"
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a Viking longboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"Psst! Hey! C'mere! Hellooooo?"
You look at Door
Which do you mean, the tunnel exit door or the tunnel door?
You examine the exit door
The small hatch to exit this area is barely visible above a flight of rusty iron steps that appear to be bolted onto the wall of the tunnel. The bottom two rungs appear to have rusted away, but you should be able to reach the rest.

"Hey, you! Over here! Yoohooo?"
You look at the tunnel door
A dull red sheet of metal stands to the east. A keyhole is present at eye level. Above the keyhole is an image of an eyeball, above which is printed two back-to-back crescents.

"Psst! Hey! Come closer! You're not deaf, are you?"
You look at the eyeball
A dull red sheet of metal stands to the east. A keyhole is present at eye level. Above the keyhole is an image of an eyeball, above which is printed two back-to-back crescents.

"Hey, you! Over here! Yoohooo?"
You go upward
Taking a deep breath, you grasp the ladder for support and hook your leg up to the first available step. The metal creeks and groans alarmingly as you transfer your weight, but the bolts hold firm. You shakily gather yourself and begin to ascend back up to the surface.

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.
Go south
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
You wait for the purple Line
You lean against the rotting deposits, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, a phantom trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
Go northwest
Outside the greenhouse (James Eagle)
The damp brick path that led you here bends around the squat porch of an old greenhouse half-swallowed by a tangle of bramble and ivy. Water drips from the thick branches overhead; in the undergrowth something - somethings? - creep and rustle.

The path curves away to northeast and southeast. You can also go in to the greenhouse from here.
About you
Webs and leaf fragments cling where branches have brushed against you. Something tiny and blue-black scurries across your foot and slips into a crack in the brickwork.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the hazard of the greenhouse! Wood remembers the antique forest!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Beware the greenhouse door! A door indicates passage out of life!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the portent of the je-brickpath! Green is the tint of poison and untamed growth!"
You look at Path
Ancient bricks, slippery with green mould and treacherously uneven.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Beware the greenhouse door! A door signifies passage out of life!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the greenhouse! Wood remembers the ancient forest!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Flee the omen of the greenhouse door! A door means passage out of life!"
Enter
Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund)
Nothing should be growing here anymore — the heating and irrigation have been off for years — but roots seem to have covered everything.

The walls curve inward, forming a huge dome, with a mesh of roots covering it from the floor up to about halfway to the ceiling. Sunlight still breaks through in places, throwing a pattern of bright spots across the room. The roots grow from an enormous tropical tree at the center of the greenhouse, towering all the way up to the ceiling, which it hides behind a thick crown of leaves.

A spiral staircase, seemingly woven of roots, leads to a circular mesh walkway higher up along the wall.

Something vaguely sculpture-like protrudes from the roots near the exit.
About yourself
The sickly yellowish-green light in here glistens in the sweat on your skin. At least you seem to be relatively unscathed.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a large brass key
an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
a tiny leather journal
Daniel Baker's note
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
Go upwards
What is visible of the iron staircase through the root mesh looks bent and badly corroded. The roots are slippery to the touch as you grab hold of the handrail and start climbing. After only a couple of steps the entire structure — including the platform above — lurches, and
for
a moment you think it is all going to come apart on top of you.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (on the mesh walkway)
You're up the mesh walkway circling the greenhouse partway up the wall. The roots have grown into the iron mesh and railing as well, twisting it and breaking it apart. Between the roots and sharp metal edges there is hardly room to stand, but the branches stretching finger-like from the lower part of tree look sturdy and climbable.

The spiral staircase leads back down.

A strange rootlet-covered wooden handle sticks out from the rubble of roots and twisted metal.
You examine the handle
It is hard to tell among the roots, but it looks like the handle of a knife. Perhaps it could be pulled out.
You get it
You pull on the wooden handle. It gives an inch, and some of the roots that hold it snap. You pull again, harder this time, and with a metallic screech and a cloud of spores you find yourself holding a machete in your hand.
Go downwards
You climb down the unstable staircase.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund)
Nothing should be growing here anymore — the heating and irrigation have been off for years — but roots seem to have covered everything.

The walls curve inward, forming a huge dome, with a mesh of roots covering it from the floor up to about halfway to the ceiling. Sunlight still breaks through in places, throwing a pattern of bright spots across the room. The roots grow from an enormous tropical tree at the center of the greenhouse, towering all the way up to the ceiling, which it hides behind a thick crown of leaves.

A spiral staircase, seemingly woven of roots, leads to a circular mesh walkway higher up along the wall.

Something vaguely sculpture-like protrudes from the roots near the exit.
You look at the sculpture
This looks like some kind of garden ornament in the shape of a parrot. Through a web of roots and a yellow lichen that covers the white stone, two intensely red eyes made of some translucent material glare at you. The beak is open as if uttering a squawk. A pair of wings has apparently been broken off.
You examine Eyes
The red stare is tortured and hostile.
You go to the south-east
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go north
You climb the steps to the porch.

Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes--though you're not eager to change into any strange shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the hook
(the hooks)
A black metal hook protrudes from the wall, twisting in strange ways, like the outline of the human form projected through some alien dimension. A calfskin coat hangs beside it.

The floor below the hooks is lost in an unusually deep black shadow.
You examine the coat
A thigh-length belted calfskin coat, clean as if it's never been outside.
You search it
The pockets of the calfskin coat are empty.
You examine table
The table is thigh-high, as if sized for a child's tea party, but its deep brown wood is so finely carpentered that the legs and tabletop seem carved from one piece. There is a round brown tea stain on it, but no cups or saucers.

On the table is a teapot.
You examine the teapot
It's a silver teapot tarnished brown on the spout and sides. Through the tarnish you can read the engraving, "Jane Cragne, RMS Queen Mary, 2 Oct 1942."
You get it
Taken.

[This is the only item you need to take from this room or the front walk, and the only other thing you need to do here is unlock the door with the key, when you have it. But there are other things here you can explore, if you like.]
You unlock Door
What do you want to unlock the front door with?
Brass key
You unlock the front door.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the slippers
A lightly scuffed pair of indoor slippers.
You examine the boot
One leather boot with a muddy sole.
You go north
(first opening the front door)

Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust. This house must have been abandoned for years. It's empty, and silent, and cold.

"Peter!" you shout. There's no reply. Not even an echo comes back to you.

Of course he's not here. You expected that; he wouldn't have locked you out. But whatever happened to him, this house is at the dark heart of it.

Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
About yourself
You're bundled up in your black wool jacket and the brick red sweater. Your hair is tied back to keep it out of the way.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a teapot
a dull machete
a large brass key
an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
a tiny leather journal
Daniel Baker's note
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
Look around
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You put the brass key in the key pocket
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the large brass key, then zip the key pocket back up again.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go to the south
Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the hallway! The floor symbolises your sense of security! It is narrower than it may seem!"
You pull string
The doll intones: "Flee the moulding! White is the hue of a dead dove!"
You examine the moulding
The white moulding along the bottom of the wall and over the doors has numerous scratches and dings. It looks like the furniture was moved out quickly and without much care.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a teapot
a dull machete
an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
a tiny leather journal
Daniel Baker's note
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole
a soggy tome
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
You examine the hallway
The hardwood floor and wallpaper continue down a narrow hallway to the next room, which is dark. Aren't there any other windows in this house?
Xyzzy
Nothing happens.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Beware the dust! Dust suggests that certain aspects of yourself have been neglected! The floor suggests your sense of security!"
You look at the dust
Dust covers most surfaces in the foyer. Tracks on the floor show where people have been more recently; the dust is deeper along the walls. Near the west wall there is a dark line.
You look at the dark Line
There is a small object under the dust. You lean over to look at it, trying not to sneeze. It's a tarnished silver pendant, about the size of your thumb, on a leather cord. It must have been dropped behind some piece of furniture and forgotten.
You get it
You take the pendant and sneeze as dust gets in your face. The charm is a silver hand, tarnished and dented. You hold the pendant at arm's length and shake the dust off.
You examine the pendant
It's a tarnished silver pendant, about the size of your thumb, on a leather cord. The pendant is shaped like an open hand. It's been damaged - a deep groove, like a chisel mark, cuts across the palm, nearly breaking the pendant in half.
Break pendant
It's broken already.
You eat the pendant
For a second you have a crazy impulse to put the pendant in your mouth. It passes.
You go to the west
Court (Ryan Veeder)
Walls paneled with elaborate boiseries curl slowly around this ovular hall. The western vertex of the ellipse is dominated by an enormous window; at the opposite end, a low archway leads east to the foyer. A glass display case is set into the north wall.

In the center of the room, an irregular circle of twelve pedestals surrounds a black monolith.

A white key lies on the floor.

Rain rattles impatiently against the stained glass.
About yourself
This room makes you feel very small.

A flash of lightning illuminates the stained glass: You catch a glimpse of a figure wearing a dark cloak.
You examine the coffee
The contents of your coffee cup startle you so much that you almost drop it. Instead of organic liquid curves and swirls, the cream forms a weblike pattern of jagged geometric lines that radiate out from the
You examine the case
center at irregular intervals like bolts of lightning.

According to the book you read, images like this occur when your fate depends on so many separate actions and courses of destiny that it can no longer be adequately divined by a leftover cup of now-cold muck water.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

Thunder rolls overhead, increasing in intensity, going on so long and becoming so loud that it must be a jet engine—it stops.

The case is built into the curved wall, so its glass door has been crafted with a subtle but noticeable curve of its own.

The case contains seventeen figurines: a wolverine, a crow, an eel, a rat, a cat, a sheep, a kraken, a duck, a peregrine falcon, a Pontiac Firebird, a tarantula, a white antelope, a mole, a silverfish, a weasel, a Venus flytrap and a greyhound.

Outside, the wind whistles along the manor walls.
You look at the case
The case is built into the curved wall, so its glass door has been crafted with a subtle but noticeable curve of its own.

The case contains seventeen figurines: a cat, a Pontiac Firebird, a Venus flytrap, a peregrine falcon, a white antelope, an eel, a kraken, a tarantula, a weasel, a wolverine, a greyhound, a crow, a silverfish, a mole, a duck, a rat and a sheep.

An explosion of thunder rattles the house.
You look at the figure
(the stained glass window)
The sky outside is dark, and all you can discern in the window is a formless web of lead tracery.

The rain falls harder, louder, slamming into the window.
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Another flash of lightning: In the stained glass, above the dark figure, a jagged shape looms.
You look at the pedestals
Each pedestal is a different color (although several are barely-distinguishable shades of yellow): fuscous, griseous, puce, xanthic, croceate, niveous, icterine, fulvous, eburnean, rufous, cesious and mazarine.

Several loud peals of thunder ring out almost rhythmically, as if something were knocking on a gargantuan door.
You look at the monolith
It's a prism-like column of some black material, its angles forming an asymmetrical pyramid at the top.

The stained glass lights up again, and you see the figure raising something to its lips.
You examine the leather journal
It's a tiny leather book. It's plain except for an unusual and quite striking design that has been embossed on the cover. Although discolored by age, the initial pages are quite legible. Unfortunately, many of the later pages have suffered heavily due to the silverfish and are covered with a patchwork of irregular, notched holes - only fragments of the once clear handwriting remain.
Go east
Foyer (Greg Frost)
You examine the design
The outline of an animal has been embossed on the cover. If you'd seen this a month ago you'd have only been able to identify it as some sort of bear-like mammal with a long bushy tail. However, your recent trip to the zoo apparently had some educational value. The animal depicted on the cover is clearly a wolverine.
Go east
A long and narrow room, with a satin wallcovering in rich, patterned green above the creamy wainscot paneling. The room is overcrowded with paintings and furniture. The door behind you exits to the west, and a door at the end of the gallery on the left wall leads to the north.

This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention.

Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house.

An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through.
About yourself
You look fine. You were even having a good hair day earlier. You could probably check your reflection in that mirror at the end of the gallery.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the paneling
The walls are covered in rich, patterned green satin above the creamy wainscot paneling.
You examine the paintings
Which do you mean, the painting of birds, the painting of meat, the painting of a child or elaborate painted panels?
You put the box in the side pocket
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the ornate metallic box, then zip the side pocket back up again.
You examine the paintings
Which do you mean, the painting of birds, the painting of meat or the painting of a child?
Birds
This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its full meaning.

Paintings of birds often focus on flight to evoke feelings of freedom, hope, and escape. This one feels like gravity extending its hold with physical hands. A label in the center of the stained green wooden frame reads

-or-
The Triumph of Nature
You look at the birds
The cowbird chick sits heavy and obvious on its adopted siblings. They must only be a few days old given their lack of feathers, but the cowbird is easily five times as large as the three other struggling chicks. The smaller chicks' closed eyes are black orbs encased in thin skin. Their eyes will never open to the light. Their mouths open in different directions, with wide, pink gapes frozen in permanent, begging hunger.
You look at the birds
The oversized cowbird is using one foot to steady itself on the edge of the grass nest, distorting the dry grass with its weight. A cracked eggshell is visible next to the cowbird chick, and the remains of a dried sparrow embryo and its yolk have dripped down the side of the nest and dried where the cowbird rests its claws.
You look at the birds
The stare of this huge cowbird chick is crisp and blank. Unlike portraits whose eyes seemingly follow you around the room, the cowbird chick seems to stare some distance directly behind you. The heavy-edged flanges of its mouth and the wispy eyebrow feathers common to baby birds give it an air of seriousness, like that of an old general.
You examine the meat
This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its depth.

An oversized painting in an elaborate gold-tinged wood frame. The painting depicts a large and haphazardly piled group of undercooked meats. In the center is a jumble of pinkish hams with crisped skins, darkened in thick lines where they have touched hot metal bars. The hams are freshly cut, exposing flesh dripping with juices traced through with blood. The liquids have congealed into a pool of white grease, surrounding the velvety black figs and turgid cornichons carefully placed around the meaty heap.
You look at the meat
A label in the bottom center of the frame reads, simply, 'ſteamed meats.' And they called these ſteamed meats despite the fact they are obviously grilled.
You look at Child
This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its full mystery.

The painting of the child faces the doorway to the west. Ah yes, you have seen this one before. Thomas Cooper Gotch, The Child
Enthroned. A wise child sits on a wooden chair against a deep
green background. The child herself is encased in sumptuous robes of blue and black velvet edged with wide gold lace. Her patterned red satin dress with a bright green sash speaks of opulence and taste. A halo, like the moon, rises from the child's head. Although her neutral expression gives you no clue to her thoughts, this only invites you to imagine some emotion for her.
You examine Child
On further examination, you notice that this is very much not the marble-skinned darling with delicate, square features and gold tresses from the original Gotch. This child clearly resembles you.
You look at Child
Your mind races. This child is certainly your spitting image.
You look at your surroundings
A long and narrow room, with a satin wallcovering in rich, patterned green above the creamy wainscot paneling. The room is overcrowded with paintings and furniture. There are doors at either end of the gallery, leading north and west.

This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention.

Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house.

An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through.
You examine the furniture
Which do you mean, the fainting couch, the credenza or the standing chest?
Couch
A fainting couch that looks like it could be from a museum.
You examine the photograph
A rather abstract photograph in black and white. You're not sure what it represents. Perhaps a line drawing of a hand with an eye in the center?
You examine the credenza
This is a low, long piece of furniture that is being used as a china cabinet, with a half-shelving unit perched precariously on it. The shelves are full of old, worn import porcelain in bland, cheap designs that have aged poorly.
You examine the chest
A dark wooden standing chest, on tall, thin, wooden turned legs. The woodwork is ornate. A door is open, revealing that this chest has served as someone's covert liquor bar.
You pull string
The doll intones: "Avoid the omen of the yerrik-gallery!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the walls! Green is the hue of poison and untamed growth!"
You examine gallery
A long and narrow room, with a satin wallcovering in rich, patterned green above the creamy wainscot paneling. The room is overcrowded with paintings and furniture. There are doors at either end of the gallery, leading north and west.

This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention.

Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house.

An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through.

You can see a photograph here.
You examine Walls
The walls are covered in rich, patterned green satin above the creamy wainscot paneling.
You look at the mirror
An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame. The bottom left corner is cracked and broken into large shards. A painting of a child is posed directly opposite the mirror, and glancing at your reflection, you can see her dispassionate gaze over your left shoulder.

A sliver of otherworldly moonlight is spilled onto the floor next to the mirror's broken corner. On closer inspection, it is a mirror shard, glowing as if it were showing a private reflection of a moonsoaked world.
You get the shard
(the shard)
As you stoop for the shard, you see a thin strip of paper that had been stuck in some of the broken pieces of the mirror.

Taken.
You examine paper
Which do you mean, the fortune, the old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), the repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew) or the yellowed newspapers?
You examine the fortune
A scrap of paper providing more of a declaratory statement than a fortune. It reads "The answer is inside you." On its reverse, it says "Full moon tonight; Beware the updog. Lucky numbers 4, 7, 69, 13."
You cut yourself with the shard
Which do you mean, the shard, the shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) or the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You examine the glass shard
You see nothing special about the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew).

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the mirror shard
A sharply pointed triangular shard of the mirror that could fit nicely into your hand, like a primitive knife.
You put the glass shard in the side pocket
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You put the carapace shard in the side pocket
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You cut yourself with the shard
You stare at your left wrist, and contemplate the shard in your right hand. Do you really have the nerve to do this? Are you certain this is what the message in the fortune meant?

Don't think about it. Don't think about it. DON'T THINK ABOUT
IT

You take aim at your left wrist and stab. The pain is intense. More intense than you can bear. Before you black out, you grab the mirror frame, which pivots suddenly on the uneven floor. I hope I didn't sever the tendons, you think.

In Rube-Goldberg fashion, the old behemoth crashes down a moment after you hit the ground. The mirror's frame slides out and hits the credenza, which unloads its fragile junk onto the floor, and in doing so, nudges the standing chest, whose thin, wooden legs gave way under it. Like ugly, misshapen dominoes, the objects in the room fall into a kind of ordered destruction.

When you come to, you see that you are now surrounded by broken, useless, tacky chaos. Not even a single lidded beer stein or mini-pendulum clock made it through unscathed.
What's the updog
Not much. What's up with you?
You look around
A long and narrow room, with a satin wallcovering in rich, patterned green above the creamy wainscot paneling. The room is overcrowded with paintings and furniture. There are doors at either end of the gallery, leading north and west.

It's a godawful mess in here and it's entirely your fault. It looks like you've cleared the path through the room, and there may be nothing left to do but enjoy the paintings.

You can see a photograph here.
You get the photograph
A black and white photograph that measures half the span of your arms; a large photograph in a simple but surprisingly heavy frame.

That's fixed in place.
Go north
Rec Room (Zack Johnson)
The manor's rec room is short for the manor's recreation room. Even though it's as old as the manor itself, it looks, as all rec rooms do, like it's stuck in the 1970s.

The room is dominated by a pool table. Or maybe a billiards table, you were never really sure what the difference is. An old television sits atop a little wooden stand in front of a comfy-looking easy chair.

Doors lead south and east, and the north wall is covered entirely in built-in cabinets, whose glass doors lead, predictably, into their interiors.
About yourself
You are ready for some *recreation*.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form the engine of a train. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the pool table
It's got everything you need to play pool except... cues, balls, and that triangle thing you use to set up the rack.
You look at the chair
It looks very comfy.
You sit in the chair
You slouch into the chair with a protracted sigh of pleasure. It is indeed as comfy as it looks.
Examine tv
You see the movement of a human figure reflected in the screen. You whirl around, but there's nobody there. Creepy.
Examine tv
What the hell is going on here? The television is definitely off, but there is definitely movement on the screen.
You look at the tv
In the dim grayness of the screen, you see the outline of a kid with a bowl of cereal.
You look at the tv
A dim suggestion of a voice whispers in your head: "He likes it! Hey Mikey!"
Examine tv
You stare into the static for a while. It makes your eyes feel as bad as your ears.

The television continues blaring.
You stand
You get out of the chair. Your new situation kinda sucks compared to earlier, when you were in the chair.
You look at the stand
Its purposes are twofold and simple: be made of wood, and hold the television off the floor.
You examine cabinets
The glass-doored cabinets stretch from wall to wall. All of them are empty except one, which is full to bursting with old board games.
You examine the board games
Looking at the board games makes your vision swim. The glass must be distorting them somehow.
You open the cabinet
Of course, the only cabinet with anything interesting in it is also the only cabinet that is locked.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a horse in mid-gallop. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You break the cabinet
No way. What if one of the board games uses broken glass as its playing pieces? You'd never know which piece of glass went where.
You go to the east
The Music Room (Wade Clarke)
You are in a large modern studio space, not unlike a concert hall but without any seating. Dark, golden-hued wooden paneling lines the floor and walls, imbuing the area with an intimate atmosphere in spite of its size. The walls curve inwards in what appears to be a carefully designed asymmetrical fashion (some kind of acoustic treatment?) and electric-bulbed faux chandeliers fill the place with ruddy light.

A doorway leads out of the music room to the west.

Standing against the center of the eastern wall, facing you, is a mahogany podium with four push-buttons on it.

A woman's voice suddenly makes you jump: "Are you interested in
the future? I am. It's where I'm going."

You look around, see no-one, but the voice fills the air. Where is it coming from?

"Welcome. I am Francine Cragne, and you are privileged to be able
to learn something about me and my work here in the music room. A room that I built, I might add, and a room where only people welcomed by me are allowed. This rules out almost everyone in the old Vermont family from which I spurted and crawled. You got over the threshold, so I know you're not one of them."

Glancing back towards the entry, you now perceive a faint symbol on the floor.

The Francine voice continues: "My work is music. At least that's
what I tell people when they ask, because everyone thinks they know something about music. But in the case of any one thing that you think you know about, there are still a million things about that thing that you don't know, right?"

The voice could be a woman in her twenties or thirties. It's a little harsh, a little breathy, with a confrontational quality. You suddenly wonder: Is this live or a recording?

"Well, what if the part of something that you didn't know about
was as deep and as dark as a black hole in space?"

- this last bit said in a strangely drawn-out way. You're already tired of this Francine's indulgences, but you sense that you're going to have to keep indulging them if you want to find your husband.
About you
You dressed sensibly for the journey to Cragne Manor because you had no idea what would be in store for you. You remain uncertain about what may be in store for you.

The voice says: "You've also got a problem with my family, I can
tell. Is it to do with your husband? I think we could be be good for each other, you and me. Is why more important than how? No. Here's how: The crimson button starts and stops my music. The plus button toggles my additive synthesis process. The minus button toggles my subtractive synthesis process. The LFO button toggles my frequency-modulating process.

"Say HELP if you want a reminder of all that later. Say it aloud.
I'll hear you. And no, you won't need anything from outside this room."

(You can use these commands for short:
c or crimson = Press crimson
+ or plus = Press plus
- or minus = Press minus
lfo = press LFO)
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a pear shape, complete with stem. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the podium
The wood is strong, perfectly fitted and sealed. You find it can't be moved, though it doesn't look heavy. On top of the podium are four buttons. No cables or power sources are visible, but this is obviously a device you can operate.
You look at the symbol
A distorted, oval-shaped spiral symbol is just visible all around the base of the doorway into this room, as if an oily drink had been spilled. Its lines have an indistinct quality that frustrates the eye. You can't tell what it's made of, if anything. Your initial passage across it into the room didn't disturb it.
You examine Walls
The music room is definitely well appointed. Unlike some other parts of Cragne Manor.
You pull the string
All you hear is garbled nonsense, like a tape rewinding while being played. This place seems to be interfering with the doll.
You examine the podium
The wood is strong, perfectly fitted and sealed. You find it can't be moved, though it doesn't look heavy. On top of the podium are four buttons. No cables or power sources are visible, but you know that the buttons work.

(A steady beat plays in the background.)
You examine the telephone
It looks pretty vintage. The receiver sits on a hook beside the phone body between calls.

The phone begins to ring.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You answer the phone
You pick up the phone and offer a tentative, "Hello?"

"I knew you'd be there," says a male voice. "We know you've been conjuring up shit even your family doesn't know about. You'll need to share that power with us. The first thing that will happen if you don't is we'll tell your old man what you've been doing. The second thing that will happen is that we will completely fuck you up. Even worse than what you did to David. So pack your shit and come into Burlington tomorrow. Meet me at The Carfax at ten PM. I won't ask twice."

The line goes dead.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
Look around
You're in a rather forbidding living room. The chairs and table are all of some incredibly dark wood, the green carpet beneath them even darker. Vertical stripes of a complex red floral pattern on the wallpaper make the high ceiling seem even further away than it must be. A wide window in the west wall admits early afternoon light through its dirty glass, along with a view of nothing but sky and clouds.

The room is cold.

There are closed doors to the north and east.

A red telephone is mounted on the wall.

You see the mahogany podium with the buttons on it.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You examine the chairs
All sharp corners and no cushioning, plus they seem to devour light. Meals in this room must be pretty joyless.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You examine the window
Bobbing your head about until you find an angle from which you're able to see through the bleary old panes, you realize why only the sky was visible at first. The room you're in is high up, so you have to be close to the glass before you can see all the way down to the ground. You recognize the grounds of of Cragne Manor out there.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You go to the north
As you move in that direction, the background music becomes fainter and murkier, as does all sound in the room. You sense that you're stepping outside some area which is the focus of the music. The further you move away from the focus, the more the music dissolves and the less comfortable you feel. Your physical movements start to become restricted, as if you were wading into a narrowing corridor of thick mud.

Each step brings an alarming increase in nauseating sensations and disorientation until, almost sick, you rush back into the focal area. The music returns in full and you experience immediate relief.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
Go south
You can't go that way.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
Go east
As you're unable to leave the focal area of Francine's music, you can't work out any way to walk out of the immediate area.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You open the window
The window is permanently set in the wall. Looks like it was never made to be opened.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You examine the lightbulbs
(the lightbulbs)
The bulbs must have been chosen to keep this hallway moodily lit instead of properly lit.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You examine the gig
Printed on the gig poster in hectic green and black writing that you can barely read is:

Coming up at The Carfax!

Bread Loaf Mountaineers
Pyramidial Tension
Xavier feat. The Cosmos
Francine C

Each of these bands' logos fights for space on the poster in a cacophony of typefaces.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You look at clipping
A handwritten note on the newspaper clipping on the wall indicates it's from the Backwater Banner's August 26, 1994 edition.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You read it
The article reads:

(Cassandra Campbell. Backwater Banner, August 26, 1994.)

Local Backwater musician Francine Cragne has been charged with misdemeanor assault after audience members alleged she threw real blood on them at the end of a musical performance.

Miss Cragne, twenty-three years of age and who goes by the stage name Francine C, ended her encore at The Carfax Club on August 19 by emptying the red liquid contents of a vial over front row patrons. Cragne is known for her morbid on-stage theatrics, and the wet patrons assumed they had been sprayed with stage blood. It was only after leaving the club that audience members had the opportunity to properly smell and inspect the fluid. Some claimed it was real blood and returned to the venue to complain. Miss Cragne had already left The Carfax for the night.

"I thought Francine was the bomb before this," said Burlington resident Robert Aspin, who attended Miss Cragne's August 19 show. "She does a lot of wild stuff, but I'm grossed out by this. Plus I don't want AIDS or nothing. I don't know where that blood came from."

Backwater Police picked up Miss Cragne the next day at Cragne Manor, her family home in Backwater. When asked by this reporter if she had any comment to make regarding the accusation that she had thrown her own blood on Carfax Club patrons, Cragne replied, "You think I'd throw someone else's blood on them?"

Miss Cragne was charged on August 20 and released on bail. The Carfax Club's management have declined to comment on the incident.
Examine wanted
Which do you mean, the wanted poster of a woman or the wanted poster of a man?
Woman
The grainy, xeroxed black and white poster says "WANTED: FRANCINE C". A big-mouthed woman in a ratty dress scowls into the camera, her hair feral, her attitude rock star. Francine Cragne.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You examine wanted man
This crumpled xerox is an FBI wanted poster for the serial killer Ted Bundy. He went to the chair years ago, as you recall.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You look at the large photograph
The foot-long photo shows a laughing woman stepping at an angle towards the camera, as if to go past the photographer. Tight on her stocky body is a dark, satiny but scummy-looking floral dress, artfully torn in a few places or perhaps just worn out. Shoving a great mass of grungy red hair back behind one ear as she leaves, she has an obvious rock star fierceness about her. Her eyes are far apart and narrow, though you can't see into them in this photo, but her squishy-lipped mouth is flung open in laughter, revealing somewhat wonky and frightening teeth. Her skin is an oily white, her face scarred and with spots.

The photo's background of a plain, cream-colored wall certainly throws this hectic-looking individual into relief.

Comparing this photo to the adjacent wanted poster of the scowling woman, it's apparent that the woman in the photo is also Francine. In fact the images come from the same time and place. It looks like she posed for a photo to be used on the wanted poster, then broke the pose, started to laugh, stepped off her spot, and was snapped again as she did so.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You get the photograph
If you did that, you'd feel a bit too much like one of those characters in a film who tears pages out of a public phonebook for their own convenience.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You examine girl
She's a sickly little thing. Her hair is a knotted dark red tangle that evolves into a bunch of corkscrews and rat tails where it falls over her shoulders.

The girl continues to chant over the paper, the intensity in her young voice increasing:

"Francine, rancine, ancine, en-seen, seen, een, enn, ee, Francine, rancine, ancine, en-seen, seen, een, enn, ee."

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background. There's also a separate high-pitched tone in the air. It feels more present, as if it's coming out of something in this room.)
You examine the bed
Like much of this room, the bed looks very old, with a decrepit black bedhead of flaking cast iron. The sheets are threadbare pink flannel.

The girl's voice is growing hoarse from the repetition of the chant -

"Francine, rancine, ancine, en-seen, seen, een, enn, ee, Francine, rancine, ancine, en-seen, seen, een, enn, ee."

As the voice circles itself, the room starts to blur. The music that followed you here from the music room begins to sink away. You feel an intense nausea and headache coming on, and you fall to your knees, trembling.

Just as you're on the verge of passing out, you realise the girl has stopped chanting. The unbearable sensations recede.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background. There's also a separate high-pitched tone in the air. It feels more present, as if it's coming out of something in this room.)
You look at the window
The window's blinds are raised and it's open to the warm evening.

Gathering yourself up, you look to the girl. Her eyes are open, and though she's flushed from her exertions, she appears calm, even tranquil. She looks down at the paper on the floor. Then she considers her left hand, the bloodied one.

With a single forceful movement she shoves the hand in her mouth and down her throat. She gags and chokes, her face turns red and her body quakes. Then, as if pulling a cork from a bottle, she yanks her hand free and vomits pointedly all over the picture in front of her.

Looking as devastated as a far older woman who's just given birth, the girl crawls forward through the steaming mess and lifts her paper out of it. Though dripping, it's still in one piece.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background. There's also a separate high-pitched tone in the air. It feels more present, as if it's coming out of something in this room.)
You look at the paper
(the piece of paper)
All you can make out from here is that there's a drawing on it.

Suddenly the girl stands and turns to you. You'd swear she was looking straight at you, except that those widely set eyes of hers are unfocused.

"Are you still there?" she asks in a harsh whisper. "I feel you. I must have called you. I don't know how, but I trust myself." The girl's eyes roll around with a beseeching madness that is upsetting to see in her young face.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background. There's also a separate high-pitched tone in the air. It feels more present, as if it's coming out of something in this room.)
You talk to Francine
She's straining to hear, but you don't think she can.

The girl darts her head about like a little bird, searching but not finding. It makes you wonder if you're really here.

She turns away abruptly and begins a new chant: "Thine nine, I am thine, thine nine, return in time." Muttering a nonsensical stream of similar phrases, she takes her picture over to the window, sits on the floor, folds the picture into a paper plane, stands again and throws the plane out the window. Then she sniffs and rubs her nose on her pajama sleeves.

She turns to face approximately in your direction again. The door to the room is thrown open behind you and the girl cowers. Someone enters the room in a thunderous way. The room floods with light from the doorway as this person seems to tramp into the very space you occupy. Your body jolts and so does the background music.

The Music Room (Wade Clarke)
You are in a large modern studio space, not unlike a concert hall but without any seating. Dark, golden-hued wooden paneling lines the floor and walls, imbuing the area with an intimate atmosphere in spite of its size. The walls curve inwards in a carefully designed asymmetrical fashion (some kind of acoustic treatment?) and electric-bulbed faux chandeliers fill the place with ruddy light.

A doorway leads out of the music room to the west.

Standing against the center of the eastern wall, facing you, is a mahogany podium with four push-buttons on it.
Lfo
You press the LFO button. Nothing happens.
Lfo
You press the LFO button and it lights up. The music begins to undulate rhythmically.
The air trembles and your surroundings change.

You are in a small, damp-smelling circular chamber flagged in an iridescent sea green. There's a hole in the ceiling leading into a sloped shaft, and a drainage grille in the floor. The plinking of distant water echoes up through the grille. Some weak bluish light bounces down into the chamber from the shaft. The light catches scratches on the floor.

You see a child's kaleidoscope tube set on a metal stand, like a telescope.

You see the mahogany podium with the buttons on it.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You examine the hole
(the hole in the ceiling)
You can barely reach the hole, and find you can't get any kind of grip on it. All you can see when you look up there is that it immediately becomes a diagonally-sloping shaft that leads out of sight.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You examine the grille
The grille is concreted into the floor. You can't see what's beyond it.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You open it
It's immovable.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You look at the scratches
Scratched into the floor in tiny letters is:



(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You look at the kaleidoscope
The kaleidoscope is made up of three rotating metal cylinders attached end to end. The cylinders are decorated with embossed stars and rainbows. There's an eyehole at one end of the tube.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You look through it
Peering into the eyehole of the kaleidoscope, you see the expected pretty, glassy patterns in a circular frame - but only for a second. The effect wavers away, leaving you staring through a plain lens at a particular spot on the wall.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You examine the spot
You walk over to the wall and squint at the area singled out by the kaleidoscope. It seems to be as green and featureless as any other part of the wall.

Wait. While turning your head, you heard a sliver of someone's voice, as if you'd just dialed past a station on your car radio.

Carefully, you move your head around the surface - up, down, back and forth - but, frustratingly, the other noises in the vicinity distract your ears, and you are unable to rediscover the sound.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
Continue
You return to the part of the wall singled out by the kaleidoscope. Carefully, you move your head around the surface - up, down, back and forth - but, frustratingly, the other noises in the vicinity distract your ears, and you are unable to rediscover the sound.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You look at the podium
Atop the podium you see the following four buttons arranged left to right: A crimson button (illuminated), a button with a plus symbol on it, a button with a minus symbol on it, and a button labeled 'LFO' (illuminated).

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You search it
There is nothing on the mahogany podium.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You look at the seesaw
It's of a kind you almost never see today, just a wooden plank on a hinge with a cold metal T-bar at each end. There are no springs or pads or anything else attached to the structure to cushion anyone or mediate the plank's motion.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You get on it
You're really too big (physically) to do more than give this seesaw a push.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You examine hinge
The hinge is rusting but remains functional. You notice a piece of chalk sitting on it.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You examine the chalk
(the piece of chalk)
A piece of plain white chalk.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You get it
Taken.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You look athe t-bar
There's something poking out of one of the handles.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You look at the handle
(the dull machete)
The blade is long and rusty. The dirty wooden handle is still covered in a mesh of rootlets, providing a nice grip.

You wish you had something to sharpen it with.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You put the machete in the side pocket
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the dull machete, then zip the side pocket back up again.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You look at the handle
You find a note stuck in the end of one of the handles. You pull it out.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
Seesaw
The note says: THE TREES

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You examine Daniel
Peter,

I was very glad to hear of your impending arrival. Your family line has been separated from Cragne Manor for far too long. Call me old-fashioned, but I wanted to give you something as a "homecoming" present. Truth be told, I'm really just returning your property. The object you'll find inside was something your father gave to me many years ago. He said that it had originally belonged to your great uncle Luther. He never explained why he wanted me to have it, and seemed to take great pleasure in the fact that the object's purpose or function was a conundrum that I couldn't solve. Following his death, I'm somewhat embarrassed to say that I ended up simply using it as a rather elaborate paperweight. Maybe you'll have better luck figuring it out. Lord knows, it's not like the extended Cragne family hasn't dealt with its share of mysteries.

Yours truly, Daniel Baker.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You examine TREES
You look to the trees. A non-descript boy in drab clothing steps out from amongst them. He comes no closer.

The boy's mouth starts to move, but you don't hear any sound from it crossing the space between you. You are instead startled by a toneless whispering right in your ear:

Francine, we

Francine, we're here

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You examine boy
His face has nothing remarkable or unremarkable about it, nor does his hair. His clothing speaks of no particular time.

We are carrying the circle you asked for from the far place. It
will take 5113 days to carry it. On that day you will see mountain-climbers. They keep the circle inside their symbol.

We are carrying the ears you asked for from the far place. It will take 381 days to carry them. Whenever you need them, say your name, then pick up three times. Do it at night.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You look at the boy
His face has nothing remarkable or unremarkable about it, nor does his hair. His clothing speaks of no particular time.

Why don't you let us in when you speak with us?

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You examine boy
His face has nothing remarkable or unremarkable about it, nor does his hair. His clothing speaks of no particular time.

We serve you only, no other child

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You examine boy
His face has nothing remarkable or unremarkable about it, nor does his hair. His clothing speaks of no particular time.

(Music consisting of a beat and sparse, cold notes bends up and down unpleasantly in the background.)
You examine the body
You want to understand more about what's happened here, or why, or who this is, but it's dark and you're numb and afraid. Your mind feels like it's retreated under a rock.

(Strange music plays in the background. Beats, pulses and dissonant high notes move in and out of time. The whole piece ripples up and down in frequency.)
You examine the marks
Written in blood on her stomach is "FUCK YOU".

(Strange music plays in the background. Beats, pulses and dissonant high notes move in and out of time. The whole piece ripples up and down in frequency.)
You look at the lightbulb
(the red-tinted bulb)
The red tint makes for poor illumination.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You examine the shelf
The junk on the shelves has probably been hoarded over many years in readiness for that one day when a single object buried amongst it could come in handy.

You hear someone moving around upstairs.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You search it
You better leave it alone. It's the only light you've got down here.

You hear someone moving around upstairs.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You search them
There's nothing you need amongst all that precariously balanced junk. You'll leave it alone.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You look at the desk
On the writing desk are a newspaper clipping, the first diary page and the second diary page.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You look at the clipping
It's been snipped out of an issue of the Backwater Banner.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You read it
The article reads:

RUMORS OF DECAPITATIONS IN THE NORTHEAST TURN OUT TO BE TRUE!

(Edna Johnson. Backwater Banner, October 27, 1995.)

Sources close to several ongoing murder investigations in The Kingdom have revealed to the Backwater Banner that the investigators believe they may be dealing with a serial killer. One whose modus operandi includes chopping off heads.

When the headless corpse of a man was found on farmland outside of Hardwick in September last year, the sensational story was widely reported in local news. The man remains unidentified and the murder remains unsolved. What authorities haven't made public, but which the Banner can now confirm, is that two more headless corpses have been found in similar circumstances along the banks of the Lamoille River over the past year. The first corpse was that of a woman, the second that of another man.

Vermont State Police Commander Keith Browne, Jr. has refused to offer any comment to the Banner on what he described as "this highly sensitive murder investigation."

"I urge the press not to re-publish irresponsible rumors that could interfere with police work," the commander said on Tuesday.

The Banner advocates a free press and believes citizens have a right to know about highly unusual dangers in their state.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a shard
a broken silver amulet
a teapot
a tiny leather journal
Daniel Baker's note
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You examine first diary
This lined page has been torn out of a large diary to use as writing paper. It's covered in meandering cursive handwriting.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You read it
The first diary page reads:

In order for the magic to work I am Syrach-bound to write truthfully about my relationship with the subject and how I acquired the object.

I first met Abril Navarro at the Maximas dojo on the evening of the thirteenth of January in 1995. She'd just broken up with a boyfriend who'd then shoved her out of his car in Vermont. She was looking around for new friends and new meaning. David definitely had his eye on Abril that night, but I had a feeling she might turn out to be useful, so I got her out of there before he could talk to her.

(David later died when I conjured something on him. The summon was just meant to spy on him, but I hear it painted the room with his brains. That's why the Maximas are after me. It's also why my relationship with Abril has become so important.)

Me and Abril got to drinking our way around Church Street. She told me she was from Miami originally. Her heavy Roman Catholic upbringing had turned her off the big religions. She loved her mom, so she wore the ring her mom gave her everywhere, but her mom was deep into religion and that was a bad scene for Abril. I suppose that's how people like Abril end up at a temple for the occult in Burlington.

I told her I was a musician and that I was into the occult. I told her a lot of the Maximas people I'd met were full of shit, but also that I thought the temple was onto something. I didn't tell her that whenever their somethings came to anything, I liked to know about it. That was the main reason I kept visiting the temple.

That night I took Abril to crash with me at Cragne Manor, just because it wasn't too far a drive. She thought the house was loco and that I must be a millionaire. I said I grew up there then got out of there, but I still had rooms there I could use. Talk about a long story short.

If particular Cragnes noticed a strange Latina woman walking around the manor grounds, they'd go apeshit, but Abril wears her Florida Marlins baseball cap and big glasses everywhere during the day. I love Abril's black hair. It almost touches her waist.
You read it
The second diary page reads:

I saw Abril on and off. I helped her get an apartment. She came to some of my shows and we went out. She liked that if she flirted with guys, they'd always be scared away by me. She didn't want another boyfriend already. She didn't want to try my bed, either. I just kept her close. I had perceived something about her, that her auras and her life forces and her cosmic keys were perfectly aligned with mine. I now knew what she would be useful for at the right time.

On the second of November in 1995, I invited Abril to visit me at the remote property of a Maximas temple member in Essex. I'd acquired this property for the purpose. I drugged Abril's wine, waited for her to fall asleep and then sawed her head off. I played the music to open the way. I performed the incantation. I tasted the blood dripping from her head. I took the ring from her finger.

Abril's the only one where I wished I didn't have to kill her. I liked her, but my existence is the important thing.

These pages need to survive for the spell to work. I think I'll laminate them. Not at Kinko's, though. Then I'll hide them.

I'm also bound not to destroy the head. The rest of the body, okay. Tonight I'll have to risk driving it over to the pit to get it started.

I don't know who is decapitating people in the northeast.

2 November, 1995
You open the freezer
You lift the freezer lid and rest it against the basement wall. A cloud of ice vapor plumes from the chest. When it clears, you see there's just one thing inside. An object wrapped in black plastic trash bags.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You examine the Head
Which do you mean, the object wrapped in black plastic, the pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) or the mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Black plastic
You pull carefully at the wrappings. The weight of the thing inside resists. After some fiddling, the first layer comes off, revealing another bag. You unwind it from around the object, disturbed to feel something alternately organic and hard passing beneath your fingers through the plastic.

The second layer eventually comes off, revealing a third bag. You can tell the thing is inside it.

You ease the mouth of the bag downwards. Something like a twinkling jewel appears in the opening. You lean closer to try to understand. Then you understand. A frost-dusted eye, the blank gaze of death. A woman's plump but slack, cyanotic-hued lips.

Your heart and stomach both start at once and you wheel away, belching violently. Stomach acid comes scalding into your mouth. Gradually, the physical shock passes.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You examine the Head
Which do you mean, the head of Abril Navarro, the pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) or the mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Abril
Tensing yourself, you return to the bag and open the mouth a little wider. You were afraid it might smell, but it doesn't.

Abril's lush black hair has been crammed carelessly into the bag. Death, freezing, and the isolation of her head in this absurd context destroy all your other attempts at understanding. Interpreting her looks is impossible. Acknowledging her ethnicity or anything else about her is impossible. Perhaps if you took the head out of the bag... No, you could never do that.

As you release the bag, the weight inside it causes it to tilt slightly. Something stuck against the plastic catches the light.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You examine it
You reach for the glint in the freezer and pull out a ring.

It's a thin ring with a heart engraved on it.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You examine the ring
(Abril's ring)
It's a thin ring with a heart engraved on it.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You get it
You already have that.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You get first diary
Taken.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You look around
You're in a brick basement bathed in the dismal glow of a single red-tinted lightbulb. A curved wooden writing desk sits directly beneath the bulb. The shelf-covered walls bulge with miscellaneous old hardware and junk, and a ten foot staircase leads up to the basement door. A freezer chest in the corner emits a low hum. The air down here smells metallic and unpleasant.

You see a newspaper clipping on the desk.

You see the mahogany podium with the buttons on it.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You examine the spot
You return to the part of the wall singled out by the kaleidoscope. Carefully, you move your head around the surface - up, down, back and forth - but, frustratingly, the other noises in the vicinity distract your ears, and you are unable to rediscover the sound.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
Abril's ring
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a shard
a broken silver amulet
a teapot
a tiny leather journal
Daniel Baker's note
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
Lfo
You press the LFO button. Its light goes out. The undulations disappear from the music.
The air trembles and your surroundings change.

The Music Room (Wade Clarke)
You are in a large modern studio space, not unlike a concert hall but without any seating. Dark, golden-hued wooden paneling lines the floor and walls, imbuing the area with an intimate atmosphere in spite of its size. The walls curve inwards in a carefully designed asymmetrical fashion (some kind of acoustic treatment?) and electric-bulbed faux chandeliers fill the place with ruddy light.

A doorway leads out of the music room to the west.

Standing against the center of the eastern wall, facing you, is a mahogany podium with four push-buttons on it.

(A steady beat plays in the background.)
You say francine
You say, "Francine."

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You pick up the phone
You pick up the phone. There's no-one on the line, just a dial tone, so you put it down.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You pick up the phone
You pick up the phone. This time there's a sound like television static coming down the line. After a few moments the line goes dead and you hear a soft thud nearby. Looking around, you see a small black box at your feet. You have an impression it fell out the bottom of the telephone.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You get the black box
Taken.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You open it
Opening the box reveals a pair of green stone earrings.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You look at the earrings
(first taking the earrings out of the box)

You remove the first earring from the box and take a closer look at it. Actually, there are no pins or clips on this ovaloid object. Its curved, organic contours remind you of something else. An ear. Could it be something that goes in the ear canal? An earplug?

Your idea gains credence when you take the second stone out of the box and find it to be a physical mirror image of the first.

The earplugs appear to be made out of jade or some other ornate green mineral, but to the touch they don't have the coldness of stone you'd expect. One earplug is specifically shaped to fit in the left ear canal, the other the right.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
You wear them
You put the earplugs in your ears. Strangely - very strangely - they have no effect on the quality of your hearing. You expected everything to become muffled, at least as much as if you'd put your fingers in your ears and probably more, but that hasn't happened.

(Slowly-pulsing beats and a high, elusive melody play in the background.)
Lfo
You press the LFO button and it lights up. The music begins to undulate rhythmically.
The air trembles and your surroundings change.

You are in a small, damp-smelling circular chamber flagged in an iridescent sea green. There's a hole in the ceiling leading into a sloped shaft, and a drainage grille in the floor. The plinking of distant water echoes up through the grille. Some weak bluish light bounces down into the chamber from the shaft. The light catches scratches on the floor.

You see a child's kaleidoscope tube set on a metal stand, like a telescope.

You see the mahogany podium with the buttons on it.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
You examine the spot
You return to the part of the wall singled out by the kaleidoscope. Carefully, you move your head around the surface - up, down, back and forth - and manage to isolate the source of the sound to a spot on the wall only a quarter of an inch in diameter. This is definitely the source of the voice you overheard.

(A weirdly undulating beat plays in the background.)
Continue
(to the spot on the wall)

"Francine," intones a deep, old male voice, "today we admit you to the station of Xanthic Alderman of the Variegated Court."

A long pause.

"Xanthic," says Francine. "That's yellow, right? Have you ever seen me wear yellow? The color of cowardice and liver disease?"
Keep going
(to the spot on the wall)

The man raises his voice, though his tone is placating. "Your blood and your presence are essential to the continued power of this court. Don't make light of this station. With your strain of the blood, your gifts, you may be the last of your kind. That's why we are bestowing this honor upon you, quite in spite of everything that you do. You cannot be wasted."

"No," Francine says quickly, "I'm not the last of my kind. You're the last of your kind. All of you in this above-ground crypt passing for a home. I'm the first of my kind. I've only just realised it."
You continue
(to the spot on the wall)

The man: "Sit down, you promiscuous cunt!"

"Did you charm your wife with that talk, Calvin? No wonder she killed herself, you daughter-fucking piece of shit."

A strangled cry comes from the man, numerous chairs scrape the floor and everyone starts yelling.
Continue
(to the spot on the wall)

Francine projects her voice over the top of the din: "You can't move against me while you need me in that chair. So I'm going to leave it empty. And I'm going to kill you by outliving you, Calvin. Because you're old."

You hear Francine's booted feet thump out of the room as the situation disintegrates into a cacophony.
Keep going
(to the spot on the wall)

The noise diminishes as people storm out of the meeting. Eventually you hear a door close. Then silence.
Continue
(to the spot on the wall)

You hear the ambience of a large, empty room, as if you were in it yourself.
Continue
(to the spot on the wall)

The silence of an empty room.
Lfo
You press the LFO button. Its light goes out. The undulations disappear from the music.
The air trembles and your surroundings change.

The Music Room (Wade Clarke)
You are in a large modern studio space, not unlike a concert hall but without any seating. Dark, golden-hued wooden paneling lines the floor and walls, imbuing the area with an intimate atmosphere in spite of its size. The walls curve inwards in a carefully designed asymmetrical fashion (some kind of acoustic treatment?) and electric-bulbed faux chandeliers fill the place with ruddy light.

A doorway leads out of the music room to the west.

Standing against the center of the eastern wall, facing you, is a mahogany podium with four push-buttons on it.

(A steady beat plays in the background.)
You examine the gig
Printed on the gig poster in hectic green and black writing that you can barely read is:

Coming up at The Carfax!

Bread Loaf Mountaineers
Pyramidial Tension
Xavier feat. The Cosmos
Francine C

Each of these bands' logos fights for space on the poster in a cacophony of typefaces.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You examine Mountaineers
You scrutinize the Bread Loaf Mountaineers logo on the gig poster. The letter O in "Loaf" flickers once, almost imperceptibly, and you feel something touch the inside of your right hand. You open that hand to discover a ring.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
You look at the ring
Which do you mean, the far place ring, Abril's ring or the rubber ring?
You examine the far place ring
A simple ring with a coppery hue.

(Underneath cold and muffled tones, a dull beat plays in the background.)
Wait
Time passes.

The earthquake intensifies so that there's nothing more to reality than incredibly violent motion. Everyone screams, the sound merging with the bestial roar of some third party whose black form erupts through the floor of the bedroom. It takes all of you.
You drop the chalk
(the piece of chalk)
You toss the chalk out into the room through the gap between the doors.

"There!" yells the boy. You glimpse Francine's hand snatching up the chalk, then she bends over to draw something on the floor. The earthquake immediately stops.

"How'd you do that?" shouts the boy. "How the hell'd you do that?"

"Shut up," says Francine, panting, milling around in front of the closet. She looks flushed and excited. A single drop of sweat falls from her wet brow onto the front of her singlet. You see her face alter subtly into a relaxed mask before she turns back to the boy. "We were never going to die. I just wanted to scare you properly."

"Well, it worked," says the boy, sounding exhausted. "I've never seen levitation shit like that at the Maximas dojo. Come on, you have to show them you can make this stuff happen."

"I'm still waiting for them to show me something," says Francine. You hear the chalk clink to the floor. A door opens and someone walks out.

"Don't talk 'round me, France. I hate that." The boy's voice trails out of the room. The door shuts and a lock rattles. It's probably safe for you to leave the closet now.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background.)
Leave
You get out of the closet.

You see the mahogany podium with the buttons on it.

You can also see a piece of chalk and a closet here.

The room smells bad. It could really use an airing.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background.)
You get the chalk
(the piece of chalk)
Taken.

The room smells pretty bad. It could use an airing.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background.)
You open the window
You slide the window up and are grateful for the fresh breeze that starts to billow into the room. From this vantage point, you find that you have a splendid second floor view of the grounds of Cragne Manor.

In this light, at this time, the place could pass for normal.

As you step back, you are startled by a paper plane. It flies in through the window, brushes past your head and lands on the bedroom floor.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background.)
You get the plane
Taken.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background.)
You examine it
The paper from which this plane is made is brown and stained. Is this the same plane you saw the child Francine throw out the window? You never did see what was written on it.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background.)
You unfold it
You carefully unfold the paper plane to reveal a child's drawing.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background.)
You look at it
This primitive, colored marker drawing is of a female corpse. The body lies straight out in repose, the eyes are crosses and the tongue lolls over an upside down U of an unhappy mouth. A circle has been drawn around the whole body, and two rings have been drawn with more than stick figure care on the stick figure fingers.

(A steady but dulled beat plays in the background.)
Lfo
You press the LFO button and it lights up. The music begins to undulate rhythmically.

The air trembles and your surroundings change.

You're in a brick basement bathed in the dismal glow of a single red-tinted lightbulb. A curved wooden writing desk sits directly beneath the bulb. The shelf-covered walls bulge with miscellaneous old hardware and junk, and a ten foot staircase leads up to the basement door. A freezer chest in the corner emits a low hum. The air down here smells metallic and unpleasant.

On the desk you see a newspaper clipping and two torn sheets of paper.

You see the mahogany podium with the buttons on it.

(Music consisting mostly of a muffled beat rolls around uncomfortably in the background.)
You put the far ring on the body
You slip the far place ring onto one of the corpse's fingers.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
a drawing of a corpse
a piece of chalk
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a black box (open but empty)
Abril's ring
a note from a seesaw
a shard
a broken silver amulet
a teapot
a tiny leather journal
Daniel Baker's note
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)

(Strange music plays in the background. Beats, pulses and dissonant high notes move in and out of time. The whole piece ripples up and down in frequency.)
You put the abril's ring on the body
You ease Abril's ring onto one of the corpse's fingers.
You examine the body
You want to understand more about what's happened here, or why, or who this is, but it's dark and you're numb and afraid. Your mind feels like it's retreated under a rock.

(Strange music plays in the background. Beats, pulses and dissonant high notes move in and out of time. The whole piece ripples up and down in frequency.)
You look at chalk
(the piece of chalk)
A piece of plain white chalk.

(Strange music plays in the background. Beats, pulses and dissonant high notes move in and out of time. The whole piece ripples up and down in frequency.)
You draw with the chalk
That won't help.

(Strange music plays in the background. Beats, pulses and dissonant high notes move in and out of time. The whole piece ripples up and down in frequency.)
You draw the circle
You maneuver your way around the corpse, scrawling a series of chalk arcs on the ground until you find yourself back where you started. The woman's body is now enclosed within a circle.

The wind begins to rise. The trees whip about even more violently. Clouds slide over the moon, plunging the clearing into a gritty darkness. The ground stirs. You find yourself instinctively stepping away from the corpse.

Two points of light appear in the dark: the two rings on the corpse's fingers. They glow for a moment and then wink out.

Now the clearing fills with a new, cold and sourceless light, rendering it a frozen landscape. The background music devolves into a quiet roar. There's no detail or tone in the sound. It's just a presence.

You are shocked by a blast of heat about your person, and find yourself hurling Francine's drawing of the corpse to the ground, where it bursts into a fireball. Then it's not there anymore.

A woman stands up at the edge of the clearing. She leans one hand on a tree, the hand with two rings on it. Dressed all in black, her red hair licked by the wind, she looks somehow magnificent in the frozen light. You glance down to Francine, destroyed and headless on the ground, then back to magnificent Francine leaning on the tree. She looks into your eyes and her wide mouth shows the slightest smile. Then she turns and hurries away into the forest. You are alone with the corpse again.

The strange light fades. The clouds part for the moon. The natural state of things returns.

The Music Room (Wade Clarke)
You are in a large modern studio space, not unlike a concert hall but without any seating. Dark, golden-hued wooden paneling lines the floor and walls, imbuing the area with an intimate atmosphere in spite of its size. The walls curve inwards in a carefully designed asymmetrical fashion (some kind of acoustic treatment?) and electric-bulbed faux chandeliers fill the place with ruddy light.

A doorway leads out of the music room to the west.

Standing against the center of the eastern wall, facing you, is a mahogany podium with four push-buttons on it.

Francine's voice says, "Thank you, Naomi." She draws out the
syllables of your name in a mocking fashion. "You've been helpful.
I wonder if you get how helpful. I knew the right person would visit the music room eventually."

The voice sighs, like she's stretching. You feel you can almost see her before you. Your mind suddenly recalls the madness in the eyes of that little red-haired girl calling out to invisible things in the dark of her bedroom. How did she, and you, arrive at this point together? You try to think only of finding Peter again. That goal is an anchor of sanity.

"What am I going to do for you? Well, I pity anyone who has to
play stupid games with my family here in the manor. So I'll help you cheat. But I can't just say certain Cragne secrets out loud. That would break the protection on this room.

"You already overheard one thing you need to know when you were listening in l'oreille. And about the other thing. Did you
know that I have a familiar? The animal was seen at my grave."
Then she adds, "My first grave."

A paper plane suddenly flies through the doorway into the music room. It lands at your feet with a thud.
You look at it
This paper plane is a little heavier than the last one you held.
You open it
You unfold the paper plane. It's a police report.
You look at it
The police report has several pages.
You read it
The report is three and a half pages long. It reads:

Commander's interim report to the Public Safety Commissioner on the investigation into the murder of Francine Cragne

Keith Browne, Jr.

January 18, 1999

The bulk of this report comprises a summary of the five month investigation into the murder of twenty-seven-year-old Francine Cragne in the town of Waterville, Lamoille County, Vermont in late 1998. The report concludes with a description of the investigation's recently broadened scope. The FBI are assisting Vermont State Police with the investigation as of the date of this report.

In the early morning of August 5, 1998, two Vermont fishermen called police after finding the body of a woman in forestland in Waterville. They had been walking along a nature trail when a bird flew across their path and startled them. (They say the bird turned out to be a peregrine.) Searching for the bird, they found it in a tree overlooking a clearing. A woman was lying on her back in the clearing. The location was approximately 300 feet northwest of the Montgomery Covered Bridge. The woman's clothes had been lifted to reveal her stomach. The words "FUCK YOU" were written on her stomach in blood. The fishermen said they could not see the woman's head.

First responding troopers located four shotgun shells near the corpse. From the amount of blood present and its concentration around the neck of the corpse, our initial take on the crime scene was that the woman was killed where she lay by several shotgun blasts to the head. Based on its condition, we estimated the body had only been in situ for ten hours at the most. We believed there was probably more than one perpetrator involved because the woman was not bound, and had not been bound. Only an exceptionally powerful individual would be able to subdue and control an uncooperative victim while manipulating a shotgun all by themselves. That scenario seemed far-fetched for the crime scene.

We quickly came to regard the profanity and disrobement as poor false staging of the crime scene - unconvincing attempts by the killers to lead us into thinking the motive for the crime was sexual or sadistic in nature. The overkill used on the victim suggested the killers were inexperienced, and simply wanted to be sure the victim was dead. While destruction of the head can imply a personal motivation, it can also be carried out in order to make identification of the victim more difficult. In this case, fingerprinting the corpse led to a quick identification, and in retrospect we believe that the killers must have known the victim would be readily identified.

As you now know, the murdered woman was twenty-seven-year-old Francine Cragne. She was a Vermont native with a criminal record, major involvement in underground occult culture and a colorful history.

Miss Cragne was a member of the wealthy Cragne family of Backwater. Cragnes have been in trouble with the law ever since law existed in this state. Members of the family have been implicated in a dozen murders and disappearances during this century alone (see supplementary report A) and the Cragnes continue to be regarded as outsiders by the Backwater community. Various Cragne family members have been placed under surveillance by Vermont State Police over time in relation to criminal activity in Vermont's occult communities. In spite of decades of thorough police work, no Cragne has ever been charged with more than a misdemeanor. As a result of this historical anomaly, I believe a cultural problem has developed within Vermont law enforcement such that the lower ranks consider it a waste of time to work crimes involving the Cragne family.

Regarding Miss Cragne's murder, we've been working our long list of suspects and we currently have seven members of the Maximas temple under surveillance. (See supplementary Maximas Surveillance Report for details of our progress.)

Regarding Miss Cragne's activities while she was alive, we now have reason to believe she may have been involved in some or all of the following unexplained disappearances and deaths:

David Corey - Missing (Vermont)
Brace Cragne - Missing (Vermont)
Arthur Griswold - Deceased (Maine)
Olive Hobart - Missing (New Hampshire)
Victor Kesick - Missing (Ohio)
Abril Navarro - Missing (Vermont)
Ida Rodriguez - Deceased (Pennsylvania)

We are now pooling our investigative resources with the FBI.

Commander Keith Browne, Jr.
Vermont State Police
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form no discernible pattern. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go to the west
Rec Room (Zack Johnson)
You break the cabinet
No way. What if one of the board games uses broken glass as its playing pieces? You'd never know which piece of glass went where.
Go south
A long and narrow room, with a satin wallcovering in rich, patterned green above the creamy wainscot paneling. The room is overcrowded with paintings and furniture. There are doors at either end of the gallery, leading north and west.

It's a godawful mess in here and it's entirely your fault. It looks like you've cleared the path through the room, and there may be nothing left to do but enjoy the paintings.

You can see a photograph here.
You examine the photograph
A rather abstract photograph in black and white. You're not sure what it represents. Perhaps a line drawing of a hand with an eye in the center?
You go west
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

That's odd. When you first entered the house it was morning, but judging by the light coming through the windows it's already afternoon. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
Go north
Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. The landing feels unwanted, neglected, as if its sole purpose were to get you somewhere else more important. You know that feeling well. You touch your wedding ring in an offhand way.

Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall. A ramshackle bookshelf squats under the window like a sunken chest on a murky seafloor.
About you
In the darkness all you really see is a shadowy outline. The effect is so creepy you're almost afraid to look again.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a police report ("Francine Cragne")
a piece of chalk
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a black box (open but empty)
a note from a seesaw
a shard
a broken silver amulet
a teapot
a tiny leather journal
Daniel Baker's note
an old paperback book
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
You examine the bookshelf
The bookshelf might once have been the centerpiece of the landing but now it's tired and battered, leaning unsteadily to the right. The dark wood is heavily burled, triggering a dim recollection in the back of your mind. A few picture frames rest on top.
You look at the frames
A grey mold blossoms across all the frames. Funny, you never saw mold growing on metal before. The photographs are torn out of every frame. Only the ragged edge of each photo remains, jagged white teeth encircling a vacant center.
You examine the Wood
The wood is cruelly knotted. You inexplicably recall an episode of This Old House when Bob Vila explained that the burls so
prized in Victorian furniture were often the result of horrible fungal infections.

You touch your wedding ring in an offhand way.
You examine the ring
(the Your wedding band)
You remember the day you swore to be Peter's, forever. You look down at the gold band and study its intricate woven inlay that almost looks like--No, that can't be.
You examine the inlay
Maybe it's the dim thanatopic light writhing through the elliptical window overhead, but something seems different about the ring. You feel like you're looking at its woven pattern for the first time. It reminds of you of chains, gates. Cages.
You remove the ring
(the Your wedding band)
Strange, the wedding band usually slides right off, but something about this house seems to have tightened the ring around your finger. Constricting, that's the word that comes to mind.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the small elliptical window! Something small represents secret ability!"
You look at the window
A vague recollection of This Old House stirs in your mind. A
cameo window, you think it's called. Warped wooden muntins crisscross the horizontal ellipse, reminding you of sties on an infected eye. The glass is filthy, hazy. It's not a window so much as a cheerless smear looking out to grounds of the Cragne Manor beyond.

You stand on your tippy toes, but you can't quite see through the window from here.
You jump
The floorboards moan, and a hollow thud vibrates up your spine.
You climb the bookshelf
You slowly step onto the bookshelf. It creaks. It strains. But it appears to hold your weight.

For now.

A sudden gust of wind batters the house. The eerie silence that follows is defined as much by what's there as by what's not.

Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample) (on the
bookshelf)
You're standing on the ramshackle bookshelf. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window that's now eye-level.
You look at the window
Panes of glass streaked with grime obscure most of the view. You catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows outside. Is it the white pines, so tall they resemble a fleet of square riggers bemasted with gigantic fascicles of needles? Or is it something else in the shadows? Whatever it is, it's big.
You look through the window
You thought you saw something through the window, but now you're not so sure. The towering trees sway in the wind, but there's nothing there.
You examine the pines
Towering white pines crowd the grounds of Cragne Manor. The woods are dark, inpenetrable. You think someone should make a horror movie about kids lost in the woods. Even with no monsters, it would be scary enough.
You examine the bookshelf
The bookshelf might once have been the centerpiece of the landing but now it's tired and battered, leaning unsteadily to the right. A few picture frames rest on top.
You stand
You shift your weight to step down from the bookshelf. A sharp
crack breaks the silence of the alcove. The bookshelf
collapses and you scramble away, slamming onto the old wooden floor.

bones. A thick, putrid effluvium wafts up from the floor.
You examine the shelf
A heap of gnarled wood lies on the floor. It looks like your fall has broken through the rotten floorboards underneath the old shelf, revealing a small alcove. The smell of ancient sewage emanates from the alcove.
You examine the alcove
The hole in the floorboards is a moldering, rotting place. There's something here. A thing.
You look at the thing
In the gloaming of the landing you can't see clearly into the foul hole. You're afraid you'll have to pick up the thing to see what it is.
You get it
You gasp when you touch the slippery, oozing thing. In your hand is a gelatinous piece of severed tentacle.

You think there might be something else in the alcove.
Continue
You already have that.
You search the alcove
The hole in floorboards is a moldering rotting place. Now that you've pulled out the loathsome tentacle you see a thin leather volume lying in the hole.
You get Book
(a thin leather volume)
The book is damp and clammy but you pick it up. It's like shaking hands with a cadaver.
You look at the thin Volume
The title of the thin volume appears in distinctive heavy gothic lettering. It's called De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende
Zeeworm. There's a--what's it called, the snake eating its own tail?--etched onto the cover. The book is bound in a wrinkled leathery material. You can't quite place the feel of the material.

The back of the ancient book is defaced with a sticker bearing some sort of insignia that makes it clear the book belongs to the Backwater public library. The insignia looks vaguely Masonic. Two sallow crescent moons stand guard on either side of an icy, watchful eye. And the eye gazes down upon an open book.
You read Book
Which do you mean, De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende
Zeeworm, the tiny leather journal, the old paperback book
(smelling faintly of mildew), the old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, the postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal
(smelling faintly of mildew), the moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes, the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) or Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You read the Volume
Which do you mean, De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende
Zeeworm or The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three?
You read thin Volume
You crack open the thin volume--quite literally. The leather binding cracks as you open the book. It must be ancient. You can't imagine why a public library would have such a book in circulation. Even more incomprehensible is why the book was hidden under the floorboards. Afraid to break the binding more, you close the book without reading it.

As you finish reading the passage, the spark moves through the book with an eerie hum, leaving frost behind on the library insignia.
You search the alcove
The hole in floorboards is a moldering rotting place.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a stochastic pattern resembling television static. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the tentacle
Where on earth did this come from? About a foot long, the membranous tentacle tapers to a horrific curling point. It's a dim glowing green, the color of a dying glow stick. It reeks of something ancient. Your mouth unaccountably begins to water.

The tentacle is still warm.
Lick tentacle
With some primeval impulse you cannot fathom, you decide to taste the awful raw tentacle. You bite down, imagining the tentacle is an exquisite ceviche.

It tastes like...

Power.

The original, cosmic power.

You feel the tentacle's warmth spreading through your body. And suddenly it's a torrent of thick, clotted blood roiling through your veins.

And your eyes. Oh, your eyes. They see everything. Through every layer of reality you see, through all of them. As if every dimension of space and time turned transparent. A yawning, moorless chasm lies beyond. And finally, you see, you sense--you know--just what
it means to be a god.

And then your mind, your consciousness, your soul, whatever you call it, stretches inside out and covers you whole and thus everted you vanish into the maw of nothingness.

You are more than dead. You are no more.
You look around
Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall.

The ramshackle bookshelf lies in a pile of splintered wood on the floor like a fallen scarecrow, arms akimbo.
Go north
As you walk through the doorway, you realize you've stumbled onto a dinner.

Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi)
Three men are sitting at a long table, intently sipping coffee at the end of a formal dinner and conversing about serious-sounding matters. They don't seem to be aware of your presence. You notice a calendar on the wall.

The man at the head of the table says: "I hope you enjoyed my hospitality. As you know, I'm interested in the new developments of science. Particularly, I think the acknowledgement of a fourth dimension, together with that of non-Euclidian geometry applied to space-time, is a big step towards the understanding of reality, on a cosmic scale."

You feel a queer tickle ripple through your body. Looking down, you see the horrible tentacle disintegrate and disappear before your eyes. You sense that some primordial godhead has left this world.
About yourself
This place reminds you you're hungry and haven't eaten in a long time. Unfortunately you see nothing to eat.

One of the guests answers: "Well, Mr. Cragne, that's true in general, but for most of our experience, space-time just follows regular, Euclidian geometry. It appreciably bends itself in a non-Euclidian way only in the presence of an enormous mass, or energy. Said condition is inconceivable for our everyday experience in this world..."
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"...and yet, Dr. Einstein's theory predicts this as something possible, Dr. Fermi. I know there is speculation about black holes, things so massive that they bend the very fabric of reality. My question for you, respected gentlemen, is this: what do you think these 'black holes' can be?"
You examine the Men
Something's wrong with these people. They seem translucent and blurred.

The other guest says: "We don't know. It could be a collapsed star, attracting more and more matter..."

"I must disagree, Dr. Von Braun," Fermi interrupts. "Also Dr. Einstein himself thinks these 'black holes' are just theoretical solutions of his general relativity equations, not things happening in reality..."
You look at the table
The wooden table is set for dinner, but the meal seems to be just finished.

"And yet, the universe is so vast, and we know only a very tiny part of it. Maybe Dr. Einstein is wrong. Maybe, somewhere, something so massive and energetic can exist. It could even be a living
thing."
Examine calendar
Today is the 14th of April, 1951.

"In the distant, ancestral past," Cragne intervenes. "I
gathered you here, revered scientists, to show you my recent discovery. You can freely take it, if you want. Maybe you can derive new scientific progress from it, or even build some device which can take us where we couldn't possibly even think of, until now. Do you dare to look in the abyss?"

The two men stare at their host, curious and frightened all the same, as their bodies become more and more translucent, until they disappear, together with the plates, the glasses, the tablecloth and all the rest, leaving just an old, dusty table.

Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi)
A long, rectangular mahogany table takes up most of the room. The room is old and dusty, and it seems decades have passed since the last time someone had dinner here. On the table lies a strange machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south.

Next to the machine there is also an old magazine cutting.
You look at the calendar
Today is the 22nd of April, 1996.
You look at the machine
It seems straight out of a 60s science fiction movie: a big cathodic screen is hooked up to an electronic board with some controls on it, which in turn is hooked up to a bunch of different sensors. It takes up most part of the table.

The machine is currently switched off.
You look at the magazine
This is a cutting from an old Italian magazine. Printed on a corner is "La Domenica del Corriere, 2 Maggio 1972", and is apparently an article about an Italian monk and his alleged invention. In particular, a photo on the page strikes you. Attached to the newspaper cutting is what seems a typewritten translation of the article in English.
Chronovisor
No doubt, it is the same machine which lies on the table in front of you.
You read it
(first taking the Italian magazine cutting)
The article is an interview with Father Pellegrino Ernetti, a Benedictine monk and official exorcist of Venice, as well as physics and electronic amateur, about his invention. He claims his "chronovisor" is the fruit of years of research with twelve of the best minds of his time, Enrico Fermi and Wernher von Braun among them. Receiving all kinds of electromagnetic and sound waves with its sensors and antennae, the chronovisor can show images and sounds from any place, at any past time, no matter how distant. He claims to have seen many historic figures from the past, and through it he was able to transcribe a lost tragedy of Ennio, and to record an image of Christ on the cross (published in the magazine). It seems that the monk is very jealous of his invention, as he refuses to show it to anyone.
Switch machine
As you push the button, you hear an electric buzz, and the lights on the electronic board start blinking. The screen is now on and shows the manor from the outside.

The machine emits a very low hum.
You look at the screen
The most recognizable part of this contraption is a big steel-encased glass screen, with a speaker mounted on it. The screen shows the manor from the outside.

The machine emits a very low hum.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The machine emits a very low hum.
You watch the screen
The screen shows the manor from the outside.

The machine emits a very low hum.
You look at the machine
It seems straight out of a 60s science fiction movie: a big cathodic screen is hooked up to an electronic board with some controls on it, which in turn is hooked up to a bunch of different sensors. It takes up most part of the table.

The machine is currently switched on.

The machine emits a very low hum.
You look at the controls
This board is connected to both the screen and the sensors. It is filled with LEDs and lights, and prominently a steel dial and a machine control button.

The machine emits a very low hum.
You look at the dial
A rotating steel disc, plain and simple. No arrows or gauge around it. The dial is turned all the way to the left.

The machine emits a very low hum.
You turn the dial
You turn the dial right and it stops with a click. You joggle it back left, but it's stuck. Looks like you can only turn it right. The LEDs on the electronic board start blinking faster. The hum of the machine changes pitch, going up as the images on the screen change abruptly. The screen seems to show the same location as before, but with the manor gone. Instead you can see a tribe of natives dancing around a wooden totem.

The machine's humming is still quite low.
You examine the screen
A Native American tribe is singing and dancing around a totem. The totem depicts animals, but mostly fishes or crustaceans, a strange thing considering this place is nowhere near the sea.

The machine's humming is still quite low.
You turn the dial
The images on the screen change again. The LEDs blink faster and faster as the humming gets higher in pitch. Now you can only see the hill on which the manor stands, with no artifacts, no trails and no other trace of human presence. The hill also seems slightly taller.

The machine is emitting a high tone sound.
You look at hill
The hill shown on the screen seems higher, yet it strongly resembles the one on which the manor sits. The vegetation is much thicker, with green conifers covering the landscape. As you look harder, you notice fast movements, probably wild animals.

The machine is emitting a high tone sound.
You turn the dial
The screen now shows a mountain, with vegetation you've only seen in some science textbook. Still, you feel this must be the same place you are in now. Suddenly, something dives from the right of the view, screaming fiercely before vanishing quickly. A prehistoric flying reptilian, by the looks of it.

The sound of the machine is now a high pitched shriek.
You turn the dial
The images on the screen change again. No mountain anymore, no animals or plants, not even earth, just empty space. There's only darkness now, pointed by stars. Something in the middle of the screen catches your attention: it's like a whirl, turning in the blackness of deep space. The humming is now a piercing shriek, and the lights on the electronic board are blinking like crazy.

You feel an impulse to keep watching the whirl on the screen.

The sound emitted by the machine is very acute, bordering to ultrasound.
You look at the whirl
A black vortex at the screen's center whirls. Stars orbit around it with increasing speed until they are sucked in. Then you notice the vortex becoming bigger or nearer. Only when the thing has completely covered the screen, you realize that there's actually
something in that blackness. The LEDs are blinking so fast
you can't even see them, and the scream of the machine is breaking your ears. But you're totally paralyzed, watching the writhing appendages dwelling in the vortex, as you realize that hideous thing is a living being, swarming the cosmos and wreaking havoc through galaxies. Then, some circuitry on the electronic board burns out. The shriek drops to a very low frequency, as most of the lights burn, and the machine becomes silent. But you just can't forget that horrific image, as the word VAADIGNEPHOD echoes in your brain.
Look around
Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi)
A long, rectangular mahogany table takes up most of the room. The room is old and dusty, and it seems decades have passed since the last time someone had dinner here. On the table lies a broken machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south.
You go west
The Kitchen (Edward B)
The Cragne family kitchen. Light from a naked bulb feeds shadow down the spaces between old cabinets, counters and bookshelves. A dusty, doorless fridge overlooks an oven just as worse for wear. You'd guess it's been a minute since anyone's used this room to cook. A doorway leads east, and a wooden door set in the floor appears to lead to a cellar or basement.
About you
You look at yourself and are again taken aback by the fact that Prince wrote Manic Monday.
You look at the fridge
A refrigerator with no door. It's funny, you actually had a doorless, broken fridge in your first apartment. You and your friends used it as a bookshelf.
You look at Door
A wooden door with a rusty iron lock is set in the northeastern corner between the counter and the fridge. It looks heavy.
You examine the counter
A light pine counter occupies the kitchen's northwestern corner. It seems to have faired well enough post-abandonment. A stocked spice rack sits alone on the counter-space closest to the fridge and a sink rests in the countertop directly beneath a pair of cabinets.
You look at the rack
A simple wooden spice rack. It holds an oddly complete collection of spices in contrast to the empty shelves and fridge. You spot jars of saffron, roast garlic, turmeric, cardamom, cinnamon, dill, salt, pepper, MSG, and something called snail paste... most look fresh enough to use. Safe to test with a sniff or a taste, you imagine. Does spice go bad? Does snail paste?
You look at the sink
A metal sink, browning at the edges. It's dry as a bone.
You examine the cabinets
A pair of old wood cabinets sit above the sink on the northern wall. When they were new, they were probably quite lovely. The handles are missing from their doors, but a bit of pressure could pop them open.
You open the cabinets
You finagle your fingers around the cabinet doors and wiggle them open.
You search the cabinets
In the cabinet are red-rimmed porcelain cups and red-rimmed porcelain plates.
You get all
red-rimmed porcelain cups: Taken.

red-rimmed porcelain plates: Taken.

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake: Taken.

A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf: Taken.

Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones: Taken.
You search the cabinets
The cabinet is empty.
Look around
The Kitchen (Edward B)
The Cragne family kitchen. Light from a naked bulb feeds shadow down the spaces between old cabinets, counters and bookshelves. A dusty, doorless fridge overlooks an oven just as worse for wear. You'd guess it's been a minute since anyone's used this room to cook. A doorway leads east, and a wooden door set in the floor appears to lead to a cellar or basement.
You look at the bookshelves
A blue plywood bookshelf leans haphazardly against the wall beside the fridge. Marks on the dusty shelves suggest a formerly robust collection. A few of the remaining cookbooks catch your eye...

On the bookshelf are Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake, A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf and Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones.
You look at mama hydra'S
A funny little cookbook. The cover is a picture of a massive deep fryer sitting in a vast cavern. It must be a doctored photograph, the fryer looks like it's the size of a swimming pool.
You read it
(first taking Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones)

Flipping through the pages, it seems to be a rather standard cookbook. The pictures, however, are disgusting.
You examine the Hyper-the gastronomy
A ragged book with a dark green cover.
You read it
(first taking Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake) Flipping through the pages, you can see that this work is clearly over your head... or more likely straight gobbledygook. Many pages are nothing but mathematic equations but one chapter appears to cover the "mouthfeel" of different Quarks in great detail. Another rants about the differing politics and ideologies of "certain well-known mineral deposits." Good lord.
You examine the culinary overview
A massive tome of a cookbook, bigger than The Joy of Cooking by half. The back of the book says the author lived in villages up and down the Miskaton river and painstakingly gathered "an oral history of superstitious meals and snacks" throughout his life.
You read it
(first taking A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf)
A few of the passages stand out...

The Ritual of Lost Luck
The Chewed Pit and Other Detritus
The "Rat Hole" Legend
The "Ghost Libation" Legend
You continue
A few of the passages stand out...

The Ritual of Lost Luck
The Chewed Pit and Other Detritus
The "Rat Hole" Legend
The "Ghost Libation" Legend
You read the introduction
One of the more rambling, self-righteous introductions you've seen for a cookbook. Lots of unreadable lines, a highlight being: "Food takes on this form of expression which no doubt all families are bound to take part in and in the case of aforementioned societal trauma a way of speaking these so-called unspeakable or unknowable things sidestepping logic insisted upon in language with a primal glance towards truth one never sees or hears but rather smells or feels." ...yikes.
You read the goad cragne
Ingredients: 1 jar pickled Herring 4 slices rye bread 1 beet, cubed 1 teaspoon mustard 4 tablespoons sour cream 2 tablespoons olive oil 374 grains salt ½ shallot, thinly sliced 3 sprigs green onions 2 springs dil 1 tablespoon butter 4 teaspoons capers 2 tablespoons broccoli florets 1 hardboiled egg

Instructions: "Goad was a fisherman called towards cruelty. It was Goad's youngest who they say finally put a stop to him. Seven years old, poisoned her father's favorite lunch. They say he dropped dead on the first bite, the little one hadn't known what was too much or too little. But then... they also say Goad stood up the next morning. Say he walked straight to the Miskaton, caught twenty eight fish in two hours, and died again. No one really admits they believe that part of the story... but you can tell by the droop in their eye which ones tasted the fish Goad caught that day."
You read lost Luck
Ingredients: 2 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, unpeeled and chopped 4 to 5 white or yellow onions 3 tablespoons unsalted butter 3 cloves garlic, crushed 7 cups chicken broth 3 springs thyme 3 bay leaves 3866 grains salt ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper 1 cup heavy cream

Instructions: "What sickens me is how quickly the vendors arrive, only minutes after the search party. The soup they hawk is an expected element of the searching ritual. We never find a child lost to the Miskaton River. We always have a bowl of soup."
"Last chance for luck! One bowl's one prayer! The cost's unkind but the price is fair! First bowl for luck! Second's for grief! The third spits a curse on the whole belief!"
You read the chewed pit
A five-sided glass jar with a colorful commercial label that reads "Forgotten Frontier's hyper-corporeal salt." Wait, was it five sides? When you look again it seems to only have four...

Ingredients: 1 Peach Pit 3 cups blueberries 3 cups blackberries 2 tablespoons butter 1/3 cup white sugar 2/3 cup brown sugar 3 tablespoons cornstarch 18041 grains salt 1/4 cup lemon juice

Instructions: "No one had time to think that day. I think that's why none of us went mad. We were all so busy undamming the river, up to our waists in shit... not one of us had the energy to... to see what we were pulling out. It wasn't all just bags and bike tires. It... No one else'll talk to me about it. Fuck, I don't even know what there would be to say. Anyways, it's like I said, after that day is when we started getting berries growing along the river. I don't think I'd like to talk much more about it."
You read the rat hole
Amaranth "Rat" Cakes Serves Twelve to Sixteen

Ingredients: 2 cup amaranth grain 1 ounce dried chanterelle mushrooms 4 tablespoons shallots 2 eggs 4 tablespoons flour 62031 grains salt 2 teaspoons Floridian snail paste 2 tablespoons fresh summer savory

Instructions: "Holes that are crisp to the eye which appear in wide turns of our river at no particular time nor for any godly purpose." "Nothing but beer to drink and Verm Cakes to eat, that's the trad aspect. But you know, I think back in the day people drank somethin nicer than beer... (laughs) And it was a Rat Cake back then! Not a Verm... But yeah, usually it takes a few days a" waiting. Lucky when it does show it's loud enough to wake us if we're sleepin... so yeah we all hustle to dump what the Verm Hole wants into the river. They, that stuff, it always floats straight to the hole, every time so yeah. It's not pretty but at the other hand it's honest work... three of my grandparents fed the Verm Holes. And like... I mean, sometimes it's just a cow."
You read the ghost libation
Ingredients: 1 part cold gin 2 parts warm apple cider 1 pinch cinnamon 8 grains salt

Instructions: "It alls means something, thids drink. My great-grandfather... a Cragne! Keening Ken Cragne! Through from the... to the top. Is he here now? Is he dead? (laughs) And we remember wha (unintelligible) Kenneth Cragne! It all meanses something... listen to me... listen... Two parts cider, yeah? Because two days outta three, ol" Ken Cragne put cider in his flask! Calm days, they say. My dad said thad. Calm Ken days... Calm. But I wasn't alive then I don't (unintelligible.) But still I remember the gin days, you know? I shouldn't remember 'em right? Because that's crazy, right? (laughs) Why do I remember Ken Bastard Cragnes cold gin days, huh? Thas weird, right? My grandpa's the only kid of nine to like... Hold on okay. Lemme EXPLAIN the DRINK. The pinch of cinn- of cinnda- the punch a cibadon... cinnamon. That's Ken's lonely work! Train conductor, and actually the only one in my family to do that particular occupation. Big money becauss he smuggled cinner... cinn... he smuggled lots of things actually. They'd all be dead by now anyways, right? (unintelligible) What were we talking about? Oh! Oh god! EIGHT GRAINS OF SALT! EXACT! PRECISE OR HE DOES THE THING OKAY? Eight kids eight grains eight bloody brains. I would sing thadt. Perfect or Ken... Ken is here right now, right? Don't tell him I said- he just dead but he's here... He usedta beat up my mom and dad... after they died! I don't know knowww whyyy. We Cragne's got space in our blood. Space times. Very dignified, do you hear me? Very dignified! That's the name. That's hell. LISTEN TO (unintelligible) dig... we got.. we... please...
You get the snail
You scoop a bit of the goop into your pocket.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a pinch of snail paste
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates
an Italian magazine cutting
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
a police report ("Francine Cragne")
a piece of chalk
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a black box (open but empty)
a note from a seesaw
a shard
a broken silver amulet
a teapot
a tiny leather journal
Daniel Baker's note
an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a key from an urn
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a filthy rug
a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a trolley pass (being worn)
You go east
Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi)
A long, rectangular mahogany table takes up most of the room. The room is old and dusty, and it seems decades have passed since the last time someone had dinner here. On the table lies a broken machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south.
You go to the east
The floorboards groan against your footsteps as you enter the dusty sitting room. Light struggles to penetrate the grimy bay window, hinting at the space around you. Various pieces of furniture are covered by moldy, moth-bitten sheets. The remains of a portrait hang above the fireplace. Leaning against a wall is a large mirror.

Seems like no one has used this room in some time.
About yourself
You are Naomi, and you look exactly as you should. Since your arrival in Backwater, you've discovered it helps to remind yourself of this fact as often as you can.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the window
The window is covered in a thick layer of grime.
You look at the portrait
Whoever it was has been ripped to shreds.
You examine the fireplace
It's empty.
You look at the mirror
You gaze at yourself in the mirror, marveling at the way the afternoon sun shimmers across the gold and gray hues in your neatly coiffed hair. Moira has such a talent for the latest styles that you can hardly help but employ her assistance every morning, even when you have no plans to go into town.

Today you chose to wear one of your violet dresses with thin black stripes and velvet trim. The high neck and full sleeves of the tailored coat are double-lined to protect against any errant draughts. Lord knows how they like to scurry through the house this time of year. And it has been so especially cold as of late.

"Really, darling, with all the time you spend gawking at your own reflection, I don't know how you have much time for anything else," Eustace says, his words soaked in irritation. The argument from the night before lingers between the two of you. You can already taste a bitter retort forming on your lips. You swallow it back down.

He continues. "Would you be a dear and ring Moira for me? I believe I saw the postman come through and am expecting an important letter." He motions to the bell pull before turning his newspaper to the next page and shaking it stiff.
Look around
With a roaring fire and the sunlight streaming in through the large bay window, the sitting room might pass for inviting. You've asked Eustace if you could paper the walls with a brighter color and perhaps move the domineering portrait of the Cragne ancestor to the study, but he refuses a single change. That is, save for the mirror, which you were permitted to hang near the entrance to the dining room to the west. Having your reflection nearby always gives you comfort, as if without the frequent reminder, you would begin to forget yourself.

Eustace is reading the paper in his chair by the window.
About yourself
You are Lillian, lady of Cragne Manor. Some days, you wish you were someone else. But only some.
You look at the portrait
The great Horace Cragne is perched above the fireplace, maintaining a constant vigilance over the sitting room. You think he would serve better in the study. At the very least, he would avoid frightening the ladies from church when they visit for tea after Sunday service. His face is gaunt, features severe, and his eyes are rimmed a deep crimson. You prefer not to meet his gaze.

Hanging next to the portrait is a bell pull.
You examine Eustace
He has aged considerably in recent years. His hair has retreated backwards as if terrified of his own face. Even his beard and mustache refuse to grow. His eyes are always burdened by heavy bags, no matter how much sleep he manages the night before.
You look at the paper
The Vermont Phoenix, dated yesterday, Friday, February 3, 1899. Most of the print is too small to read without your nose pressed against it, but you do notice the headline exclaiming how a fire burned down the S. A. Smith and Co plant. Someone captured an exposure of the event and thought to put it on the front page.

To think you live in a world where one would rather photograph a fire than help put it out.
You examine the fireplace
The fire does its best to repel the deep February chill. Above the fireplace is a portrait, and beside that is the bell pull.
You look at the bell pull
The rope descends from the ceiling. If pulled, it will ring a bell in the servant's hall.
You pull pull
You ring the bell, and Moira arrives soon after, a flurry of freckles and red curls. She stumbles into a curtsey.

"Ma'am. Sir." Her brogue is strong, lending her a tendency to be brief whenever possible.

"Has the post arrived today?" Eustace asks, and she confirms that it has before disappearing into the next room and returning with two envelopes. She hands both of them to you.

You dismiss her promptly.
You examine the envelopes
Which do you mean, the formal letter to Eustace or the handwritten letter to you?
Formal
It's from Yale University and addressed to Eustace. It's sealed.
You examine handwritten
It's addressed to you from Christopher, off at boarding school. All that's left is to open it.
You open it
You use your fingers to open the envelope like a heathen, then unfold the letter within.

My dear mother,

I hope you are well and remain so through this dreadful winter. I
am happy to report your Christmas fruit cake survived the journey unscathed and has been enjoyed with great enthusiasm by the other boys. I am passing along their compliments. Second term is just beginning, and much work is anticipated. I will try to keep regular correspondence as you requested.

My nightmares have been growing worse as of late. Even though I
never met grandfather, I know it is he who visits me. I pray every night, but God seems to ignore me. What am I to do? Might you send some funds for a doctor? Perhaps he could prescribe a tonic to aid me in my sleep.

I love you, mother, in so many ways and more. Give father my love.
I will write again soon.

Your beloved son,
Christopher
You give formal to Eustace
(to Eustace)
Eustace tucks the newspaper under an arm and takes the envelope. "Thank you, darling. This appears to be what I was waiting for." He rises from his chair and opens the secretary, rifling through the various nooks and drawers. His search comes up empty.

"Darling," he says, "have you misplaced my letter opener yet again? You know how protective I am of it."
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying a handwritten letter to you.
You examine the mirror
What's this? Who is this woman staring back at you? She is dressed... bizarrely, to put it mildly. And yet, there is something familiar about her. Something... oh. Oh God. What... what just happened?

Your eyes adjust to the dimness of the dusty room. You check yourself over, and find you are yourself again. Were you dreaming? Or were you a woman from another time? It's hard to tell. You've been feeling like someone else everywhere you go in Backwater.
You look at the furniture
Merely looking at the dusty, sheet-covered furniture has you itching to take an antihistamine.
You look at the floorboards
Dusty.
Go upwards
Top of Stairs (Q. Pheevr)
You are at the top of a staircase, which leads down to Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample). An archway leads east.

On the north wall is a round white wall clock.

For some reason, there is a dilapidated kitchen sink standing against the west wall.
About yourself
You're still Naomi. At least for now.
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the archway
The archway to the east looks… hungry?
You go east
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Despite all the irregularities of Cragne Manor, the inconsistencies, the unaccountable changes, to say nothing of the disparate
and clashing architecture and décor, you have at least attained a certain expectation regarding its hallways: close walls and high ceilings, wreathed in shadow, with the occasional door looming obelisk-like through the gloom. Its architects must have had crooked rulers, as you can never quite make out the end of a hallway until you've nearly reached it--and just such a hallway winds away to the south.

In this section of the hall, the eastern wall flares out into a wider space resembling a waiting-room; there's even a little bench against that wall to the south-east. A massive black armoire occupying the wall opposite strikes you as a less deliberate inclusion, if the boards sealing it shut are any indication; perhaps the movers abandoned it here after they couldn't fit it through the archway to the west. Beyond these minimal furnishings, the hall contains only a pair of imposing doors to the east and to the north; a third doorway between them has been closed off with bricks.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a jackalope. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The manor may have its voices: its creaking and squeaking floorboards, its groaning doors; but you have grown accustomed to the quiet ways it protests your presence. This relative silence is now shattered by the unmistakable sound of a clenched fist pounding at the front door downstairs.
You go west
Top of Stairs (Q. Pheevr)
You are at the top of a staircase, which leads down to Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample). An archway leads east to Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love).

On the north wall is a round white wall clock.

For some reason, there is a dilapidated kitchen sink standing against the west wall.

The pounding at the front door continues, louder now. Was the front door even closed when last you saw it?
Go downward
Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall.

The ramshackle bookshelf lies in a pile of splintered wood on the floor like a fallen scarecrow, arms akimbo.

--and just as abruptly as it began, the knocking stops. Silence descends on Cragne Manor once more.
You go south
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

Afternoon light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You look at front Door
It's a solid wooden door, painted white with black hardware. It's currently hanging open. The outside is grimy and faded.
Go upwards
Top of Stairs (Q. Pheevr)
You are at the top of a staircase, which leads down to Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample). An archway leads east to Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love).

On the north wall is a round white wall clock.

For some reason, there is a dilapidated kitchen sink standing against the west wall.
You examine the clock
A round white wall clock with black Arabic numbers. It currently shows the time as 7:41.
You look at the sink
It's not obvious whether the sink is plumbed in or just sitting here. The faucet is rusty and the basin is stained. Below the sink is a pine cabinet, which is closed.
You look at the cabinet
The cabinet is made of pine. It is marred by several scratches near the bottom.
You open it
You open the cabinet under the sink, revealing a pink-bound book.
Examine book
(the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew))
The old paperback book is pretty thick, and the pages are yellowed and lacerated here and there. You're not a bookworm, but the condition of the book and the outdated font and style of drawing on the cover tell you it was printed decades ago, maybe at the beginning of the century.

Judging by the cover the book seems to be a bit pulpy. It shows a large, old and eerie house on a clearing in the woods. The title is "ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY." A scraggy sticker with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, on it indicates that by no means you want to pay the fine for exceeding the return deadline.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.
You look athe pink-bound book
A quarto-size volume bound in remarkably ugly pink leather, with a label on the spine. The book bears the title Venator in
Tenebris, but no author's name is given. The front endpaper is embossed with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library. On the title page, there is a footnote in which the anonymous author appears to be pleading for forgiveness from a hooligan and some kind of metal cup-holder.
You read it
The pink-bound book gives off a sinister energy (and a highly unpleasant smell).
Are you sure you want to read it?
Yes
You begin to read. You find yourself immersed in the legend of a creature living in…

Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go southeast, southwest and down.
About you
You are burly but nimble. Your matted fur is glorious. Your teeth and claws are formidable. Your suckers kiss and caress the surfaces of the cavern.
Inventory
You have no use for tools, clothes, or weapons. You are utterly sufficient unto yourself.
You go southeast
Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go northwest, southwest and down.

From the cave below, a long, thin shape comes flying through the air, following a strange arcing path through the convoluted passages of the cavern.

It strikes your fur and somehow it keeps going, into your flesh. Nothing could be that sharp, could it? Not even your own claws. But it pierces your hide and goes deep into your body.

You howl. You can feel something evil in the shape working its way into your blood. You try to pull the thing out of your flesh but you can no longer feel where it is. Everything hurts. Your vision goes dark.

No! This cannot be how the story ends.

You stop reading and fling the pink-bound book away…

Top of Stairs (Q. Pheevr)
You are at the top of a staircase, which leads down to Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample). An archway leads east to Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love).

On the north wall is a round white wall clock.

Standing against the west wall is a dilapidated kitchen sink with a pine cabinet under it.

You can also see a pink-bound book here.

As you finish reading the passage, the spark moves through the book with an eerie hum, leaving frost behind on the library insignia.

With another snap, the air seems to shift, and the faint outline of a well-dressed man coalesces around the spark.
You examine man
The outline of an African-American man in a suit and tie fades in and out of view around a hovering spark.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You get pink
You pick up the pink-bound book and start reading again…

Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go southeast, southwest and down.
You go southwest
Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go northeast, southeast and down.
Go down
Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go northeast, southeast and up.
Go northeast
Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go southeast, southwest and up.

From a nearby cave you smell something living. Its scent is strange and hostile, but intermingled with something familiar. It smells almost like one of your own kind, but it can't be, can it? It has been so long.
You go to the southeast
Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go northwest, southwest and up.

From a nearby cave you smell something living. Its scent is strange and hostile, but intermingled with something familiar.
Go southwest
Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go northeast, northwest and up.
Go upwards
Limestone Caverns (inside the pink-bound book)
These caves are your home. You know every stalagmite, stalactite, pit, and bat's nest.

From this part of the cavern you can go northeast, northwest and down.

From a nearby cave you smell something living. Its scent is strange and hostile, but intermingled with something familiar.
You examine the pink
A quarto-size volume bound in remarkably ugly pink leather, with a label on the spine. The book bears the title Venator in
Tenebris, but no author's name is given. The front endpaper is embossed with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library. On the title page, there is a footnote in which the anonymous author appears to be pleading for forgiveness from a hooligan and some kind of metal cup-holder.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.
You examine the footnote
The title page of the pink-bound book identifies it as Venator in Tenebris, published by Ompompanoousuc College Press in
MDCCCXCIII. The author's name is not indicated. In a footnote, the anonymous author offers abject apologies to a hooligan and a metal cup-holder.
Go east
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north and east ; a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

A massive black armoire stands incongruously against the north-west wall, slightly at an angle. The boards sealing the armoire doors closed suggest that this particular object of furniture should have been removed prior to your arrival, but it's far too large to fit through the arch to the west.
You examine the bricks
(loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew))
The brick is quite heavy.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from them.
You put the bricks in the trash pocket
(loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) in the trash pocket)
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You examine the bricks
Cragne Manor has endured wars, flooding, blizzards, and any number of lesser catastrophes, but not without its scars. When so much of the house has required constant renovation, the occasional fire barely registers as calamitous. Before your move, Peter read to you about one such blaze which consumed this second-story bathroom in 1978, yet the adjoining rooms suffered almost no damage whatsoever. The family had reportedly spared no expense to repair the damage and restore the bathroom, but the room burned again less than a decade later. It appears that the surviving Cragnes elected to cut their losses this time.
You examine the armoire
The massive wardrobe is wider than you can reach with your arms extended. Weathered wooden boards have been nailed across the doors in four places.
Inventory
You are carrying:
an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pink-bound book
a pinch of snail paste
an Italian magazine cutting
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
a police report ("Francine Cragne")
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a black box (open but empty)
a shard
a broken silver amulet
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a key from an urn
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a teapot
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
Look around
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north and east ; a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

A massive black armoire stands sealed against the north-west wall.
You search the side pocket
You unzip the side pocket just enough to take a peek inside. It contains a dull machete, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew), an ornate metallic box, a book list, a cast iron spire and a library card.
You search the trash pocket
You unzip the trash pocket just enough to take a peek inside. It contains loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew), a dead battery, Peter's jacket, a mysterious silver box, a plastic bubble and a suitcase.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a centaur. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the east door
Astonishingly large and assembled of thick oak planks with iron banding and trim; the door glistens redly from a thick coat of shellac. This would almost be more suitable as an exterior door, but in place of a knocker, a Cragne family crest has been set into the wood with iron filigree. The handle is little more than a bent metal prong next to an oversized keyhole.
You look at the keyhole
Astonishingly large and assembled of thick oak planks with iron banding and trim; the door glistens redly from a thick coat of shellac. In the center, a Cragne family crest has been set into the wood with iron filigree. The handle is little more than a bent metal prong next to an oversized keyhole.
You look through it
Peering through the keyhole, you've found what can only be the master bedroom. It looks ordinary enough from a distance, but you struggle to make out any details through the gloom.
You go south
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks.

The hallway feels narrow—no, that's not right. The hallway is wide enough for two people to pass one another easily. It doesn't feel narrow: it feels thin. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.

Partway down the hall, a black pen floats a couple feet off the ground, as if resting on a table or desk. It does not, however, appear to be sitting on anything.
About yourself
You feel thinner than normal—but not you, just your skin, as if it were stretched across the surface of your body. It doesn't look taut or stretched, but you feel like you could pierce it with your fingernail.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a mermaid. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the pen
A black fountain pen. It looks like the ink is long dried up.

The gentle sound of rain fills the hall with a momentary atmosphere of peace.
You go west
Study (Ian Holmes)
"Kind people call them sunbeams," your mother told you, as a child, when you asked about the dust particles catching the light in your living room. Later, you read that much of it was arthropod waste: shredded cobwebs, insect corpses, mites fed on human skin.

Barely a sunbeam reaches this study. Dust cakes the desk, drapes, and book-lined shelves like a bug mass grave. More insect bodies litter the carpet in earlier states of decay. The exit is east.

Even now, being in a study makes you feel vaguely guilty. Like an impostor.
About yourself
As good-looking as ever.

You do notice a key on the bookshelf. It is probably significant.

No, let me rephrase that; it is the ONLY reason a plebeian like you would stray into this temple of learning. So pick it up and get out of here.

A Rusty Iron Key.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form several stacks of coins. Objects of desire either mean that you are surrounded by great treasures and opportunities or that you need to be more careful with your physical belongings. Possibly both.

There doesn't seem to be much point to inspecting anything else, given that you found the key.
You get the key
(the small rusty iron key)
Taken. Now get out of here!
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form -- weird, they've entirely dissipated. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

What, you think finding the key makes you clever? You were obviously meant to find it.
You look at the photograph
It depicts a snake (specifically, an Eastern Ratsnake, according to the caption) in the act of raiding a finches nest. Having strangled a mother finch, its jaws open wide as it loops back around to bite.

You are unable to decode mathematics, to solve problems like Werner or Emmy could.
You look at the notepad
Written on the paper are some mathematical notes that are just beyond your ability to grasp. You think you know what they mean but, as your eyes unfocus, you have trouble recalling even basic stuff. Like Liouville's Theorem, or the uses of the Wronskian.
You read it
Written on the paper are some mathematical notes that are just beyond your ability to grasp. You think you know what they mean but, as your eyes unfocus, you have trouble recalling even basic stuff. Like Liouville's Theorem, or the uses of the Wronskian.

Just gonna keep examining stuff, huh.
You look at the carpet
Insect corpses are strewn around. Perhaps someone was recently here, spraying a can of insecticide around. Perhaps the insects just breed and die fast enough in here, and decay slow enough, for you to see the bodies before they decay into dust. Anyway, you can see a daddy long-legs or two.

You are so bored.
You get all
notepad: You reach out for the pad, and think twice. Maybe you should try to understand it first. You know, before you steal it.
photo: Your own memories are scary enough.
You look at the shelves
It's just a bookshelf. Mahogany or something.

On the bookshelf is a snowglobe.
You examine the snowglobe
Inside the snowglobe is a microscopic world that is exactly like this one in every respect, but tinier in exact proportion. Except your own worth as a human being, which is tinier out of ALL proportion. And it's already pretty tiny in this world, the original world.

So that's kind of incredible.

Looking at things in this room is becoming so excruciatingly boring that almost any death would be a sweet despair from the tedium of the experience you, the player, are putting the player character through.
Go east
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a snowglobe
a small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen
an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pink-bound book
a pinch of snail paste
an Italian magazine cutting
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
a police report ("Francine Cragne")
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a black box (open but empty)
a shard
a broken silver amulet
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a key from an urn
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a teapot
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open but empty)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You examine the carpet
Generations of feet have worn an off-white strip down the hallway that branches into each room. Where the walls meet the floor you can just barely make out hints of the forest-green of the carpet.

The leaden light of the overcast sky seems to swim in the edges of the hall.
You look at the wallpaper
The surface of the wallpaper is covered with small cracks that criss-cross it in a spiderweb-like fashion. They converge halfway down the hall in a small hole, through which you can see a faint, flickering light. The edges of the hole curl back and look like they could be torn further.
You look at Hole
(the hole)
Through the hole you can see a void that seems to glow faintly with a swirling white light. In the distance you can just make out the shapes of words, but you can't see them clearly enough from here to make sense of them.
Tear wallpaper
The paper tears away in thin strips, opening up into a gently glowing, three-foot-wide void that stretches nearly from the floor to the ceiling. You think you can see words in there, but you can't quite read them from out here.

You hear an electronic humming noise coming from the hole in the wallpaper.

The wind howls and the manor creaks slightly.
You go inside
Printed name of M2F7 is "Hallway South (Matt Schneider)".

Description of M2F7 is "The threadbare carpet holds only the vagues hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks.[if schneider-wallpaper is schneider-torn] The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light.[end if][If unvisited][paragraph break]The hallway feels narrow[unicode 8212]no, that's not right. The hallway is wide enough for two people to pass one another easily. It doesn't feel narrow: it feels thin.[end if] The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.".

The schneider-wallpaper is scenery in M2F7. Understand "wallpaper", "cracks", "web", and "paper" as schneider-wallpaper. Schneider-wallpaper can be schneider-torn or schneider-untorn. schneider-wallpaper is schneider-untorn. The description of schneider-wallpaper is "[if schneider-wallpaper is schneider-untorn]The surface of the wallpaper is covered with small cracks that criss-cross it in a spiderweb-like fashion. They converge halfway down the hall in a small hole, through which you can see a faint, flickering light. The edges of the hole curl back and look like they could be torn further.[else]The wallpaper hangs limply open where you tore it. A soft light pulsates in the void behind the wall.[end if]". The printed name of schneider-wallpaper is "wallpaper".

The schneider-desk is a supporter in M2F7. Schneider-desk is scenery. The printed name of schneider-desk is "desk". Understand "desk" as schneider-desk. The schneider-drawer is a closed, openable, opaque container that is part of schneider-desk. The printed name of schneider-drawer is "drawer". Understand "drawer" as schneider-drawer.

The schneider-pen is a thing in M2F7. The description of schneider-pen is "A black fountain pen. It looks like the ink is long dried up." The printed name of schneider-pen is "black fountain pen". Understand "pen" and "fountain pen" as schneider-pen.

The schneider-typescript is a library-book inside schneider-drawer. Understand "typescript" as schneider-typescript. The printed name of schneider-typescript is "bound typescript".
Go outside
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.
You examine the desk
You feel your way down the hall slowly until your hand comes to rest on something. You can't see the desk, but as you run your hands across it, it appears to be waist-height, wooden, and has a drawer of some kind on the front.

The leaden light of the overcast sky seems to swim in the edges of the hall.
You open the drawer
You open the drawer, revealing a bound typescript.

A sudden sparking noise echoes inside the hole.

The wind howls and the manor creaks slightly.
You look at it
The book is bound in a cheap, rough, green cloth, with the title 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids and the name
Aster Cragne embossed in gold leaf. The pages appear to have
been printed on continuous paper, then separated and gathered together—a dissertation, perhaps? There's a sticker with a Dewey number stuck to the spine, and on the title page you see the stamp of the insignia of the Backwater Public Library.
You read it
The book appears to be a scholarly monograph or a dissertation. You try to make sense of it, but the contents are incomprehensible: you struggle with sentences that declare matter-of-factly "the behaviour of cubits in a hasturian environment is well-known, although not often remarked upon", or propose that "we must now consider the implications of quantum entanglement in non-euclidian dimensions in light of recent discoveries regarding spacetime foam."

The chapter entitled "The Vaadignephod Paradox" takes up at least seventy pages, and could well be, from all the subclauses and parenthetical diversions, a single, unbroken sentence. The chapter appears to describe the creation of a new element that, according to the typescript, "exhibits remarkable sub-quantum effects when exposed to nanomolecular compounds" but you can't determine whether this is a theoretical proposal or the records of an experiment that has already been conducted.

There are notes written in the margins throughout the book both in pencil and in a blue-black ink that's left acidic yellow burns on the facing pages.

The book concludes with the statement "And so I can only conclude that the holographic paradigm is presently the most compelling explanation for the heretofore discussed processes, effects, and phenomena." Written in pencil beneath this is the question "Cad faoi an leabhar na rí bhuí?".

As you finish reading the passage, you realize that the well-dressed man has been reading over your shoulder. He nods thoughtfully, placing his hand on the cover, leaving frost behind on the library insignia.
You examine Ghost
(the Ghost Libation Legend)
The Lonesome Keen Serves One

Ingredients: 1 part cold gin 2 parts warm apple cider 1 pinch cinnamon 8 grains salt

Instructions: "It alls means something, thids drink. My great-grandfather... a Cragne! Keening Ken Cragne! Through from the... to the top. Is he here now? Is he dead? (laughs) And we remember wha (unintelligible) Kenneth Cragne! It all meanses something... listen to me... listen... Two parts cider, yeah? Because two days outta three, ol" Ken Cragne put cider in his flask! Calm days, they say. My dad said thad. Calm Ken days... Calm. But I wasn't alive then I don't (unintelligible.) But still I remember the gin days, you know? I shouldn't remember 'em right? Because that's crazy, right? (laughs) Why do I remember Ken Bastard Cragnes cold gin days, huh? Thas weird, right? My grandpa's the only kid of nine to like... Hold on okay. Lemme EXPLAIN the DRINK. The pinch of cinn- of cinnda- the punch a cibadon... cinnamon. That's Ken's lonely work! Train conductor, and actually the only one in my family to do that particular occupation. Big money becauss he smuggled cinner... cinn... he smuggled lots of things actually. They'd all be dead by now anyways, right? (unintelligible) What were we talking about? Oh! Oh god! EIGHT GRAINS OF SALT! EXACT! PRECISE OR HE DOES THE THING OKAY? Eight kids eight grains eight bloody brains. I would sing thadt. Perfect or Ken... Ken is here right now, right? Don't tell him I said- he just dead but he's here... He usedta beat up my mom and dad... after they died! I don't know knowww whyyy. We Cragne's got space in our blood. Space times. Very dignified, do you hear me? Very dignified! That's the name. That's hell. LISTEN TO (unintelligible) dig... we got.. we... please...

The light in the void swells, casting strange shadows in the hallway.
You examine man
The outline of an African-American man in a suit and tie fades in and out of view around a hovering spark.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

White light flickers from somewhere inside the hole in the wallpaper.
Go outside
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.

The hallway darkens slightly.
Go south
(first opening the wooden door)
It seems to be locked.
You read the typescript
The book appears to be a scholarly monograph or a dissertation. You try to make sense of it, but the contents are incomprehensible: you struggle with sentences that declare matter-of-factly "the behaviour of cubits in a hasturian environment is well-known, although not often remarked upon", or propose that "we must now consider the implications of quantum entanglement in non-euclidian dimensions in light of recent discoveries regarding spacetime foam."

The chapter entitled "The Vaadignephod Paradox" takes up at least seventy pages, and could well be, from all the subclauses and parenthetical diversions, a single, unbroken sentence. The chapter appears to describe the creation of a new element that, according to the typescript, "exhibits remarkable sub-quantum effects when exposed to nanomolecular compounds" but you can't determine whether this is a theoretical proposal or the records of an experiment that has already been conducted.

There are notes written in the margins throughout the book both in pencil and in a blue-black ink that's left acidic yellow burns on the facing pages.

The book concludes with the statement "And so I can only conclude that the holographic paradigm is presently the most compelling explanation for the heretofore discussed processes, effects, and phenomena." Written in pencil beneath this is the question "Cad faoi an leabhar na rí bhuí?".

You hear an electronic humming noise coming from the hole in the wallpaper.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form an airplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

A sudden sparking noise echoes inside the hole.

The hallway echoes with the sound of rain hammering on the walls and roof of the manor.
You go to the east
Library (Mike Spivey)
This library features dark paneling, polished hardwood floors, and thousands of books. A mahogany desk sits against the one part of the walls not lined with books. Above the desk hangs an ominous-looking painting. An antique wingback chair provides a place for quiet study, while in the center of the room is a reading podium. The only exit is west, back to the hallway.

A massive tome sits on the podium.
About yourself
You have a surprisingly strong urge to read something.
You look at the books
There are thousands of books here. Most of them are thick, cracked, leather-bound volumes with titles lettered in raised gold leaf.
Oddly, though, one section contains several cheap paperbacks.
You examine the paperbacks
(the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew))
The old paperback book is pretty thick, and the pages are yellowed and lacerated here and there. You're not a bookworm, but the condition of the book and the outdated font and style of drawing on the cover tell you it was printed decades ago, maybe at the beginning of the century.

Judging by the cover the book seems to be a bit pulpy. It shows a large, old and eerie house on a clearing in the woods. The title is "ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY." A scraggy sticker with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, on it indicates that by no means you want to pay the fine for exceeding the return deadline.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.
You examine the desk
This tasteful mahogany desk complements the library nicely. It appears to be locked.
You examine painting
The painting depicts a night scene: a headless man on a rearing black horse, holding a grinning jack-o-lantern under his arm. It appears to be only loosely hanging on the wall.
You get it
You take the painting down. Behind it is a safe.
You examine safe
This small safe is embedded in the wall. It looks like one of those safes where you have to turn the dial to three numbers in succession in order to open the safe. The dial can be set to any number from 1 to 60; it is currently set to 60. The safe is closed.
You look at the chair
This elegant chair looks more decorative than functional.
You examine the podium
On the reading podium is A Billion Random Digits.
You look at billion
100,000 Normal Deviates, by the Rand Corporation.

You could read the tome (READ TOME), read a back blurb (READ BACK BLURB), or study a specific page number in the tome (STUDY PAGE 17, for example).
You read tome
Which do you mean, the pink-bound book or the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You read billion
100,000 Normal Deviates, by the Rand Corporation.

You begin to read the digits: 10097 32533 76520 13586...

It's slow going at first. There's something hypnotic, though, about a continuing but irregular sequence that uses the same few symbols over and over. You read on and on.

Soon the digits are whispering to you, hinting at dark mysteries and forbidden secrets.

Do you wish to continue reading the tome?
Yes
You continue reading, page after page after page. The numbers swirl in your mind, producing visions that lurk just beyond your understanding. Slowly, though, you begin to realize that these "random" digits encode the deepest knowledge of the universe: life and love, good and evil, death, immortality. It's all here.

Hours later, you are far from finished with the tome, but there is no need to read further. Everything makes sense now. You see. You know. You understand. You are...
You read back the blurb
All of the back blurbs are for a previous edition of the book, A Million Random Digits with 100,000 Normal Deviates. They appear
to be taken from some new world wide web site named, oddly enough, after a river in Brazil. You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

While the printed version is good, I recommend waiting for the CD version featuring narration by William Shatner.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

I bought two copies of this book. I find that the first copy perfectly predicts what the numbers will be in the second copy. I feel cheated.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

It seemed like about 10% of the time I was able to predict which number was next. It was still better than Life of Pi which,
aside from being irrational, included no estimations of Pi at all.
You read back blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

Such a terrific reference work! But with so many wonderful random digits, it's a shame they didn't sort them, to make it easier to find the one you're looking for.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

This is the second edition of the book. The first edition didn't sell well because all of the randomly chosen numbers turned out to be exactly the same. The authors argued that a true random number generator could indeed generate a million identical numbers, and the fact that the authors would try to publish something that seemed so un-random proved their intellectual integrity and hence the randomness of their identical numbers. Still, the public rejected the first edition proving that consumers of random numbers are far more interested in the appearance of randomness than in actual randomness. As a consequence, for this second edition the authors carefully selected numbers that readers would be sure to perceive as random. So sadly this book represents yet another example of how striving for marketplace success corrupts the intellectual integrity of authors.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

Random? It lists almost 600 integers in numerical order!

I was duped by the title of this book. It is supposed to be about random digits. And at first glance you do see randomness.

But after reading the book a while I started seeing a pattern. I did extensive research to prove my theory. After hours of mathematical modeling I conclusively proved that there is a set of numbers in this book that is not only a pattern, but is outright sequential!

The top corner of each page (left corner on the left side pages, right corner of the right side pages) was a list of sequential numbers from 1 to 628, all in a row. No numbers are skipped. Even the prime numbers are included! At first you don't notice this because there is only 1 number on each page. But as you advance through the book you notice that the numbers keep advancing by 1 every time you turn the page.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

Those Deviates were in no way normal. This is a shocking display of what our country as a whole has come to. When I was a kid, all of our Deviates were STANDARD.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

Compendium?

For those of us without a two week vacation to devote to this tome, I would like to see a Cliff's Notes version. Maybe 10,000 random numbers?
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

A must read! The author carries you through the tapestry of her
soul.

What an amazing book. Stories of love, joy, and pain. This beautiful book gives insight to a life lived, mistakes made, forgiveness, and ultimately love. Love to and for others who are weaving the tapestry of the author's life. Most importantly, love and forgiveness for herself.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

They sure don't come up with random numbers like they used to. If you look closely, you will note that every tenth digit or so is just a repeat of the last digit and every hundredth or so is a just the same digit repeated three times. How sloppy!

Also, if you stare at it long enough, you can decode something around page 300 about Jodie Foster and J.D. Salinger giving me some sort of instructions. I'm going to stay up another couple nights staring at this to see if I can make out anything further.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

A MILLION??

"A Million Random Digits"? HA!

They only used 10, and just kept repeating them in different combinations!

Don't be fooled!
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

What a bargain!

Did Rand's marketing department make a mistake? If you buy this book, you'll get one million random digits for the ridiculously low price of $64.74. That means each digit only costs 0.00006474 cents, and they throw in the deviates for free!
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

Wait for it...

I don't want to spoil anything but you will LOVE the twist ending!
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

Better in the original...

If you like this book, I highly recommend that you read it in the original binary. As with most translations, conversion from binary to decimal frequently causes a loss of information and, unfortunately, it's the most significant digits that are lost in the conversion.
You read back the blurb
You pick one of the blurbs at random and read it.

Save your time and watch the movie.

Book is okay. Seriously, I would recommend that you just see the movie. It was remarkably true to the book and I thought George Clooney's performance as the string of digits on page 34 brought something to the story that you just can't get from the written version.
Look around
Library (Mike Spivey)
This library features dark paneling, polished hardwood floors, and thousands of books. A mahogany desk sits against the one part of the walls not lined with books. An antique wingback chair provides a place for quiet study, while in the center of the room is a reading podium. The only exit is west, back to the hallway.

Embedded in the wall is a small safe.

A massive tome sits on the podium.
You put the paperback in book pocket
Which do you mean, the cheap paperbacks, the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) or Twin Hearts Between the Planes?
Old paperback
You put the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) into the book pocket.
You examine the cheap paperbacks
The paperbacks are all recent science fiction novels. They appear to be part of a series set in the Star Wars universe and are
named after locations from that universe: Alderaan, Cloud
City, Coruscant, Dagobah, Endor,
Hoth, Tatooine 1: Anchorhead, and Tatooine 2:
Mos Eisley.
You look at the alderaan
You take Alderaan from the shelf and skim through it. It's
painfully derivative, with poor pacing, and full of annoying characters and cringe-worthy dialogue. With a shudder, you put it back on the bookshelf.

Supposedly, though, George Lucas is working on a new Star
Wars trilogy that tells the story of how Anakin Skywalker became
Darth Vader. You can hardly wait. With Lucas directing, it's sure to be fantastic!
You examine the Cloud City
You take Cloud City from the shelf and skim through it. It's
not any better than Alderaan, and so you put it back.
You examine coruscant
You take Coruscant from the shelf and skim through it. It's
not any better than Cloud City, and so you put it back.
You examine the tatooine anchorhead
Star Wars universe. This one is set in a small town on the
planet Tatooine and is named after that town. It's called
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead.
You read it
(first taking Tatooine 1: Anchorhead)
You take Tatooine 1: Anchorhead from the bookshelves.

You skim some of Tatooine 1: Anchorhead. Unlike
Coruscant, it actually looks pretty good! It has atmosphere, interesting characters, and a compelling story. Definitely worth a read when you have more time.

As you flip through the pages, a small key falls to the floor. It must have been hidden in the book.
You look at the small key
(the small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew))
A small, rusty iron key.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look around
Library (Mike Spivey)
This library features dark paneling, polished hardwood floors, and thousands of books. A mahogany desk sits against the one part of the walls not lined with books. An antique wingback chair provides a place for quiet study, while in the center of the room is a reading podium. The only exit is west, back to the hallway.

Embedded in the wall is a small safe.

A massive tome sits on the podium.

You can also see a small desk key here.
You look at the desk key
It probably unlocks the mahogany desk.
You unlock the desk with desk key
You unlock the mahogany desk.
You open it
You open the mahogany desk, revealing a scrap of paper.
Scrap
On the scrap of paper is the following:

It's in Peter's handwriting.
You set safe to 136
The dial only features numbers from 1 to 60.
You read the page 136
You carefully study page 136 of A Billion Random Digits. In
the middle of the page you notice a pair of digits circled together: 17.
You read the page 3
You carefully study page 3 of A Billion Random Digits. In
the middle of the page you notice a pair of digits circled together: 34.
You read the page 29
You carefully study page 29 of A Billion Random Digits. In
the middle of the page you notice a pair of digits circled together: 60.
You set safe to 17
You set the dial to 17.
You set safe to 34
You set the dial to 34.
You set safe to 60
You set the dial to 60, and the small safe gives a loud "CLICK."
You open safe
You open the small safe, revealing Legends of Lake Champlain and
the Hudson River Valley.
You examine Legends
The front cover of this book features a stylized spike underneath the title, Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley.
A sticker on the spine bears the insignia of the Backwater Public Library.
You read it
(first taking Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River
Valley)
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley is a
collection of stories of the supernatural associated with Vermont and eastern New York. The headless horseman in Washington Irving's
Legend of Sleepy Hollow makes an appearance, and there's an
entire chapter on Champ, a sea monster living in Lake Champlain. Spectral manifestations at Fort Ticonderoga, including balls of light, strange mist, and ghost sightings, have their own chapter as well. Perhaps the most amusing bit is the reincarnation of Revolutionary War hero Ethan Allen as a phantom stallion who races through the streets of Burlington at night.

According to the table of contents, the book does contain several pages on paranormal activity in Backwater, with special emphasis on an "eldritch horror" spotted in and near Cragne Manor. Unfortunately, these pages have been torn out.

As you finish reading the passage, you realize that the well-dressed man has been reading over your shoulder. He nods thoughtfully, placing his hand on the cover, leaving frost behind on the library insignia.
You go to the west
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.
You put the desk key in the key pocket
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the small desk key, then zip the key pocket back up again.
You go north
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north and east to the master bedroom; a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

A massive black armoire stands sealed against the north-west wall.
You go to the east
(first opening the master bedroom door)
The handle won't turn, and neither tugging nor pushing the door itself has any effect. It would seem the door is locked.
You look at the master bedroom
Astonishingly large and assembled of thick oak planks with iron banding and trim; the door glistens redly from a thick coat of shellac. In the center, a Cragne family crest has been set into the wood with iron filigree. The handle is little more than a bent metal prong next to an oversized keyhole.
You examine the crest
During your engagement, you helped Peter track down a number of Cragne family crests for potential use in wedding livery: the Shattered Mast in Flames, the Moons" Eye upon the Tome, the Cup and Sword and Star--none that you've seen shared any resemblance to the crest embossed on this particular door in his ancestral home: a furred cloak girds a shield upon which the trunk of a severed tree impales a rampant lion, which is shown biting its raised leg. A banner beneath the shield reads "LIBERTÉ DE LA GORGE".
You examine the key
Which do you mean, the small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew) or the key from an urn?
Small rusty
A small, rusty iron key.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look in the key pocket
You unzip the key pocket just enough to take a peek inside. It contains a small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew), a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew), an aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew) and a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew).
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a turducken. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go north
"Oh, we're all so happy! And it is just about tea time too! Come right in." Carol turns to face a sock puppet monkey and scolds him, "You just stay in your seat, Young Master Sweetpaws -- mother
says we will have manners in this house!"

Much bustling ensues: sounds of porcelain being laid, clinking of utensils, and the heavy thunk of a chair being put in place.

"Ready! Come in, Naomi", sings Carol as she ushers you inward.

Perhaps against your better judgement, you follow her.

"Here, let me take that for you," offers Carol as she accepts the teapot and walks to a table at the center of the room.

You open the north door.

Nursery (Ben Collins-Sussman)
You can see Carol here.

[ HINT: you can type "hints" for a hint for this location ]

You would have killed to have this charming room when you were yourself five years old: a fluffy pink and white dotted comforter covers a bed overflowing with stuffed animals. Beside it, a play kitchen replete with pots, pans, and a very realistic looking oven. On the far wall, a large bay window trimmed in lacy curtains matching the bedspread. To the left of the window, a small writing desk and tiny lamp, and nearer to the entrance, a an old-fashioned record player rests on wooden stand.

Your eye is quickly drawn, however, to one discordant item: a framed black and white photo of a bald man smiles down towards the center of the room. The exquisitely carved heavy gilded frame obviously predates photography by centuries, and you are hard pressed to guess how this odd portrait fits into the decor.

In the center of the room, the tea party itself is already underway. Seated on each side of the table in toy chairs are several stuffed animals. Carol stands just opposite you with teapot in hand.
About you
This little weekend getaway with Peter has done you some good. So relaxing.

Carol glances around the table at her stuffed animals. "I don't
know about any of you, but I sure am getting thirsty. Yes sir, some nice hot tea would really hit the spot, don't you think so,
Sweetpaws? You do? Me too. I wish Naomi would say the
magic words and let us get going. What's that Mister Snortles?
Maybe she forgot what to say? I'm sure she remembers that she is supposed to say 'bottoms-up' so we can start."
Bottoms-up
As the last syllable rolls off your tongue, you sip the dregs of some delicious warm tea from your cup (English Breakfast, some sugar, a bit of milk).

Looking around the table, the cups set before the toy creatures drain themselves although the creatures themselves do not budge.

At the head of the table, Carol up-ends her cup gracefully and relishes the tea.

As she sets her cup down and sighs with pleasure, a curious thing happens: both you and she glow perceptibly, as does the book over on the desk. It happens so briefly, that you almost miss it.

"Feel any better?" asks Carol.

"Why yes, in fact I do. A brisk cup of tea was just the thing," you agree.

"You can do the honors for the second cup! See this is fun!" Carol slides great-uncle's teapot over towards you.
You examine the coffee
This is strange. As you watch the clouds in your cup, they form a pair of bright stars that rotate around the cup, maintaining a steady distance from each other.

You remember that twin objects like this mean you are split between two intricately entangled destinies, and that at any given moment, one of them will be the right place for you to be, but the coffee can't tell which. Way to drop the ball there, coffee.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine Carol
A pretty young girl, with wavy hair held in place with hair band, penetrating blue eyes, and cherubic cheeks. Her perfectly pressed powder blue dress is cinched at the waist with an oversize bow of matching color, and below it her skirt balloons outward like a parachute. Below that, she wears brilliant white knee socks and polished shoes with small silver buckles.
You look at the painting
The painting depicts a night scene: a headless man on a rearing black horse, holding a grinning jack-o-lantern under his arm.
You look at the photo
(the portrait)
This is clearly a formal portrait of a balding man probably in his sixties. He has an air of authority, but also an avuncular warmth. There is a nameplate at the bottom of the portrait.
You examine the nameplate
"Dwight D. Eisenhower, 34th President of the United States of America."
You talk to Carol
You are already talking to Carol.
You ask Carol about the photo
(the portrait)
[ HINT: For short, say "a subject" or "t subject" to
ASK/TELL about a subject ]

"I like Ike," says Carol firmly.

"You do?"

"Sure do. That's what people say, they say, "I like Ike', he's the President. They said it so much that he got elected from being a General, so now he's in charge of everything."

"Is that President Eisenhower?" You try to remember what years
he was in office. Definitely after Lincoln, probably after World War II, and he's not someone you've ever seen on the news, so let's say Vietnam or before. So that would be what, the fifties? Early sixties? Somewhere in there.

"I think so, that sounds right."
You talk yourself
"Do you know where I'm from, Carol?"

"Connecticut?"

"Close, I'm from New York City. Have you ever been to New York City?"

"No, the Cragnes never take me anywhere. They say just stay in
my room and don't bother them."
You talk peter
"I wonder if you're related to my husband, Peter."

"Maybe. I dunno. If you want you could bring him up here and I could have a tea party with him too," offers Carol.
You talk christabell
"So," you inquire, "it sounds like we have a mutual friend -- Christabell. How did you meet her?"

"Oh, Christabell? We met a long time ago -- maybe when I was
four? And I was playing out in the woods, sharpening sticks or something, and I found a great big pile of railroad tracks. Right out there," she points out the window towards a range of dark cliffs.

"Yes, I've been there."

"You have? Most people can't see her, you know. They don't have the sight, but I do because of my mom. Christabell's and my
mom are cousins or something, so I got the sight. Anyhow, Christabell's great. She taught me a lot of stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like reading and how to skin rabbits, but she also taught me special stuff that I had to have the mark for, like the tea party. She
wants to teach me more stuff like that, but says I can concentrate enough, but I can too."
Describe the surroundings
Nursery (Ben Collins-Sussman)
An ideal room for a well-heeled little girl of five. Room furnishings include a bed, a play kitchen, a desk, and a record player. A large bay window occupies most of the external wall, and a large portrait hangs at the foot of the bed. The exit should be to the south, but is currently blocked by a magical mirror that was not there a second ago.

A tea party with Carol and a bunch of stuffed animals is in full swing in the middle of the room.

You can see Carol, a scrapbook and a window (closed) here.
You examine scrapbook
The cover of the spiral-bound book is marked in thick black gothic lettering, "Carol's Scrapbook". Little bits of newsprint stick out from the edges of the closed book. The scrapbook glows faintly.
You read the scrapbook
You flip open the scrapbook, with Carol reading along, over your shoulder. In keeping with the cover, the scrapbook contains a number of newspaper clippings, bearing the titles: Shark Attack, Actress Disappears and Body Found.
You read the Shark Attack
SHARK ATTACK!

A team of oceanographers from the Woods Hole Institute of Oceanography in Woods Hole, MA was attacked yesterday by sharks in waters about ten miles southeast of Nantucket Island. Of the four man team, one was killed and one was injured, requiring hospitalization.

The team was deploying a string of experimental sonar buoys along an underwater ridgeline. The captain of the expedition, Frampton Mays, was the first to notice a disturbance in the water surrounding the boat and the rubber raft in tow, where two divers were working. "The seas were rolling calmly, but something was moving around us, in circles. Something big. The water humped up around it, but there was no wake."

Davis Parks, an electronics engineer from the Sperry Corporation, was with the captain and noticed unusual readings from the devices being put in place, "The first buoy was anchored and we were calibrating it, so I didn't pay much attention at that point. I thought we had a gain problem because the signal returns were just crazy and the doppler… well, nothing can move that fast, I had to assume one of the guys had snapped and that the assembly was spinning."

According to coast guard vessels responding to the their distress call, water sprayed up around the raft and then the entire raft disappeared below the foaming surface. Initially, the coast guard reported sighting tentacles reaching out of the water around the raft, but it is now believed that these were the heavy lines that had secured the equipment to the ocean floor recoiling upward with the release of tension.

One diver, who was on the raft at the time, was lost: twenty-six-year-old Travis McMaster of New Port, Rhode Island. Dr. McMaster had recently completed graduate studies at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and was conducting post-doctoral research at Woods Hole.

The other diver, David Tillerson, was nearer to the research vessel when the sharks attacked, and was pulled from the water by the two crew. First aid was performed on the coast guard rescue boat; it is reported that he had a number of large, painful welts on his back. The treating physician commented that these welts were "similar in nature to the sort we see from jellyfish, but much, much larger and deeper."
You read actress
A FLASHBULB EXCLUSIVE!

Fashion model and star of the silver screen, Hungarian actress Lili Kovács disappeared this afternoon from a private hospital in North Carolina where she was recovering from recent surgery. As previously reported, she had been flown there three days ago after developing what was thought to be acute appendicitis while filming "Two Shots and A Chaser" in Bermuda.

At a cast party Thursday evening, she sudden collapsed, clutching her stomach in pain, and was rushed to a local hospital, where she was given medication and transferred by plane to the U.S. According to guests at the party, the normally svelte starlet appeared to have gained a lot of weight during her week on the vacation island, and some thought that she might have suffered an on set injury because she was walking oddly.

The handsome Wallace Travers, who stars opposite Miss Kovács in the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures production, recounted the troubling week that began with the disappearance of the lovely celebrity while they were filming a scene on the beach area behind the posh Venture Casino last Monday. According to Mr. Travers, "She said she was taking a quick dip to cool off, and I thought she would be right back. When we were ready to shoot the next scene, nobody could find her. We checked the trailer, the hotel -- everywhere. Then our sound guy, Mike, says there's something going on in the surf. He had a good view from up on the boom tower, but from the beach everything looked normal. He said some kind of lights were moving around under the water. Some of the locals later told us that's not too unusual, that algae or whatnot have this faint glow at night, but Mike was really upset and said the lights were huge, the size of city busses, really bright, and moving around incredibly fast. Well, Heinrich called it for the evening, and we let Mike go sober up."

According to the film's director, Heinrich Habberstamp, Miss Kovács showed up early the next morning for filming as if nothing had happened. Later that day, she admitted to having no recollection of the prior evening.

The private hospital refused to comment in the interest of privacy, but one of Lili's visiting relatives gave FLASHBULB the inside scoop: When Lili arrived from the airport, she was burning up with fever and brought immediately to the operating room. As the surgeon made the first cut, the wound tore open of its own accord and a mass of gelatinous balls squirted out. "Maybe ten or fifteen pounds of them, each about the size of an orange. They were pink or red, and some had little cords attached. Nobody knew what they were, but they got as many of them out as they could. They had to leave some of the smaller ones that were more firmly attached. When they tried to cut those out, she started bleeding, so they closed her up."

No one knows the whereabouts of the starlet or how she could have gotten out of her bed after such major abdominal surgery. More than a few industry wags have suggested that the whole episode was a publicity stunt to build up anticipation for the film.
You read the body
Police investigators report the discovery of a headless torso on the western shore of Block Island and are seeking public assistance in determination of the identify of the deceased.

The headless, limbless corpse was discovered yesterday afternoon by Christopher Smythe, a local resident, who was checking his lobster pots. "It came up slowly on the winch and when it got to the surface, I knew there was a problem. I got everyone under it, and we swung it onto the deck and weren't sure what to do with it, so we put it on ice and headed back to harbor."

The body is described as male, caucasian, and likely forty to fifty years old. The Washington County Medical Examiner, Dr. Lewis Ivar, places the time of death somewhere between two and three days prior to discovery. Dr. Ivar commented, "there were two notable findings: first, a series of discolorations, about four inches in diameter and arranged in a line across the back and wrapping around upward under the axilla; secondly, the presence of a tattoo across the chest. The design of the tattoo is unusual, a skull and below it a phrase in French." The coroner's office is hopeful that the unique tattoo will aid them in identification of the victim.
Look around
Nursery (Ben Collins-Sussman)
An ideal room for a well-heeled little girl of five. Room furnishings include a bed, a play kitchen, a desk, and a record player. A large bay window occupies most of the external wall, and a large portrait hangs at the foot of the bed. The exit should be to the south, but is currently blocked by a magical mirror.

A tea party with Carol and a bunch of stuffed animals is in full swing in the middle of the room.

You can see Carol, a scrapbook and a window (closed) here.
You examine the mirror
The mirror is about four feet high and half that wide and is affixed to the wall. The bottom of the mirror a good half foot above the floor.
You look at the window
The large bay window is framed in the same rosewood trim that decorates the rest of this once great mansion.
You look through it
Through thick glass warped by time, you can see the estate grounds far below you. The dark hills where you encountered Christabell are in the distance.
You open it
The window has a complicated child-proof safety lock -- on the outside. How very uncharacteristically responsible for the Cragnes.
You break the window
The house has survived Vermont winters, it will survive you.
You look at the animals
Four dolls dutifully attend the tea party, sitting two to a side on tiny chairs. To one side, a stuffed elephant and a monkey, and to the other some sort of clown and a lamb.

A ravenous horde of other stuffed animals crowd the edges of the bed silently observing the ceremony.
You serve the tea
Carol rolls her eyes. "Good grief," she says. "Don't you know how to do anything? As Christabell says, it is not about the
substance, but the shadow."
You examine the tea
It looks like there are about two more rounds of tea in the fine china pot.
You get the pot
(the teapot (smelling faintly of mildew))
You already have that.
You pour the tea
Carol rolls her eyes. "The tea is not the thing. It is all about the word."
Bottoms-up
Again, the sweet taste of tea, this time with a dash of oil of bergamot and just a touch of sugar.

Odd you think, same teapot, but a different taste. But then you reason that is not any harder to accept than tea distributing itself magically around a table you are sharing with four stuffed animals and a ghost of some sort. Some things are just harder to accept than others.

As you set your cup back down on the table, you observe Carol sneaking a glance at her scrapbook. In that brief instant, both Carol and the book glow slightly, somewhat brighter than they did before. Your own skin pulses briefly with the same glow and you think that afterwards it maintains something of a numinous shine. This is really good tea. You feel great, and the worries of the day are fast disappearing.

"I really liked that one!" pipes Carol.

"We aim to please," you say, prompting her giggles.
You read the scrapbook
Carol reads along, over your shoulder. In keeping with the cover, the scrapbook contains a number of newspaper clippings, bearing the titles: Shark Attack, Actress Disappears, Body Found and Watery
Fate for Convict.
You read watery
It looks like the icy hand of justice caught up to escaped murderer Gustave Dellorto earlier today, when his body was recovered at low tide from the Execution Rocks Lighthouse in the Long Island Sound.

Leslie Stovebow, the lighthouse keeper who resides in a small residence at the base of the tower, discovered the body this morning as the tide went out. The body was still clad in the striped uniform of the Sing Sing Prison from which he escaped last night.

Mamaroneck, NY police raced against time to remove the body from where it had become lodged in the boulders before the time came back in, submerging the rocks. They successfully identified the body by confirming the number on the uniform matched that of the escaped killer. It is not clear why Dellorto chose to flee to the island, but police suspect he was hoping to murder the lighthouse keeper and go to ground there until his trail grew cold.

Dellorto was convicted of three cases of first degree murder in the winter of 1951, including one G-man, and was suspected of homicide in seven additional cases. It is believed that his crimes were connected to organized crime. He was sentenced to capital punishment, but pardoned after appeal two years ago by Governor Dewey.

Execution Rocks inherits its name from the colonial period, where legend goes that disobedient slaves were shackled at low tide, and served as examples for others, being left there to slowly drown in the pounding waves. This story is considered apocryphal by most, but today, the lighthouse earned its name.
today, the lighthouse earned its name.There's another bit pasted a bit lower on the page.
CORRIGENDUM

Gustave Dellorto, who escaped from Sing Sing prison earlier this month, was arrested in Detroit, Michigan, yesterday leaving in his wake a fresh series of murders committed during a two-week spree across several states. It was previously reported in error that he had died by drowning in the Long Island Sound, but the body recovered in that incident is now known to be that of Francis Dapper, age 19 of Larchmont, New York, who had been working at the Purdue Island Yacht Club the evening that Gustave escaped. One of the club launches, which had been brought ashore for the winter, was discovered missing later that week. Police believe that it was probably used by Dellorto to reach the Execution Rocks lighthouse, where he abandoned his victim's body, after swapping clothes to fake his own death in an attempt to evade capture.
Bottoms-up
That was unexpected. Flowery. Bit of an aftertaste.

"Is this Jasmine?"

"It's Crisp Hand Sew Mom." Carol struggles with the pronunciation.

"Chrysanthemum?" You offer.

"Yes, that. Grand-uncle's teapot knows all my favorites."

Not only are the two of you now glowing enough to cast shadows around the room, but you notice that little sparks of static electricity scintillating at your fingertips. You hold them up, "Carol, is this normal?"

"Oh yes, it's wonderful, isn't it?"

You do feel wonderful.

The scrapbook pulses with energy.
You read the scrapbook
Carol reads along, over your shoulder. In keeping with the cover, the scrapbook contains a number of newspaper clippings, bearing the titles: Shark Attack, Actress Disappears, Body Found, Watery Fate
for Convict and Boat Wreck On Sable Island.

Carol slurps her remaining tea ceremoniously.
You read Sable
A 12-man fishing boat, the Miss Step, out of Halifax, was found wrecked yesterday with loss of all hands on Sable Island, a small, isolated island in the Atlantic Ocean, 190 miles southeast of Halifax. The vessel grounded on an sandy bar near the eastern end of the island and by report was discovered yesterday morning by Ronald Lefevre, sub-intendent of the Sable Island Rescue Station. Subsequently, both Mr. Lefevre and Scott McCallister, who was in charge of the two-man Rescue Station, were also lost.

The only other inhabitant of the island, Dr. Martha Klein, reported yesterday's events to the Canadian Coast Guard cutter Hermes by shortwave radio at 10:20 a.m. yesterday morning before herself going missing. The Hermes reached the island within the next two hours, but was unable to launch small landing craft because of gale force squalls. When they did make landfall late that afternoon, there was no evidence of the wreck. The search the island's three inhabitants was aborted this morning due to further foul weather; additional Coast Guard vessels are en route as we go to press.

The Coast Guard has refused to comment on the matter, but a ham radio operator, Edmund Finister, from Prince Edward Island, gave the following account to the press:

"I sometimes listen to the reports going back and forth between Dr. Klein at the Meteorological Station and the mainland, and I wasn't expecting anything at that time of day, but I just happened to have the radio on, more or less to keep the shack warm. Then, out of the blue, I hear Dr. Klein, and she normally has kind of a lilting, friendly voice, but I could hear that she was shaken up. I was in the other room, so I only caught the last part of it, but she was speaking almost too calmly, trying to give all the details, but I could tell she was a hair's breadth from having a breakdown."

"She's talking to the sparky on the cutter, and saying that first the one guy, Lefevre came speeding back along the beach in his jeep to get McCallister, because he had discovered the fishing boat on its side up on the sand. They asked Dr. Klein to call it in and they both took off again, even though Lefevre had said that when he had seen it the first time, he had a good look around and there were no survivors."

"Now, what's weird is what Lefevre told Klein -- while there were no bodies aboard, there were these… things. I only know what she said on the air, that Lefevre had said that there were these fleshy things all over the ship, in different parts of it, down below, up on the deck. They were whitish or translucent, sort of long tubes of the stuff. Heavy, deadweight if you tried to move them. Some were wrapped up in foul weather jackets, and one that Lefevre poked had some coins embedded in it, about halfway up, he said, just a couple inches deep. His best guess was that they were whale fat since they were so oily, but he was just guessing. Also, he said they had kind of a musky smell."

"Whatever they were, they're gone now. All of them."

Carol drains the last few drops from her cup.
You look at the keyhole
Astonishingly large and assembled of thick oak planks with iron banding and trim; the door glistens redly from a thick coat of shellac. In the center, a Cragne family crest has been set into the wood with iron filigree. The handle is little more than a bent metal prong next to an oversized keyhole.
You unlock Door with the key from an the urn
Which do you mean, the master bedroom door, the nursery door or the bricked-up door?
You open the kp
You open the key pocket, revealing a small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew), a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew), an aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew) and a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew).
You examine the large brass key
A large and important-looking brass key. Someone wrote a two digit number on the bow. It's mostly worn off, but the first digit looks like a 3.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You put the large brass key in the kp
You put the large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) into the key pocket.
Close kp
You close the key pocket.
You examine the bronze key
A large bronze key that you fished out of the fountain's drain.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You put bronze key in kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.
You go to the south
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.

White light flickers from somewhere inside the hole in the wallpaper.
Go south
(first opening the wooden door)
It seems to be locked.
You examine Door
A simple door, made from a rich, dark wood. An oval window takes up the upper third of the door, but is covered in such a thick layer of dust and grime that you can hardly see through it. The small brass knob is surrounded by a circular design of inlaid triangles cut out of deep, reddish-brown cherry wood. The rain dashes across the window in waves. You'd hate to be out in this.
You look at the window
A simple door, made from a rich, dark wood. An oval window takes up the upper third of the door, but is covered in such a thick layer of dust and grime that you can hardly see through it. The small brass knob is surrounded by a circular design of inlaid triangles cut out of deep, reddish-brown cherry wood. The rain dashes across the window in waves. You'd hate to be out in this.

The hallway echoes with the sound of rain hammering on the walls and roof of the manor.
You go north
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east to the master bedroom; a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

A massive black armoire stands sealed against the north-west wall.
Go west
Top of Stairs (Q. Pheevr)
You are at the top of a staircase, which leads down to Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample). An archway leads east to Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love).

On the north wall is a round white wall clock.

Standing against the west wall is a dilapidated kitchen sink with a pine cabinet under it.
You go downward
Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall.

The ramshackle bookshelf lies in a pile of splintered wood on the floor like a fallen scarecrow, arms akimbo.
You unlock Door with the iron key
You ease the big key into the keyhole and give it a twist. It moves, but doesn't make a sound. Success?
You open it
You grab the hinges, plant your feet, and yank the trapdoor wide open.
You open wooden Door
That's already open.
You go downward
Carefully, you descend the creaking steps.

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. Something squelches under your feet. Looking down, you realize why: a damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

An old, rusted toolbox sits nearby. A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, presumably to more storage. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.
You examine the carpet
This carpet is vast and wetly soft, crawling with mildew, gray molds and skittering black insects. The design is faded and obscured, but it almost looks like an enormous eye...
About yourself
You can't see yourself directly, but you have a pretty good idea. You have dark circles under your eyes, your hair is frizzed. It hasn't been a good day. Peter has to be somewhere, right?
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You open it
You have to force the lid a little bit, and there's a loud
crack as some kind of rusted lock bursts apart into dust.

You open the rusted toolbox, revealing a jar of old keys and a jar of screws.
You examine the jar of the keys
The label on this musty jar indicates that it's meant to store old keys. You'll have to open it up to see what's in there.
You open it
You open the jar of old keys, revealing a splintery wooden key, an ornate bronze key, a sinister iron key, a frosty blue key, an intricately folded origami key and a silver and ivory key.
You look at Door
Which do you mean, the the heavy wooden door, the metal hatch or the flimsy plywood door?
You open it
You open the flimsy plywood door.
You look at the jar of screws
An old jar with a label that says "Screws". The glass is so cloudy that you can't see what's inside unless it's open.
You open it
Handling the screws jar, it feels strangely light, and when you open it you realize why: It's empty. Not one screw.

You open the jar of screws.
You look around
Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, presumably to more storage. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.
You look under the carpet
This rug is so huge and disgusting that it would be easier to just drag it out of the way.
Drag carpet
You gingerly pull aside the enormous carpet. It's no easy feat — the thing is awfully heavy — but once it's out of the way you're able to see that there's a flat, person-sized metal hatch built into the basement floor.
You examine the hatch
The grimy metal surface of the hatch is marked by a rusted handle that begs to be pulled.
You open hatch
With some effort, you force open the metal hatch; it gives a
crack, and in a swirl of dust it opens into a moldering
darkness.
You look at the hatch
A ladder leads down through the open hatch and into the darkness below.
Go north
Cold Storage Room (Jeremy Freese)
Aunt Mavis used to keep her peaches in a room just like this. Except that room had chirpy yellow wallpaper, and this one's walls are covered with strange glyphs written in blood.

Also: no peaches. The room is empty except for the thing on the floor.

You can see a thing here.
You examine the glyphs
As a kid you saw a movie—while staying with Aunt Mavis, in fact—in which a woman was trapped in a small room and knew she would die, and she cut herself so she could use her blood to write a message on the walls for whomever found her body.

This reminds you of that, but if what's scrawled on the wall is a message, it's not in any sort of writing system you've ever seen.
You examine the peaches
There are no peaches here. Which is just as well, as you haven't touched a peach—nor a nectarine, nor even a pluot—since you
returned
home that summer.

Aunt Mavis's cold storage room had loads of peaches. She had men deliver new ones at least twice a week and take the rotten ones out.

any: two a day, at Aunt Mavis's insistence. "A growing girl needs
her peaches," she'd say. And whenever you asked why she bought so many peaches, she'd just airily reply, "Oh, a lady can never have enough peaches."
You examine the thing
Aunt Mavis once gave you something just like this. You didn't know what it was and were too embarrassed to ask.
About yourself
You don't have to look this good to be a star investigative journalist, but, frankly, it helps.

You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a row of trees. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You get the thing
As you do, a powerful and familiar fruity
smell—peaches?—makes you woozy.

When your head clears, the room has chirpy yellow wallpaper after all. So it is even more like Aunt Mavis's. And, there's a satchel on the floor that you can't believe you didn't notice earlier.

You look around to see if you missed anything else and see that there is a now giant eyeball in the wall where the door used to be.
You examine the eyeball
You haven't seen an eye this blue since Aunt Mavis died. And while you know full well that it is the muscles around the eye that convey emotion—especially the brows—and not the eye per se, the
way
this eyeball is looking at you nevertheless conveys a sense of urgency.
You examine the satchel
Aunt Mavis used to have a satchel just like this, right down to the initials monogrammed on its front. The satchel is closed.
You open it
You open the satchel, revealing a heavy garment.
You examine the garment
To examine the garment, you pull it out of the satchel. As you do, you realize that it's a robe. You've seen robes just like this before.

Also, now that the robe is out of the satchel, you can see that there are still a small cloth and some papers inside it.
You examine the initials
The initials M. E. C. V. V. are monogrammed onto the satchel in a cursive font. Who knows what those initials mean here, but, for Aunt Mavis, they stood for Mavis Eustacia Crustacea Vaadigne Verlac.

Vaadigne was the way the name was spelled in the old country,
of course, even if the families who emigrated to English-speaking countries had routinely simplified it to Cragne.

(Everyone assumed, of course, that Naomi had taken Peter's last name when they married, but she would never have done that. It was a fun coincidence when she and Peter met that they shared the same last name: a endless source for ribald jokes, especially since they looked like they could be siblings.)
You examine the cloth
You take it out of the satchel so you can get a better look. It's a bib—a lobster bib. There's a cartoon lobster wearing sunglasses and
a
fedora embroidered on the front. You'd know that lobster anywhere: it's Jimmy The Claw, the "Lobster Mobster" mascot of the mafia-themed seafood restaurant in downtown Backwater.

You also notice a small tag attached to the bib.
You examine tag
The tag on the lobster bib reads:

10% COTTON

"Premium cloth goods for
restaurants and ritualists"
You look at the papers
You remove them from the satchel. They are clippings from various New England newspapers, including the Backwater Sturgeon.
Looking quickly at the more intact clippings, they seem to all concern a series of child abductions in the region some years ago.

(You can EXAMINE the clippings further to learn more.)
You look at the clippings
As best you can determine, six children disappeared from their homes over a six year period. No one was ever arrested. The police never even figured out how the children were abducted. Family members would hear screaming, but in the few moments it took to reach their rooms, the children were gone.

You are amazed you never knew about these kidnappings before, not just because you are an ace journalist but also because the last of the kidnappings happened the year before you stayed with Aunt Mavis.

(You can EXAMINE the clippings further to learn more.)
You look at the clippings
Of course, it would have been a bigger news story if the children were found murdered or were never found at all. Instead, the children turned up a week later, unharmed, without any memory of what happened or seemingly even awareness that anything had happened.

When the first child was found, asleep in her basement, it was considered a miracle. With subsequent children, the relief became increasingly tempered by a conviction that something awful was done to the children even if no one could figure out what.

(You can EXAMINE the clippings further to learn more.)
You examine the clippings
Both police and public sought to figure out whether the victims had anything in common. You are surprised that the Backwater
Sturgeon would print some of the speculations as letters to the editor. Silly stuff, like that the children all ate shellfish a day or two before disappearing, or that they were all abducted from rooms with brightly-colored walls. Worse still were all the bizarre claims about the significance of stone fruit.

(You can EXAMINE the clippings further to learn more.)
You look at the clippings
The police did confirm some real patterns: the abductions all happened at night in summer months; there was never more than one a year.

The most recent clippings indicate problems emerging among the children a decade or so after their abductions: some initial reports of "severe behavioral issues" as adolescents and then many accounts of madness and violence, as well as at least one apparent suicide.

(You can EXAMINE the clippings further to learn more.)
You examine the clippings
By this point, you've probably learned all you can from the clippings, as so many of the fragments are so blackened that you can barely read them at all. It is a testament to your crack journalism skills that you were able to determine so much from looking at documents that have been so significantly damaged.

(There is no reason to EXAMINE the clippings further unless you wish remind yourself what you've learned.)
You look at the robe
It's a long black robe like the ones the men wore when delivering the peaches to Aunt Mavis. Back then the robes reminded you of the Grim Reaper. Of course, now you associate it more with the robe the killer in Scream wore. (You make a mental note-to-Naomi to stop by Blockbuster and rent Scream 2.)

You notice a label on one of its sleeves.
You examine the label
The label on the robe's sleeve reads:

MEDIUM (WOMEN'S)
90% ENCEPHALOPOD
10% VELOUR

"Your cult deserves comfort"
You look around
Cold Storage Room (Jeremy Freese)
You look at the eyeball
The eyeball looks back at you, insistently.

Your own eyes are blue—of course they have to be, since both your mother's and father's are—but Aunt Mavis's eye's were the bluest of all. "There's only one way to get eyes as blue as ours," she said when you complimented her on them. "Inbreeding."

You laugh thinking about it even now. Aunt Mavis didn't tell jokes very often, but when she did she had the most deadpan delivery.
Poke eyeball
When you touch the goopy surface of the eyeball, a tiny squid-like creature shoots out of it, whizzing past your ear and hitting the opposite wall. The creature sticks to the wall for a moment and then, with an acidy hissing sound, burns its way through it, leaving a small hole.
You examine Hole
It's a small, sort-of-squidly-shaped hole, no more than an inch wide. Two feet or so above the hole is a hitherto unnoticed rusty nail.
You examine nail
Aunt Mavis had a memo board on the wall of her cold storage room that listed all the chores you had to do down here before bedtime. Count the peaches; arrange them as a giant star on the floor; recite such-and-such words this many times. So many you'd be down here for an hour or two, and she would never let you start them until after it was dark.

This old nail might have been once used to hang something similar.
Inventory
You are carrying:
some charred newspaper clippings
a lobster bib from The Codfather restaurant
a satchel
a long grocery-delivery robe
a thing just like that thing your aunt gave you which you never knew what it was
You put robe on the nail
As you hang the robe on the rusty nail, you hear of the voices of two men through the hole.
"-the Sigil really powerful enough?"
"For a Vaadigne? The tome says it is."
"But the tome also says to draw the Sigil with the sacred pigments, not Crayola."
You listen
You can hear murmuring voices, mostly indistinct. You concentrate, and think maybe you catch one man saying "—wanted to use apricots,
but
she says that what it's particularly attracted to is—"
Poke eyeball
Another squid-like creature shoots out of the eyeball. It sails across the room and hits long black robe. The squish slides down the sleeve of the robe and falls to the floor. The tiny squid sizzles there are moment before burning its way through the floor, leaving a tiny rift behind.
You examine the rift
Admittedly, the "rift" is really more like a "hole" but calling it that would invite confusion. It's maybe an inch or so wide.

While you don't see a squid or anything else in the rift, you do hear a faint hissing sound, like however far down the squid is, it is still boring itself deeper.
Describe the surroundings
Cold Storage Room (Jeremy Freese)
You are in a room that looks very much like Aunt Mavis's cold storage room, albeit with a giant eyeball in the wall instead of the door.

On the opposite wall, a small squid-shaped hole has been covered by the robe like the one from Scream. Below it on the floor is
small, similarly squiddish rift.
You put the bib on the rift
As you put the bib from The Codfather on the rift, you remember how Aunt Mavis would slip into more of her native tongue whenever she had a second glass of wine. Neemophod she called you sometimes,
or Noomiphod, trying on different ways of mixing your name
with the suffix that designates "young girl" or "daughter."
Poke eyeball
A third squid shoots out of the eyeball. It sails across the room and hits long grocery-delivery robe. The tiny squid slides down the sleeve of the robe and falls to the floor, landing on the lobster bib.

Not a moment later, a cat that looks just like Little Nifty sprints past you-has she been here the whole time?-and grabs the
squid. She darts left and disappears through the hitherto-unnoticed catflap in the wall.
You look at the catflap
You thought it was totally weird that Aunt Mavis had a catflap leading from one basement room to another, but since this house also has one maybe they are more common than you thought. In any case, it's the same chirpy yellow as the wallpaper and just big enough for a Little-Nifty-sized cat to dash through.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
some charred newspaper clippings
a satchel
a thing just like that thing your aunt gave you which you never knew what it was
You put the satchel on the catflap
As you put the satchel in front of the catflap, you can hear a woman shouting from a room above: "Might. I said it might
work with five. Seven or even eight is ideal—"

Her voice sounds so much like Aunt Mavis. Moments later she's yelling again: "—your kid gets taken next summer because you were too busy watching the fucking Rockford Files to come complete the
ritual circle."
Poke eyeball
Another squid shoots out of the eyeball, sails across the room, hits the robe, slides down the sleeve and falls to the floor, landing on the lobster bib. Not a moment later, the cat sprints past you again. It grabs the squid and darts left toward the catflap. The cat plows into the satchel, sending the tiny squid flying through the air in a graceful arc.

The cat leaps after it, sprouting wings and transforming into a bat (whoa: Little Nifty never did that). The bat catches the tiny squid in its mouth before disappearing through a hitherto-unnoticed opening in the ceiling.
You look at the opening
Aunt Mavis had an opening in the ceiling of her cold storage room, too. When you asked why, she said it allowed the smell of peaches to fill the house.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
some charred newspaper clippings
a thing just like that thing your aunt gave you which you never knew what it was
Look around
Cold Storage Room (Jeremy Freese)
You are in a room that looks very much like Aunt Mavis's cold storage room. But there's a giant eyeball in the wall instead of the door.

On the opposite wall, a small squiddly hole has been covered by the robe like the one from Scream. Below it on the floor a small, similarly squiddular rift, although that is currently covered by a lobster bib. Left of that, there's a catflap in the wall, with a satchel in front of it.
You put the clippings on the satchel
As you do, you notice something hand-written in capital letters on the back of one of the clippings:

OUR RITUAL CIRCLE OF RYN'VHHD'R WILL STOP IT FROM COMING BACK.

OUR SIGILS OF JNI'PLD'NA WILL LET HER KEEP THE GIFT WITHOUT IT DESTROYING HER SOUL.

BUT CAN THE GIRL DO HER PART?

Beneath which is a drawing of what looks like a cat with wings.

So weird. You make a note-to-Naomi to alta-vista that stuff
with the apostrophes when all this is over.
Poke eyeball
Another squid shoots out of the eyeball, sails across the room, hits the robe, slides down the sleeve and falls to the floor, landing on the lobster bib. A moment later the cat that looks just like Little Nifty sprints past you, darts left and plows into the satchel, sending the tiny squid and charred newspaper clippings flying. The cat jumps and becomes a bat, but with all the blackened objects in the air she mistakenly ends up with a bit from the Backwater Sturgeon in
her mouth instead of the squid, which continues on its arc toward you.

The squid hits you in the eye. You scream as the scalding, hissing creature latches onto your eyeball and pulls. Your eye socket pops as it breaks. With a searing slurp your eyeball slides out and something gooey and hot squirms into your face.

You grab at your face but there isn't a squid or anything else there. A few moments later the pain begins to relent and before long it has subsided considerably.

When you finally remove your hands, you discover the room is just as it was when you first entered—except the glyphs written on the walls in blood make much more sense now.
You examine glyphs
Later you will learn that these glyphs are part of an ancient ritual language whose rudiments it has taken decades of collective efforts by linguistic anthropologists in order to barely comprehend. Yet, fairly recently, there were as many as seven people with the ability to read the language fluently, but you are the only one left who remains alive and sane.

"The Griseous Alderman of the Variegated Court has a familiar," the glyphs say, "and that familiar is sometimes a cat and sometimes a bat and sometimes goes by the name Little Nifty."

You realize as you read the message that you understand the ritual language even better than you do English, because in English you sure as hell have no idea what griseous means.

> RESTORE
%% Enter a save filename to read:
You go south
As you turn to leave, you think again about the thing Aunt Mavis gave you. You finally understand what it is.

At the beginning of that summer:
"But why do I have to go stay with Aunt Mavis," you asked your mother. "I hardly know her."
"She wants to get to know you better."
"Why?"
"There's nothing more important than family, Naomi. And also," lowering her voice to a whisper, "she has a very special gift she wants to give you."

At the end:
"You need me to pack? My ticket home isn't for another week."
"It's for tomorrow, Naomi. You must have had so much fun staying with me that the weeks just flew by."
You didn't believe her until you got the newspaper and saw the date for yourself. Which raised a delicate topic:
"Aunt Mavis, I don't want to be rude. But my mom said you were planning to give me a special present."
"Yes. And please do be sure to tell her that I did."
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a rusted toolbox (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a sinister iron key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
a scrap of paper
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
a snowglobe
a small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste
an Italian magazine cutting
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open)
an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You put the small rusty key in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.
You look at your surroundings
Cold Storage Room (Jeremy Freese)
Aunt Mavis used to keep her peaches in a room that didn't look at all like this. On the walls is a message written in blood, composed in an ancient language you know intimately.

There's also the thing Aunt Mavis gave you. You now understand what it is.
You examine the thing
At the beginning of that summer:
"But why do I have to go stay with Aunt Mavis," you asked your mother. "I hardly know her."
"She wants to get to know you better."
"Why?"
"There's nothing more important than family, Naomi. And also," lowering her voice to a whisper, "she has a very special gift she wants to give you."

At the end:
"You need me to pack? My ticket home isn't for another week."
"It's for tomorrow, Naomi. You must have had so much fun staying with me that the weeks just flew by."
You didn't believe her until you got the newspaper and saw the date for yourself. Which raised a delicate topic:
"Aunt Mavis, I don't want to be rude. But my mom said you were planning to give me a special present."
"Yes. And please do be sure to tell her that I did."
Go south
Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.
You go west
You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west, but a large wine cask is standing right in front of it, blocking your way. Another exit leads east.

You count five bottles of wine lingering on the wine rack. Each bottle has a different name, all either Italian or faux Italian: the Piccoli Uomini Blu, the Prurito Notturno, the Lettera Segreta, the Isole Perdute and the Testa D'Ancora.
About yourself
Have you always had that mole on your back? Huh.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine rack
A wooden lattice about six feet wide that reaches up to the low ceiling. Either stocks were running low or someone had ambitions for a much larger wine collection.
You look at the cask
An over-large cask of wine with a rather medieval-looking wooden tap stuck on its end, the only one of its kind in this cellar. Unfortunately, someone had the bright mind to put it right in front of a doorway.
You look at Isole
The label on Isole Perdute claims this crisp white wine is intense, complex, balanced, and most of all, enjoyable.
You examine Testa
The label on the Testa d'Ancora is written in a language you don't recognize, with lots of Hs and apostrophes. It gives you a headache to even look at it.
You get all
Piccoli Uomini Blu: Taken.

Prurito Notturno: Taken.

Lettera Segreta: Taken.

Isole Perdute: Taken.
You look at your surroundings
You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west, but a large wine cask is standing right in front of it, blocking your way. Another exit leads east.

You've smashed or removed every bottle of wine, and the rack stands empty before you.
You open the tap
You let what seems like gallons of wine pass out of the cask, then close the tap.
You open the side pocket
You open the side pocket, revealing a dull machete, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew), an ornate metallic box, a book list, a cast iron spire and a library card.
Close sp
You close the side pocket.
You open the tap
You watch even more wine pour out of the wine cask, forming a gigantic puddle on the floor. Eventually the stream of wine coming from the tap is reduced to mere drops, then stops completely.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go west
Your ears pop and you stumble as you step across the threshold, reeling in a momentary gravitational slippage.

Laboratory (Michael Gentry)
Hard, white light reflected from steel walls pricks painfully at your eyes. Through the glare you can make out the implements of some sort of laboratory, squirming sculptures of metal and glass dripping curdled fluids and spurting foul-smelling puffs of steam. A way out lies east, but otherwise there seem to be no other exits from this place.

The author is here, hunched over and fidgeting intently with a roiling knot of impossible space that floats in the middle of the room.

The impossible space turns slowly.
About yourself
As good-looking as ever.

You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken.

The author smiles nervously. "So glad to see you've made it here at last," he says. "I knew you'd find your way eventually. I, uh . . . I anticipated it."
You look at coffee
The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"I've been, uh, I've been working on . . ." He gestures at the impossible space spinning slowly in front of him. "Just a few final adjustments. Essentially done, except for . . . well. But here you are, just in time."
You examine author
He is stooped and cadaverous, yet of indeterminate age. A profane energy animates him, twitching and plucking at his limbs like the palsied hand of an invisible puppeteer.

The impossible space morphs itself into the shape of a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew).

The author licks his bloodstained lips. "In, uh, in there. It just needs . . . you. Inside. To complete the . . . yes. So if you could . . ." He gestures again, somewhat more brusquely, towards the impossible space. "Just . . . I can't make you. I mean I
could, but that would render the whole thing . . . It's the interactivity, you see. I can't lead you, I can only . . . anticipate."
You examine the space
It churns slowly, rotating around an axis that does not appear to align with any direction possible in three-dimensional space, alternating in shape between a pyramid, a starfish, an origami crane come unfolded. It shines like mercury, reflecting the room and beyond the room, reflecting every room in the manor, and the manor itself, and the town beyond the manor, and the world beyond the town, and you realize with queasy vertigo that it does not just reflect these things but it contains them, it contains the world and inside it,
the town and inside it, the house and inside it, the room and inside that — it contains you. It is the universe, and you are
standing with your back to its center, staring at the inner surface of its awful, outermost edge.

A faint itch tickles your nose, and you wipe away a bright smear of blood.

"Ah, yes, you'll, uh, you'll want to watch out for the, uh . . . the hemorrhaging," says the author. "Though you develop a tolerance, eventually, if you . . . interact with it enough. Assuming your brain doesn't explode first." You can't help but note the author's own mouth and chin, streaked and crusted and black.

The impossible space suddenly erupts in a profusion of eyes and hands . . . four eyes, ten hands . . . fifty eyes, a thousand hands . . . all wriggling and twitching and blinking at you before they just as abruptly vanish.

"Where was I . . . ah, yes . . . please, just . . . I've been working on this for so long, and it, it's so close to being finished," the author says. "I just need . . . and it has to be voluntary. You have to enter it. You have to enter the work, and you have to choose it. Here, just to show you I'm, uh . . . I'll just . . ."

You feel a moment of dizziness, and suddenly there is an exit in the east wall. Although, you're not entirely sure, but . . . wasn't there always an exit in the east wall?

"Maybe just add a scenery object here . . ." says the author.
You enter the space
You feel it as soon as you get close to it: the inexorable gravity of the impossible space locks onto you like a manacle around your wrist. It drags you in, inch by inch, until your fingertips break its liquid mirror surface — and that is when you start to scream.

"Ah, there it is," the author whispers. "Don't, uh, don't fight it."

Topologically speaking, the human body is not a solid object but rather a sort of elongated toroid; turned inside out, it resembles a large, lumpy sausage encased within the thinly stretched membrane of its own intestinal tract. Or so you soon discover.

Mercifully, this does not last. Several moments later, you are drawn backwards through a tube made of yourself and unfolded into a shape more closely approximating normal. You emerge into a space composed of a reasonably navigable number of dimensions, a strange place but somehow familiar . . .

A grim little cul-de-sac, tucked away in a corner of the claustrophobic tangle of narrow, twisting avenues that largely constitute the older portion of Anchorhead. Like most of the streets in this city, it is ancient, shadowy, and leads essentially nowhere. The lane ends here at the real estate agent's office, which lies to the east, and winds its way back toward the center of town to the west. A narrow, garbage-choked alley opens to the southeast.
You knock on Door
"Wait, that's not . . . no. 'Constitute'? Ugh, let's try this . .
."

A grim little cul-de-sac, tucked away in a corner of the claustrophobic tangle of narrow, twisting avenues that largely comprise the older portion of Anchorhead. Like most of the streets in this city, it is ancient, shadowy, and leads essentially nowhere. The lane ends here at the real estate agent's office, which lies to the east, and winds its way back towards the center of town to the west. A narrow, garbage-choked alley opens to the southeast.
Go east
"That's, uh, well, that's . . . but maybe not 'comprise',
technically. 'Compose'? 'Is composed of'? Maybe we should . . ."

A grim little cul-de-sac, tucked away in a corner of the claustrophobic tangle of narrow, twisting avenues that largely compose the older portion of Anchorhead. Like most of the streets in this city, it is ancient, shadowy, and leads essentially nowhere. The lane ends here at the real estate agent's office, which lies to the east, and winds its way back toward the center of town to the west. A narrow, garbage-choked alley opens to the southeast.
You open Door
"Ah, that doesn't . . . it just doesn't quite flow . . ."

And so it goes. You have a hazy sense that it has always been and will forever remain a rainy late afternoon in November. Aside from this, there is no way to measure the passage of time apart from the author's voice, an endless, stammering litany of emendations that seems to drift down upon you from the cloud-covered sky. At some point, in the midst of an agonized millennia-long rumination over whether it should be spelled "toward" or "towards", you just stop hearing it.

Anyway, your husband should be back to pick you up in a few minutes. And then the two of you can begin the long, precarious process of settling in.
You take back
Shuddering in response to the forced time reversal, the tesseract vomits you back out into the Laboratory.
Laboratory (Michael Gentry)
Hard, white light reflected from steel walls pricks painfully at your eyes. Through the glare you can make out the implements of some sort of laboratory, squirming sculptures of metal and glass dripping curdled fluids and spurting foul-smelling puffs of steam. A way out lies east, but otherwise there seem to be no other exits from this place.

The author is here, hunched over and fidgeting intently with a roiling knot of impossible space that floats in the middle of the room.
You go to the east
"Oh, you're leaving? Promise you'll reconsider!" the author calls after you.

You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west Another exit leads east.

You've smashed or removed every bottle of wine, and the rack stands empty before you.

You can see a wine cask here.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Testa
The label on the Testa d'Ancora is written in a language you don't recognize, with lots of Hs and apostrophes. It gives you a headache to even look at it.
Break testa
Among the glass shards of the broken wine bottle, there lies a key with a red triangle on it.
You examine the triangle key
A small metal key with a red triangle etched into the handle. It's sticky and it smells like grapes.
You examine coffee
The swirls in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go east
Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.
About yourself
You absolutely look the same as you usually do. Well, more or less, considering what's happened lately. But you try not to dwell on that.

You are feeling a bit peckish.
You examine the shelves
Eight stark metal shelves run the length of each wall between the two entrances of this room. They are about a foot deep, and absolutely stacked to the brim with dozens of aluminum cans, jars, jugs, and other containers. They are mostly labeled, or their contents easy enough to determine if you blow away the dust, but you have no idea what, if anything, in them might be of interest. You wouldn't even know where to start.

They are, at least, organized by size, shape, and container material.
You look at the roots
The dangling roots are tan-colored, nearly white, thick and veiny. They branch off at strange, sharp angles, ultimately terminating in wispy strands that hang halfway to the floor.
You examine the pumpkin
(the disgusting rotting pumpkin)
It is putrid, lying in a puddle of its own innards, sad and crumpled nearly to the floor. Two fat black flies buzz around the stem.
You kill them
You swat one down. You could swear it looks like two more arise to take its place.
You examine the bulb
(the bare light bulb)
Just a bare bulb suspended on a wire from the ceiling.
You look at the wire
A thin wire helix running from the ceiling down to the bulb.
You examine the ceiling
Actually, it appears to be the exposed floorboards of the level above you. Every so often, a bit of dust filters down from above.
You eat the pumpkin
(the ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew))
That's plainly inedible.
You examine the rotting pumpkin
It is putrid, lying in a puddle of its own innards, sad and crumpled nearly to the floor. Two fat black flies buzz around the stem.
You eat the rotting pumpkin
That's plainly inedible.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a kayak. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go east
Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
(First-time visitors should type ABOUT!)

You have entered a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. The only exit is west.

This might once have been a private altar room or chapel. Now it seems to have been repurposed as a ritual workroom. Oddly-angled runes are carved around the perimeter of the floor.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

A large disk, half black and half white, is mounted on the south wall.
You look at runes
The runes are made of jagged, irregular marks. They make your eyes ache.
You examine the cabinet
The cabinet is a genuine brass-bound mahogany antique. It must once have graced the office of some elegant insurance company. Now it is stained with damp and decay. Drawers sprawl open, spilling journals and papers in disorderly array.
You examine the mirror
The mirror is mounted in a rather crude frame of wrought iron. The glass is in poor condition, pitted and fogged.

What's this? When you touch the frame, something comes loose from behind it and flutters to the floor. It seems to be some kind of delivery note.
You look at the disk
Upon closer examination, the circle is actually a sphere -- or a hemisphere, anyway, mounted high on one wall. The sphere itself is painted white, but an array of jointed black bands covers one side, leaving it half-and-half.

A wooden ring is mounted at the bottom edge of the sphere. It looks movable; you could push or pull it.
Delivery
A faded and yellowed note which was tucked behind the mirror. A few words are scrawled on it in equally faded ink.
You read it
"Delivery: for Anax Cragne -- one mirror, iron frame
-- shipped from St Croix via Boston -- May of 1919." Then in smaller letters on the back: "The item has been delivered as it was deposited. The condition of the glass is none of our doing. Warranted by the hand of: Ladoro Feraud."
About yourself
You are hassled, frazzled, and extremely tired of being in this claustrophobic basement.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a faded delivery note
a Red Triangle Key
an Isole Perdute
a Lettera Segreta
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a sinister iron key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
a scrap of paper
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling
faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe
a black fountain pen
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open)
an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You consult the cabinet about Ladoro
You root through the disorganized heap, and are rewarded with success!

Ladoro Feraud was a student of the arcane arts whom Anax Cragne met in the South Seas. The one journal you find in his handwriting is terse, but mentions something about a Word of Enlightenment, which can be used in rituals to seek wisdom and discern truth.

Anax's marginal notes spell out the word: KHION. You wrap
your tongue around the harsh phonemes until you feel sure of them.
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne and Ladoro Feraud.
Ia
You speak the Word of Sealing. It echoes through the room, louder than you intended.

A faint grey light flickers within the runes, starting at your feet and then running around the perimeter of the room. Color seems to leach from the air as the glow brightens. Silence replaces it, filling the room... waiting for you to continue.
You examine the runes
The runes are made of jagged, irregular marks. They are glowing with a grey steady light.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity. Every brick is edged with infinite precision; every crack wants to show you its secrets.

Something about the filing cabinet draws your attention.
You examine the cabinet
The cabinet is a genuine brass-bound mahogany antique. It must once have graced the office of some elegant insurance company. Now it is stained with damp and decay. Drawers sprawl open, spilling journals and papers in disorderly array.

You have located two interesting items:
Anax Cragne
Ladoro Feraud

Your eyes are drawn to the back of the cabinet. Is that a bit of paper poking out from behind one of the drawers? You can't reach it, but you can just make out the name "Francois Crane" on the paper's edge.
You look up francois
You cannot concentrate on research when the world is wrapped in ritual silence. You'll have to end the ritual first.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The runes flare with grey light and then fade. The sense of pressing silence fades with them, leaving the room feeling dim and mundane once again.
You look up francois
You search through the mass of papers, and are rewarded!

Francois Crane spent his life searching for the Gates of Slumber, which lead to the Dreamlands. "Seek the Temple of the Flame, and beneath a Blood Moon speak the Unnameable Name..." (Francois certainly did like capital letters.) He died in 1835 without ever reaching his goal. In his search, however, he uncovered the Word of Winter:
IRNATH, which speaks of cold, clarity, precision, sterility,
and focus.

You memorize the word. It sits in your mind like an icy prism.
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment
IRNATH, the Word of Winter

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne, Ladoro Feraud and Francois Crane.
Ia
You speak the Word of Sealing. It echoes through the room.

The grey light flickers to life within the boundary runes. Silence presses in, awaiting your next word.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. A chill comes into the atmosphere, like an icy breeze that does not stir the air.

The fogged mirror slowly turns as clear as ice.
You examine the mirror
The glass does not reflect you, or the room. You are peering into an infinite starless depth. Somewhere in the distance, shadows might outline the shape of a face, peering back... or not? You cannot make it out clearly.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity. Every brick is edged with infinite precision; every crack wants to show you its secrets.
You look at the mirror
The glass does not reflect you, or the room. You are peering into an infinite starless depth. Far in the distance, a face forms... an epicene face, wrinkled and shriveled; but its dark eyes blaze with fierce gnosis.

The eyes lock with yours.

"You dare!" The words burn in your brain, although there is no whisper of sound. "I achieved this plane in order to study the secrets of cosmic order, not to be disturbed by blundering novices from..." (the eyes squint) "...Vermont!? No! I forbid you. Let your scrying glass be sealed, in the name of Gretel Aschar!"

The face is whipped from your sight, leaving the glass clear and empty.
You look up gretel
You dig through the disorganized heap, and are rewarded!

Gretel Aschar was a Viennese witch, or seeress, who lived in the late 1700s. She was skilled in dreaming projection, but aspired to penetrate the illusion of Dream into the deeper truth beneath. She vanished in 1795 -- whether due to death or success, no one knows.

The next page in the journal has nothing to do with Gretel. It describes the Word of Invocation: ULNUR, which brings forth
voices from outside the world. A footnote adds, "Combine with Morovor's Word of Summer?" But there is no indication of what that might be.

You memorize the Word of Invocation, anyhow.
Ia
You speak the Word of Sealing. It echoes through the room.

The grey light flickers to life within the boundary runes. Silence presses in, awaiting your next word.
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment
IRNATH, the Word of Winter
ULNUR, the Word of Invocation

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne, Ladoro Feraud, Francois Crane and Gretel Aschar.

You have come across one additional name, not yet researched: Morovor Krahne.
You look up morovor
You root through the mess of journals, and are rewarded!

Morovor Krahne (1752-1801) was a distant cousin of the family who studied astronomy. Or perhaps astrology, as his notes have nothing but contempt for the "modern" science of telescopes and Newton. He was obsessed with the relationship between the stars, the seasons, and the cycles of history. Ultimately he destroyed his health dragging menhirs around a Scottish moor, attempting to construct an astronomical stone circle which could predict, or invoke, the End of Days.

Almost incidentally he perfected the modern forms of the Seasonal Names. Of the four, only one survives in this fragmentary journal: MALETH, the Word of Summer, which bespeaks heat, haze,
fertility, verdancy, and riot.

You memorize the word. It sits in your mind like a roiling thundercloud.
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment
IRNATH, the Word of Winter
MALETH, the Word of Summer
ULNUR, the Word of Invocation

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne, Ladoro Feraud, Francois Crane, Gretel Aschar and Morovor Krahne.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. A thick warmth creeps into the air around you. Sweat breaks on your skin.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.

You feel something invisible crawling across your body, and the aroma of flowers in a sunlit meadow spills over you.
Maleth
You try to say the Word of Summer, but its sound is already resonating in the air. You cannot speak it any louder.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity. Every brick is edged with infinite precision; every crack wants to show you its secrets.
You look around
Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
This is a circular chamber, walled in decaying brickwork. A boundary of grey-glowing runes runs around the perimeter of the room. The air is warm and peculiarly still, and the exit to the west seems clogged with darkness.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

A thick aroma of flowers fills the room.

A large disk, half black and half white, is mounted on the south wall.
You look at the disk
Upon closer examination, the circle is actually a sphere -- or a hemisphere, anyway, mounted high on one wall. The sphere itself is painted white, but an array of jointed black bands covers one side, leaving it half-and-half.

A wooden ring is mounted at the bottom edge of the sphere. It looks movable; you could push or pull it.
You pull the disk
You pull the ring to the right. The black bands which cover half the sphere retract, leaving the surface mostly white, with just one black edge.

Aha! This must be a representation of the moon, now in the gibbous phase. Very clever.

The aroma fades.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.

You feel something invisible crawling across your body.
Khion
You try to say the Word of Enlightenment, but its sound is already resonating in the air. You cannot speak it any louder.
You recall Gretel
Gretel Aschar was a Viennese witch, or seeress, who lived in the late 1700s. She was skilled in dreaming projection, but aspired to penetrate the illusion of Dream into the deeper truth beneath. She vanished in 1795 -- whether due to death or success, no one knows.

The next page in the journal has nothing to do with Gretel. It describes the Word of Invocation: ULNUR, which brings forth
voices from outside the world. A footnote adds, "Combine with Morovor's Word of Summer?" But there is no indication of what that might be.
You listen
The room is eerily silent, but you can sense words resonating in the air nonetheless: IA, KHION, MALETH, ULNUR.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.

You hear whispers in the darkness around you. Not with your ears, perhaps, but the whispers are there. And a few words are clear enough to understand, if you listen.
You listen
The room is eerily silent, but you can sense words resonating in the air nonetheless: IA, KHION, ULNUR.

Behind the silence, whispers lurk. You can make out syllables, fragments of names. But one name is repeated over and over: "Jennever, Jennever..." That much is clear.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. A thick warmth creeps into the air around you. Sweat breaks on your skin.

The whispers fade.

You feel something invisible crawling across your body.
You look up jennever
You search through the disorganized heap, and are rewarded!

There are only a few fragmentary notes about Jennever Cragne. She was a summoner of some repute, but "Summoned That from which one Cannot Turn Away," whatever that means. One torn chart shows combinations of moon and season conducive to summoning. High Summer and the full moon are noted for invoking nurturing spirits. "And the Oppositte, if one wishes a Spirit of Intellecte," it concludes airily.
You examine the disk
The sphere is mounted high on one wall, above a ring. It's a full yard across, and one edge is covered by the black bands, thus showing a gibbous moon.
You pull the disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract completely, leaving the lunar sphere showing a full moon.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.

You feel something invisible crawling across your body, and the gaze of a green presence. It studies you, and everything around you, with dispassion; what to nurture, what to prune.

A faint but piercing-sweet scent drifts past you. It seems to emanate from the direction of the filing cabinet.
Smell cabinet
An intense orchid scent drifts from the filing cabinet.

The tiniest green shoot has crawled up the side of the cabinet. Its tip blooms into a minute, perfect orchid, which breathes its scent out into the room. The bloom curls over the edge of a journal which bears the name "Margreth Cragne".
You look up Margreth
You root through the disorderly pile, and are rewarded!

Margreth Cragne studied visionary meditation in this very basement in the late 1880s. She wrote of the art of scrying a spirit who does not want to be observed. "Bring forth an ice-covered mirror under the full moon. Speak the Word of Enlightenment; then polish the glass with your hand. Then wait until the moon is new and allow the ice to melt. Your will shall penetrate the glass and reveal that which you seek."
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment
IRNATH, the Word of Winter
MALETH, the Word of Summer
ULNUR, the Word of Invocation

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne, Ladoro Feraud, Francois Crane, Gretel Aschar, Morovor Krahne, Jennever Cragne and Margreth Cragne.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.

A painful prickling runs along your skin. You sense a chill presence in the air, something looking towards you from far away. Its attention is a faded intimation of those undiscovered realms that await the soul beyond this world. Even so, its gaze burns.

If you look more closely at the spirit, you might learn more.
You look at Spirit
You cannot see the spirit, but you attempt to capture its focus with your gaze.

You are struck by a hideous pain behind your eyes. It mutes, after a moment, to pressure and an icy chill.

There is sentience in the focus, an awareness that nearly overwhelms you. Somewhere something is shrieking; the not-sound scrapes along the thin edge of reality. But you can make out its intent. A name:
Kteh Nyare.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The runes flare with grey light and then fade. The sense of pressing silence fades with them, leaving the room feeling dim and mundane once again.
You look up nyare
You search through the disorganized heap, and are rewarded!

Kteh Nyare was a scribe, or priest, or tutelary god -- stories disagree -- in the legendary Lost Dynasty of Egypt. The rulers in this period sojourned deep into forbidden arts, raising the Old Kingdom to unrivaled sovereignty. When they fell, their ruin was so terrible that their names and deeds have been entirely erased from history.

It was Kteh Nyare who first committed arcane Names to papyrus for study. Modern occultists use newer alphabets, but Kteh Nyare's hieroglyphics were an exacting and precise system of writing.

You study the description of the hieroglyphics. They clarify your understanding of the Words you have learned. By speaking with greater precision, you realize, you can amplify most of those Words -- repeating the Word to intensify its effect.
You recall Margreth
Margreth Cragne studied visionary meditation in this very basement in the late 1880s. She wrote of the art of scrying a spirit who does not want to be observed. "Bring forth an ice-covered mirror under the full moon. Speak the Word of Enlightenment; then polish the glass with your hand. Then wait until the moon is new and allow the ice to melt. Your will shall penetrate the glass and reveal that which you seek."
You pull disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract, leaving the lunar sphere showing a crescent moon.
You pull the disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract, leaving the lunar sphere showing a half moon.
You pull the disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract, leaving the lunar sphere showing a gibbous moon.
You pull the disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract completely, leaving the lunar sphere showing a full moon.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. The chill deepens to a numbing, aching wave of cold.

A coarse layer of frost grows over the surface of the mirror, leaving it opaque.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity. Every brick is edged with infinite precision; every crack wants to show you its secrets.
Polish mirror
You place your hand against the frosted glass. The cold burns through skin and nerve, but slowly, a pearly glow begins to shine through the ice. When you pull your hand away, the glow remains.
You look at the mirror
You try to peer into the mirror, but it is entirely frosted over. A pearly glow shimmers behind the ice.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. The stabbing cold around you lessens.

The frost sublimes from the surface of the mirror, leaving it clear as ice and filled with a pearly glow.
You look at the mirror
You peer into the glass...

You see a shifting field of geometry, all illuminated by pearly light. Within it, Gretel Aschar's decrepit face slowly comes back into focus. Her wrinkles twist into a scowl of utter disgust.

"Fine. Fine. You seek the way to the Gates of Slumber? Find
the writings of my student Ersebet. A fool, she was, but she knew more than a little of the ways of Dream." A glare of unutterable contempt. "And she knew, for a wonder, how to leave an old woman
alone."

The geometric light seems to turn inside out, and the face is once again gone from your sight.
You look up Ersebet
You scavenge through the disorderly pile, and are rewarded!

Ersebet Cranyi was, as the old woman said, a student in the Viennese cultic circle at the end of the 1700s. After the group schismed in 1795, Ersebet travelled to America and attempted to barter visionary secrets with the indigenous shamans of the New World. They, by all accounts, wanted nothing to do with her, and she spent her remaining days poring over fragmentary manuscripts in a Boston garret.

Her one creditable discovery was the Trance Word, VULLE,
which allows the ritualist to project his or her awareness into a visionary realm. This is not the true Dreamlands, but a space within the practitioner's own mind, shaped by the symbology of their perceptions. The visionary state is thus merely a foundation from which greater rituals may be enacted.
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment
IRNATH, the Word of Winter
MALETH, the Word of Summer
ULNUR, the Word of Invocation
VULLE, the Word of Trance
...along with the ability to repeat a word, intensifying its effect

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne, Ladoro Feraud, Francois Crane, Gretel Aschar, Morovor Krahne, Jennever Cragne, Kteh Nyare, Margreth Cragne and Ersebet Cranyi.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

The Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a tidily-trimmed garden, surrounded by topiary, flowerbeds, and orderly hedge.

Above is a haze-swirled night sky.
You look at the sky
The stars are veiled by a high shredding haze.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity.
You look around
The Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a tidily-trimmed garden, surrounded by topiary, flowerbeds, and orderly hedge.

Above is a haze-swirled night sky.
You examine topiary
The garden flourishes in its neatly-trimmed profusion.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The clarity of the world increases, amplifying to an acutely painful pitch.

The garden is freighted with numinous meaning now. You gaze around in helpless wonder. Secrets rain down from the sky and well up out of the earth. You do not want to look away, ever.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. The warmth rises to a suffocating, stifling heat.

Steam rises up from the flowerbeds, and the air fills with a hot, gasping haze. Within it, the topiary begins to shudder. The ground boils with life.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. The stifling heat fades from the air.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. A chill comes into the atmosphere, like an icy breeze that does not stir the air.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. The chill deepens to a numbing, aching wave of cold.

The chill turns into an icy blast of wind. Leaves shrivel and die around you. The air hurts your lungs, and there is no respite.
You look around
The Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a tidily-trimmed garden, surrounded by topiary, flowerbeds, and orderly hedge. The air is bracingly cool.

Above is a haze-swirled night sky.
You look at the sky
The stars are veiled by a high shredding haze.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.

You sense a muttering presence in the garden. You could understand it if you listened.
You listen
The garden is eerily silent, but you can sense words resonating in the air nonetheless: IA, KHION, IRNATH, ULNUR, VULLE.

Behind the silence, a presence mumbles a name with idiot persistence. "Malford," you make it out.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is entirely black.
You look up malford
You search through the mess of journals, and are rewarded!

Malford "the Warlock" Cragne, the black sheep of the family. Sheep as in rather dim and basically harmless, despite his self-chosen monicker. Malford desperately desired to create the Word of Chaos, an arcane tool of ruin and decay. Unfortunately for him, his diagram lacked several important hieroglyphs. In trying to complete it, he journeyed unwisely into the Otherworlds. His body was found, mindless and mumbling, in 1850.

You examine the Chaos diagram. It's a complex arrangement which defines a word in the system of old Kteh Nyare. However, three key glyphs are missing.
You recall Nyare
Kteh Nyare was a scribe, or priest, or tutelary god -- stories disagree -- in the legendary Lost Dynasty of Egypt. The rulers in this period sojourned deep into forbidden arts, raising the Old Kingdom to unrivaled sovereignty. When they fell, their ruin was so terrible that their names and deeds have been entirely erased from history.

It was Kteh Nyare who first committed arcane Names to papyrus for study. Modern occultists use newer alphabets, but Kteh Nyare's hieroglyphics were an exacting and precise system of writing.

By speaking with greater precision, you realize, you can amplify most of the Words you have learned -- repeating the Word to intensify its effect.
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment
IRNATH, the Word of Winter
MALETH, the Word of Summer
ULNUR, the Word of Invocation
VULLE, the Word of Trance
...along with the ability to repeat a word, intensifying its effect

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne, Ladoro Feraud, Francois Crane, Gretel Aschar, Morovor Krahne, Jennever Cragne, Kteh Nyare, Margreth Cragne, Ersebet Cranyi and Malford Cragne.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.

You sense a muttering presence in the garden.
You listen
The garden is eerily silent, but you can sense words resonating in the air nonetheless: IA, MALETH, ULNUR, VULLE.

Behind the silence, a presence mumbles with vague, idiot persistence. You cannot make it out.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity.

The silent muttering becomes clearer. You could understand it if you listened.
You listen
The garden is eerily silent, but you can sense words resonating in the air nonetheless: IA, KHION, MALETH, ULNUR, VULLE.

Behind the silence, a presence mumbles a name with idiot persistence. "Malford," you make it out.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is entirely black.
You pull disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract, leaving the lunar sphere showing a crescent moon.
You pull the disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract, leaving the lunar sphere showing a half moon.
You pull the disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract, leaving the lunar sphere showing a gibbous moon.
You pull the disk
You pull the ring. The black bands retract completely, leaving the lunar sphere showing a full moon.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

The Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a tidily-trimmed garden, surrounded by topiary, flowerbeds, and orderly hedge.

A full moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity.
Look around
The Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a tidily-trimmed garden, surrounded by topiary, flowerbeds, and orderly hedge. The air is filled with humid warmth.

A presence moves restlessly around the garden, muttering silently in your mind. You sense you could understand it if you listened.

A full moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
You look at the sky
The stars are veiled by a high shredding haze, but a full moon shines through.
You look at Moon
The full moon hangs in the sky.
You listen
The garden is eerily silent, but you can sense words resonating in the air nonetheless: IA, KHION, MALETH, ULNUR, VULLE.

Behind the silence, a presence mumbles a name with idiot persistence. "Malford," you make it out.
You examine Garden
The garden flourishes in its neatly-trimmed profusion.
You search Garden
Nothing here is exactly real.
You recall ersebet
Ersebet Cranyi was a student in the Viennese cultic circle at the end of the 1700s. After the group schismed in 1795, Ersebet travelled to America and attempted to barter visionary secrets with the indigenous shamans of the New World. They, by all accounts, wanted nothing to do with her, and she spent her remaining days poring over fragmentary manuscripts in a Boston garret.

Her one creditable discovery was the Trance Word, VULLE,
which allows the ritualist to project his or her awareness into a visionary realm. This is not the true Dreamlands, but a space within the practitioner's own mind, shaped by the symbology of their perceptions. The visionary state is thus merely a foundation from which greater rituals may be enacted.
Ia
You speak the Word of Sealing, but nothing happens. This entire garden exists within an active ritual.
You recall jennever
There are only a few fragmentary notes about Jennever Cragne. She was a summoner of some repute, but "Summoned That from which one Cannot Turn Away," whatever that means. One torn chart shows combinations of moon and season conducive to summoning. High Summer and the full moon are noted for invoking nurturing spirits. "And the Oppositte, if one wishes a Spirit of Intellecte," it concludes airily.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. The warmth rises to a suffocating, stifling heat.

The presence fades.

Steam rises up from the flowerbeds, and the air fills with a hot, gasping haze. Within it, the topiary begins to shudder. The ground boils with life.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation again. The sense of listening becomes unbearably intense.

The silent voices multiply; they are an increasing pressure in your head. You feel presences crowd around you, tasting your thoughts, fluttering through the fibers of your spirit. Your body begins to slip away from you.
You recall malford
Malford "the Warlock" Cragne, the black sheep of the family. Sheep as in rather dim and basically harmless, despite his self-chosen monicker. Malford desperately desired to create the Word of Chaos, an arcane tool of ruin and decay. Unfortunately for him, his diagram lacked several important hieroglyphs. In trying to complete it, he journeyed unwisely into the Otherworlds. His body was found, mindless and mumbling, in 1850.

You recall the Chaos diagram. It's a complex arrangement which defines a word in the system of old Kteh Nyare. However, three key glyphs are missing.
You recall Nyare
Kteh Nyare was a scribe, or priest, or tutelary god -- stories disagree -- in the legendary Lost Dynasty of Egypt. The rulers in this period sojourned deep into forbidden arts, raising the Old Kingdom to unrivaled sovereignty. When they fell, their ruin was so terrible that their names and deeds have been entirely erased from history.

It was Kteh Nyare who first committed arcane Names to papyrus for study. Modern occultists use newer alphabets, but Kteh Nyare's hieroglyphics were an exacting and precise system of writing.

By speaking with greater precision, you realize, you can amplify most of the Words you have learned -- repeating the Word to intensify its effect.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is entirely white.
You drop the delivery note
Dropped.
You look around
The Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a tidily-trimmed garden, surrounded by topiary, flowerbeds, and orderly hedge.

A full moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is entirely white.

You can also see a faded delivery note here.
Polish mirror
The glass feels pristinely polished. Odd, considering its appearance.
Look around
Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is entirely white.
You look at bound
(the 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
(smelling faintly of mildew))
The book is bound in a cheap, rough, green cloth, with the title 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids and the name
Aster Cragne embossed in gold leaf. The pages appear to have
been printed on continuous paper, then separated and gathered together—a dissertation, perhaps? There's a sticker with a Dewey number stuck to the spine, and on the title page you see the stamp of the insignia of the Backwater Public Library.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.
You look at the runes
The runes are made of jagged, irregular marks. They make your eyes ache.

You now recognize the runes as a ritual bound. The bound encloses the entire workroom. Within it, magic might work as it did in the old days, before the stars changed and the old knowledge faded from the Earth.
Polish mirror
The glass is so cold that it burns your skin.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. The chill deepens to a numbing, aching wave of cold.

A coarse layer of frost grows over the surface of the mirror, leaving it opaque.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

Glacial Cirque (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a bowl-shaped hollow beneath a towering mountain peak. The lower end is blocked by a wall of ice. The air is achingly cold.

A full moon hangs in the clear starry sky.

The chill turns into an icy blast of wind coming down from the mountaintop. Stones and chunks of ice are caught up in the gale.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. The stabbing cold around you lessens.

The frost sublimes from the surface of the mirror, leaving it clear as ice.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

Glacial Cirque (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a bowl-shaped hollow beneath a towering mountain peak. The lower end is blocked by a wall of ice. The air is chill but you are sheltered from the wind.

A full moon hangs in the clear starry sky.

You suddenly perceive a pattern in the depths of the ice.
You examine the pattern
The end of the valley runs up against a barrier of striated white ice, no doubt the edge of a mountain glacier.

The crystalline structure of the ice forms a pattern, and the pattern forms a name: "Shireen Vega was here." Okay.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is entirely white.
You look up vega
You root through the disorganized heap, and are rewarded!

The only trace left by this Shireen Vega is an aspect chart, drawn up in careful ink like a homework assignment. The two notable lines are "Summer trance, gibbous moon, invocation&enlightenment" and "Winter trance, crescent moon, redoubled invocation".
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

Jungle Ruin (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a mazy jungle of towering, vine-strung tree boles. The air is thick and humid. To one side rises a crumbling stone wall.

A full moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
You look at the wall
You stand at the foot of a ruined stone wall, perhaps the remains of some lost jungle ziggurat.
You look at Tree
Moldering tree trunks rise all around you.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

Jungle Ruin (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a mazy jungle of towering, vine-strung tree boles. The air is thick and humid. To one side rises a crumbling stone wall.

A gibbous moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity.

With imperceptible slowness, a glyph draws itself across the face of the moon.
You look at the glyph
Shadows and scars form a glyph across the surface of the gibbous moon.

You memorize the glyph; it looks like one of the missing symbols from Malford Cragne's journal.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is mostly white.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

Glacial Cirque (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a bowl-shaped hollow beneath a towering mountain peak. The lower end is blocked by a wall of ice. The air is chill but you are sheltered from the wind.

A crescent moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation. The silence around you takes on an attentive quality; something besides you is listening.
Ulnur
You incant the Word of Invocation again. The sense of listening becomes unbearably intense.

A new constellation burns among the stars.
You examine the constellation
The stars are veiled by a high shredding haze, but a crescent moon shines through. A constellation of unusually bright stars forms a glyph above the moon.

You memorize the glyph. You now know two glyphs.
You recall malford
Malford "the Warlock" Cragne, the black sheep of the family. Sheep as in rather dim and basically harmless, despite his self-chosen monicker. Malford desperately desired to create the Word of Chaos, an arcane tool of ruin and decay. Unfortunately for him, his diagram lacked several important hieroglyphs. In trying to complete it, he journeyed unwisely into the Otherworlds. His body was found, mindless and mumbling, in 1850.

You recall the Chaos diagram. It's a complex arrangement which defines a word in the system of old Kteh Nyare. However, three key glyphs are missing. You have discovered two of them.
You look at your surroundings
Glacial Cirque (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a bowl-shaped hollow beneath a towering mountain peak. The lower end is blocked by a wall of ice. The air is chill but you are sheltered from the wind.

Something has changed above.

A crescent moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is a white crescent.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity.

You suddenly perceive a pattern in the depths of the ice.
You examine the pattern
The end of the valley runs up against a barrier of striated white ice, no doubt the edge of a mountain glacier.

The crystalline structure of the ice forms a pattern, and the pattern forms a name: "Shireen Vega was here." Okay.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. The icy chill fades from the air.

Meltwater trickles from the glacier. You notice the edge of a stone slab poking through the ice! After several moments, most of the slab is free.
You examine slab
The slab has a hieroglyph engraved on it.

You memorize the glyph. You now know all three of the missing glyphs from Malford Cragne's journal.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is a white crescent.
Oggoth
You chant the Word of Chaos. The walls tremble.

A brick cracks off the wall beneath the lunar sphere! Peering closer, you realize it was a false front. A small niche is now revealed, in which is a brass knob.
You turn the knob
You hear a clunk. The black bands retract. At the same time, the white sphere itself begins to rotate in the wall. As the previously-hidden face comes into view, you see that it is painted red. When the sphere comes to a halt, a full, bloody disc looms above you.
You look at the disk
The sphere is mounted high on one wall, above a ring and a brass knob. It's a full yard across, and entirely painted red. You're not sure what that represents, but it makes you nervous.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

Ruined Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You stand in the ruins of a long-dead garden. Dry branches rise from the dust and tangle in twisted, unrecognizable shapes.

To the south is the shore of a dark, silent lake. The waters do not reflect the reddened moonlight.

A bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
You look at moon
It's a full moon, blood-red and hell-bent.
You say vaadignephod
(to yourself)
Talking to yourself is likely to prove unrewarding.
Oggoth
You chant the Word of Chaos.

The decaying earth collapses beneath your feet, pitching you into the abyss.
You look at your surroundings
Ruined Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You stand in the ruins of a long-dead garden. Dry branches rise from the dust and tangle in twisted, unrecognizable shapes.

To the south is the shore of a dark, silent lake. The waters do not reflect the reddened moonlight.

A bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. A chill comes into the atmosphere, like an icy breeze that does not stir the air.

The water at your feet goes slow and slushy. Ice crackles along the shoreline, and then spreads out across the surface of the lake. After a time, the entire lake is frozen hard.
You look at the Lake
The frozen lake spreads out south of the garden. You can see a small island in its center, standing above the ice.
Go south
You set off across the ice.

Frozen Lake (Andrew Plotkin)
You stand on the surface of the frozen lake. The ice is rippled and rough underfoot, and hard as iron.

The shoreline is back to the north. To the south, a small island projects above the ice sheet.

A bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
You go south
Island (Andrew Plotkin)
This is a small island, only a few yards across, near the center of a frozen lake. The black ice seems to devour the reddened moonlight all around. You can see the dead garden far off on the northern shore.

To the east, a stairway of rough basalt leads down into the ice.

A bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Go downward
The stairway disappears down into the iron-hard ice.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. The icy chill fades from the air.

A crack lances across the surface of the lake. The ice sheet grinds against itself and shatters, leaving water bubbling in the gaps. The remaining floes shrink; soon they are entirely gone.
You descend
The stairway disappears down into the dark water. The thought of immersing yourself is abhorrent.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. A thick warmth creeps into the air around you. Sweat breaks on your skin.

The lake steams gently, and begins to sink around the island. Stones crackle and dry as they are exposed. After a time, the water is gone, and the lake basin is bare and arid.
Go downwards
The stairway spirals around the island as it descends.

Lakebed Temple (Andrew Plotkin)
You stand on a crumbling stone dais at the bottom of the dry lake. Jagged runes are engraved around the circle's perimeter.

The island-peak rises to the west; basalt stairs zig-zag up its face.

Far above, a bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.

A scrap of leather is lying at the foot of the stairs.
You look at the runes
The runes are made of familiar jagged marks. This is a ritual bound -- although you would lay no odds what hands carved them. If
hands carved them.
You look at the leather
This green leather once bound a journal, but it has been terribly damaged by the water... ice... heat... whatever conditions it experienced at the bottom of the lake. You can barely trace the name "Arne Cragnessum" within one fold of the cover. The pages within have long since disintegrated.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. The dream-world flares with grey light and fades. You awaken.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is entirely red. A knob is visible underneath it.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

Jungle Ruin (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a mazy jungle of towering, vine-strung tree boles. The air is thick and humid. To one side rises a crumbling stone wall.

A bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Khion
You intone the Word of Enlightenment. The world takes on a peculiar, hollow clarity.

You suddenly perceive a pattern in the foliage.
You look at the pattern
Moldering tree trunks rise all around you.

The vines form a pattern, and the pattern forms a name: "Shireen Vega was here." Okay.
You look at the wall
You stand at the foot of a ruined stone wall, perhaps the remains of some lost jungle ziggurat.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. The stifling heat fades from the air.
Irnath
You chant the Word of Winter. A chill comes into the atmosphere, like an icy breeze that does not stir the air.

Frost crackles on the vines. A tree trunk emits a thundrous crack as its sap freezes in the unnatural chill. Then another... and branches begin to crash down around you.
Maleth
You chant the Word of Summer. The warmth rises to a suffocating, stifling heat.

Steam rises up from the undergrowth, and the air fills with a hot, gasping haze. Within it, the roots and vines begin to shudder. The ground boils with life.
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment
IRNATH, the Word of Winter
MALETH, the Word of Summer
ULNUR, the Word of Invocation
VULLE, the Word of Trance
OGGOTH, the Word of Chaos
...along with the ability to repeat a word, intensifying its effect

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne, Ladoro Feraud, Francois Crane, Gretel Aschar, Morovor Krahne, Jennever Cragne, Kteh Nyare, Margreth Cragne, Ersebet Cranyi, Shireen Vega, Malford Cragne and Arne Cragnessum.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

The Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a tidily-trimmed garden, surrounded by topiary, flowerbeds, and orderly hedge.

A bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Oggoth
You chant the Word of Chaos. The walls tremble.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance. The basement walls, without moving, become distant and remote.

Ruined Garden (Andrew Plotkin)
You stand in the ruins of a long-dead garden. The air simmers with a parched, breathless heat. Dry branches rise from the dust and tangle in twisted, unrecognizable shapes.

To the south, the ground slopes down into the basin of a dry lake bed.

A bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Go south
You begin descending into the lake bed, making your way around boulders.

Lake Bed (Andrew Plotkin)
The lake bed is broken with chasms and dry stony crags. It slopes up to the north, towards shore.

To the south, an unclimbable ravine cuts across the basin. You can see the island rising on the other side, but you can go no farther in that direction.

Far above, a bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.
Oggoth
You chant the Word of Chaos. The earth trembles violently.

A section of the stone wall collapses with a rumble! Behind it is revealed a rune-carved stone coffin -- a long-lost tomb.
You examine the coffin
The runes on the tomb form a word... or something like a word. The syllables grind and crack against each other as you try to assemble them in your mind.

After an unmeasured time, you think you have hold of it. This must be the Unnameable Name that Francois Crane and Arne Cragnessum described.
You recall
You have learned the following incantations:
IA, the Word of Sealing
ZOK, the Word of Unsealing
KHION, the Word of Enlightenment
IRNATH, the Word of Winter
MALETH, the Word of Summer
ULNUR, the Word of Invocation
VULLE, the Word of Trance
OGGOTH, the Word of Chaos
?͋?͜?̶?̫, the Unnameable Name
...along with the ability to repeat a word, intensifying its effect

You have researched the following names: Anax Cragne, Ladoro Feraud, Francois Crane, Gretel Aschar, Morovor Krahne, Jennever Cragne, Kteh Nyare, Margreth Cragne, Ersebet Cranyi, Shireen Vega, Malford Cragne and Arne Cragnessum.
You recall francois
Francois Crane spent his life searching for the Gates of Slumber, which lead to the Dreamlands. "Seek the Temple of the Flame, and beneath a Blood Moon speak the Unnameable Name..." (Francois certainly did like capital letters.) He died in 1835 without ever reaching his goal. In his search, however, he uncovered the Word of Winter:
IRNATH, which speaks of cold, clarity, precision, sterility,
and focus.
You say unnameable
You concentrate and bring forth the Unnameable Name. Even in this dream-state, it scores your gums; you taste blood.

An erythraean light flares within the boundary runes; the world outside dims. The stillness of the air gains density and texture, aching in your ears. Once again, the world waits for you to speak.
Ia
You speak the Word of Sealing, but the ritual bound does not respond. You are, after all, already within an active ritual.
Vulle
You speak the Word of Trance a second time.

The world begins to blur.

Stairway (Andrew Plotkin)
You are partway down a long, long staircase of white marble. You can return west or descend to the east.
Go east
You descend dreamily for a while, turning the key over in your hand.

Bottom of Stairs (Andrew Plotkin)
You are at the bottom of a marble staircase, which ascends to the west.

A tall portal of some alien metal stands to the east. It is closed and locked.
You look at Key
Cryptically inscribed and ornately engraved: the Silver Key to the Gates of Slumber.
You examine the portal
A glowing energy barrier stands to the east. It is closed and locked.
You unlock the portal with Key
You unlock the portal.
You open it
You open the gate.
You go to the east
You pass through.

Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You have entered a circular chamber walled in neat brickwork. The door to the west is closed.

The room is quite empty except for a majestic filing cabinet in one corner. The cabinet is closed.

A library book is lying on the floor. You have no idea how this got down here.
You examine library book
The Seven Gaunts -- a book of Aionist fairy tales, collected by
Henry Galtmice. How adorable!

The book is brand new. Stamped in the endpaper is the insignia of the Backwater Public Library: two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book.
You read it
The book is The Seven Gaunts, edited by Henry Galtmice. You
flip through and glance at the story of the angel at the South Pole.
Continue
You flip through and glance at the story of a dweller beneath the Earth who gets lost in the Sunlit World.
You continue
You flip through and glance at the story of the angel at the South Pole.
Inventory
You are carrying:
The Seven Gaunts
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. Your surroundings flare crimson, then fade to black.

You awaken.

Lakebed Temple (Andrew Plotkin)
You stand on a crumbling stone dais at the bottom of the dry lake. Jagged runes are engraved around the circle's perimeter.

The island-peak rises to the west; basalt stairs zig-zag up its face.

Far above, a bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.

A scrap of leather is lying at the foot of the stairs.
Go west
(first opening the door)
It seems to be locked.
Describe the surroundings
Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber walled in neat brickwork. The door to the west is closed.

The room is quite empty except for a majestic filing cabinet in one corner. The cabinet is closed.
You open cabinet
You pull open one of the cabinet's drawers, then another. They're all empty.
You put Book in cabinet
You consider the empty cabinet, and then file the book neatly under G for Galtmice. An excellent start for your collection!
About yourself
You are entirely prepared to start building this work room.
Look around
Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber walled in neat brickwork. The door to the west is closed.

The room is quite empty except for a majestic filing cabinet in one corner. The cabinet is open, but nearly empty. You only see The
Seven Gaunts within.
Zok
You speak the Word of Unsealing. Your surroundings flare crimson, then fade to black.

You awaken.

Lakebed Temple (Andrew Plotkin)
You stand on a crumbling stone dais at the bottom of the dry lake. Jagged runes are engraved around the circle's perimeter.

The island-peak rises to the west; basalt stairs zig-zag up its face.

Far above, a bloated crimson moon hangs in a haze-swirled night sky.

A scrap of leather is lying at the foot of the stairs.
You look up Galtmice
You search under the name Henry Galtmice, and find The Seven
Gaunts, filed exactly where it ought to be! You lift the book
from the drawer in triumph.
You read Gaunts
You flip through the book and glance at the story of a tree that grew in the middle of the ocean.

The well-dressed man's outline coalesces into form like ice spreading across a pond. Pleased, he watches his hands move, and brushes a bit of frost off of a shoulder. Then he starts and looks away, as if remembering something. His features darken and the air goes cold as he frowns.

With a scowl and a sense of purpose, the well-dressed man fades away. You think you caught a glimpse of brick and ivy, and heard the sound of running water as he disappeared.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
The Seven Gaunts
a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute
a Lettera Segreta
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a sinister iron key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
a scrap of paper
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling
faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe
a black fountain pen
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open)
an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form horizontal bands. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go west
Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.
You go west
Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.
You go south
Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown)
The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded.

As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch of some kind. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a framed diagram of some sort on it, and lashed to the column there is something that looks like a wardrobe that someone decided to wrap in copper wire. To make it even odder, there is a little window near the top of its door. Next to it is a mechanism that is a little bit reminiscent of a truck engine, and behind it a machine contained in a casing made from wood. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by some manner of control panel. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the wardrobe there is a painting hanging from a chain.

It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer.
You pull the string
(the fluorescent work light pull string)
You switch the fluorescent work light off.
About yourself
You look like someone who's been wandering around a dusty, sweltering boiler room.

For a moment you believe you can hear something scrambling around near the hole in the floor.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

You think you just heard a low growl near the boiler.
You pull the string
(the fluorescent work light pull string)
You feel around for the fluorescent light string and pull it, switching the work light back on.
You examine doll
The doll has a ferocious scowl on its face and a pull-string in the middle of its back.

It has the sort of head with two faces, one of which is hidden by its hair. Rotate the head and the other face will be forward.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You pulthe pull-string
The doll intones: "Flee the mysterious machine! Wood remembers the old forest! Something large bespeaks overwhelming force!"
You pulthe pull-string
The doll intones: "Avoid the jeopardy of the support column! The edges are not truly parallel, the corners not truly right!"
You examine the Boiler
This is a vintage boiler that you'd guess would have been new in the early 1930s. It's bigger than a small automobile and certainly heavier. While it's clearly not operating at peak efficiency, it's perhaps surprising that it's operating at all and producing as much heat as is leaking out into this room, let alone the rest of the manor. It is producing an annoying hum.

The boiler is currently switched on.
You look at the pipes
The pipes to and from the boiler form a chaotic tangle that mostly obscures the ceiling. None are insulated and they radiate heat.
You examine the keypunch
(the keypunch)
Looking at it up close it is obviously a mechanical keypunch for the sorts of cards that used to be used for computers. There don't seem to be any computers around here, but you recall that punch cards were invented decades before the first digital computer and were used for other things. It is about four feet tall and appears to be handmade of some kind of heavy metal, with welding done with more enthusiasm than skill. It has a card slot in the middle in which to insert a card to be punched. It has a hex keypad underneath it that allows one to set eight digits of data. Currently it is set to 00000000. It has a handle on the right that can be pulled to make the punching happen.
You look at the column
This is a rough brick support column roughly a foot square running from floor to ceiling. There is a framed diagram of some sort mounted on it about five feet up, and a power outlet near the bottom.
You examine diagram
This diagram is framed and permanently mounted on the column. It roughly shows how the various components in this room need to be connected for the overall system to work, and it identifies each one.

The heavy keypunch near the doorway is purely mechanical. It doesn't need to be connected to anything.

The control panel on the table runs the whole system and needs to be both plugged into an outlet for power and connected to the large engine mechanism, which is apparently the overlay engine. The control panel has a slot for punch cards.

The overlay engine needs to be connected to the wardrobe, which is apparently called the faraday cage.

The big machine with the wooden casing is identified on the diagram as the dimensional stabilizer, and it also needs to be connected to the faraday cage.

The faraday cage needs to be plugged into an outlet for power.

While it labels these components and says which is connected to which, the diagram doesn't go into any more detail as to what the overall system is meant to do, but following its logic, connecting the control panel to the overlay engine, connecting the overlay engine to the faraday cage, connecting the dimensional stabilizer to the faraday cage, and then plugging both the faraday cage and control panel into the outlet ought to be enough to make it work.
You look at the cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. You seem to recall wound copper wire relating more to generators and electromagnets than faraday cages, so clearly this is not a typical model. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently unlit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables. There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it.
You examine the machine
(the dimensional stabilizer)
The dimensional stabilizer is about the size of a large trunk. Its wooden casing thoroughly hides whatever is going on inside, but it has a system receptacle near the bottom, a system cable hanging out of the space right next to it, and a activation toggle on the top near the front edge.

The dimensional stabilizer is currently switched off.
You examine the window
The window is shaped like a small crescent and provides you an obscured view inside the faraday cage.
You look at the table
(the heavy-duty table)
The heavy-duty table is made of the thick wood typically used for workbenches in bygone days. It has one drawer running its full length, and its surface is nearly covered by a control panel. The portion of the surface that is not covered has a list of some sort written on it.
You look at the list
It is a short list of steps to take prior to running the system. Apparently being reminded of these safety tips was important enough for someone to permanently write this checklist on the surface of the table. It's probably worth your time to read it.
You read it
The exact text of the checklist is as follows:

1. Ensure the system is properly connected.

2. Ensure the door is closed.

3. Plug in units that need electricity.

4. Insert desired card and turn on control panel.

5. Turn on dimensional stabilizer before opening door.

6. Check status lights before opening door.

7. Take any other precautions before opening door.
You look at control
(the control panel)
The control panel is a mechanism that appears to feature some of the best technology the early 1940s had to offer. An analog gauge labeled the "power readout" takes up much of the right hand side of the panel and has a needle hovering near 0 out of 100. A punch card slot (currently empty) sits on the left toward the bottom, with a round on/off button situated above it. A power cord and a system cable are in the back. Overall there is not a lot of room left on top of the table upon which it is resting (but there is a checklist there plus a drawer beneath).

The control panel is currently switched off.
You open it
You open the drawer, revealing the Journal of Edwin Cragne, a
C353F128 punch card, a 0B46E931 punch card, an AE9B711D punch card, a 00A02209 punch card and a blank punch card.
You get all from the drawer
Journal of Edwin Cragne: Taken.

C353F128 punch card: Taken.

0B46E931 punch card: Taken.

AE9B711D punch card: Taken.

00A02209 punch card: Taken.

blank punch card: Taken.

You have the strong feeling that you're being watched.
You look at Journal
Which do you mean, the Journal of Edwin Cragne, the moldy,
waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew) or the tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Edwin
This handwritten journal appears to cover a period from September 1939 to May 1943 in the life of Edwin Cragne, a self-styled scientist and inventor. It has a maroon cover and is densely packed with a tight, neat writing and sporadic equations. Portions of it appear to have been written with a particular reader in mind. Other portions appear to have been written only for himself and are in code. However, the parts that are not encoded seem to cover many of the devices in this boiler room, all of which Edwin Cragne apparently built himself. You could consult the journal about them.
You consult it about the cage
What I for simplicity call the Faraday cage is obviously far more than a Faraday cage. It is the space that is safely overlaid between realities. The effective environment within it is a mixture of the two overlaid spaces. I have mounted lights on it that indicate the level of safety of its interior environment. If the red light is lit, it is immediately deadly and the door should not even be opened. If the yellow light is lit, it is dangerous but some interaction is possible; the door can be opened but it may not be safe to enter. If it is green, the environment is safe, but there still may be other dangers. Be sure to take the other precautions. Also, never operate the system with the door open.
You consult it about stabilizer
The dimensional stabilizer is what makes it possible to safely enter and interact with the other reality pulled into the overlaid space. As I have repeatedly shown, without this breakthrough entering such a space is fatal to human life. Don't forget to switch it on., or it will be the last mistake you make.
You consult it about the keypunch
This is a simple mechanical keypunch for punching hex codes into punch cards. Insert the card, set the hex code, and pull the handle.

The heat in this room is starting to get to you.
You consult it about the control panel
The control panel operates the system. It targets the reality to be overlaid by means of a hex code provided on a punch card. Ensure everything is set up properly before turning it on, and turn it off before changing hex codes. If a card gets jammed in it, just keep trying to get it out; usually that will work.
You examine the shelf
The steel shelf is placed impractically high up on the wall above the table. You cannot tell if there is anything on it from here.
You examine the work light
(the fluorescent work light)
The work light is little more than an old fluorescent tube suspended among the pipes above the table. It has a pull string dangling down enabling it to be switched on or off.

The fluorescent work light is currently switched on.
You look at the painting
(the ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew))
The painting depicts a night scene: a headless man on a rearing black horse, holding a grinning jack-o-lantern under his arm.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You put the painting in the sp.
(the ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew) in the side pocket)
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You look at the painting
This painting is a portrait of a man who from a distance looks a little bit like John Quincy Adams, but far more obsessed and far less sane. He looks extremely fierce and more than a little bit scary. His wild eyes stare out straight ahead in a direct line to the window of the wardrobe, and seem to follow you as you move around.

You can't make out the artist's signature, but it is titled Edwin Cragne, dated 1938, and is fastened to the wall with a support
chain.
You examine Hole
(the hole in the floor)
This hole leads to a space below and is large enough to fit through. It's unclear what made it; if it were smaller one would think it were chewed through by rats.
You examine outlet
This is an old power outlet with space for old-fashioned two-prong plugs. You don't have a lot of confidence that it is properly grounded.
You climb the table
You get onto the heavy-duty table.
You examine the shelf
The steel shelf is placed impractically high up on the wall above the table.

On the steel shelf are three blank punch cards and a can of salt.
You get all from the shelf
blank punch card: Taken.

blank punch card: Taken.

blank punch card: Taken.

can of salt: Taken.
You stand
You get off the heavy-duty table.

Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown)
The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded.

As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a system diagram on it, and lashed to the column there is a faraday cage with a window on its door looking inside. Next to it is a an overlay engine, and behind it a a dimensional stabilizer. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by the control panel for the whole system. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the faraday cage there is a painting hanging from a chain.

It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer.
You examine the salt
It is an ordinary cylindrical container of salt. The label has a dark blue background with "salt" in big letters, and a warning that this salt does not supply iodine in small letters. There is a small opening in the top for pouring out some.
You consult Edwin about salt
(the Journal of Edwin Cragne about)
You don't find any reference to "salt" in the Journal of Edwin
Cragne.
You consult Edwin about the precautions
(the Journal of Edwin Cragne about)
It should go without saying that it is important to position an Elder Sign. I have one set up in the right spot that can be flipped as needed. I have also discovered that the ancient beliefs in using salt for purification and protection and removing evil (which we both know are bogus superstition) can help in certain circumstances, although not in the way superstitious idiots might suspect. I theorize that maybe its real use led to its current reputation, as even the means of application is the same. Just pour it on the floor. A circle of it around the Faraday cage will provide protection in some cases. I also set up a catch-all safety for if one accidentally burns up punch cards or other vital items in unsafe spaces, but of course this should never be needed.
You look at the card
Which do you mean, a blank punch card, the 00A02209 punch card, the AE9B711D punch card, the 0B46E931 punch card, the C353F128 punch card, the black business card (smelling faintly of mildew) or the employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)?
00a02209
It is a typical punch card, a thin piece of cardboard the size of a bank note from a bygone era. This one has the hex code 00A02209.
You look at the blank
It is a typical punch card, a thin piece of cardboard the size of a bank note from a bygone era. This one is blank.
You consult Edwin about 00a02209
(the Journal of Edwin Cragne about)
You don't find any reference to "00a02209" in the Journal of Edwin Cragne.
You connect the panel to the overlay
(the control panel system cable to the overlay engine receptacle)
The control panel system cable is plugged in to the overlay engine receptacle.
Per the system diagram, this looks correct.
You consult Edwin about the overlay
(the Journal of Edwin Cragne about)
You don't find any reference to "overlay" in the Journal of Edwin Cragne.
You consult Edwin about the overlay engine
(the Journal of Edwin Cragne about)
This wonder performs the actual joining of the two separate spaces in the one confined area of the Faraday Cage. When connected, it sucks power out of the very firmament of our reality. It is best not to leave it running for too long. I now take the precaution of unplugging everything when not in use.
You examine the overlay
(the overlay engine)
The overlay engine is a large piece of machinery that at first glance looks as though it could have been pulled out from under the hood of a semi-truck. A more detailed analysis shows that this similarity is cursory and it is really unlike any kind of engine you have ever seen prior. On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has a control panel system cable connected now) and there is a system cable dangling from the back of it.

You have the strangest feeling that Edwin Cragne's eyes in the painting are watching you.
You get painting
Its support chain is fastened to the wall. There is enough play in it though that you may be able to push it or pull it.
You flip it
You've turned Edwin Cragne to face the wall. The back of the painting is a sign featuring a large symbol that looks a bit like a tree branch angling up to the left.
You look at the symbol
This large sign contains a single symbol shaped a bit like an abstract tree branch angling up to the left. It contains no further explanation, and is fastened to the wall with a support chain.
You look up Elder Sign in Edwin
I have studied many different supposed "Elder Signs" and found that in practice most do not work. Only one has proven mostly effective, but there are still many things that do not respect it.
You connect the overlay cable to Cage
(the faraday cage receptacle)
The overlay engine system cable is plugged in to the faraday cage receptacle.
Per the system diagram, this looks correct.
You connect the stabilizer to Cage
(the faraday cage receptacle)
The dimensional stabilizer system cable is plugged in to the faraday cage receptacle.
Per the system diagram, this looks correct.
You connect the control to the outlet
(the control panel power cord to the power outlet)
The control panel power cord is plugged in and you hear a brief electrical noise as the control panel buzzes to life.
Based upon the diagram, this seems correct.
You connect Cage to the outlet
The faraday cage power cord is plugged in and the faraday cage comes to life with a whine pitched right at the edge of your hearing.
Based upon the diagram, this seems correct.
You look at the card
Which do you mean, a blank punch card, the 00A02209 punch card, the AE9B711D punch card, the 0B46E931 punch card, the C353F128 punch card, the black business card (smelling faintly of mildew) or the employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You put 00a02209 in the control
(the control panel)
You put the 00A02209 punch card into the control panel card slot.
You look at Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.
You turn on the stabilizer
(the dimensional stabilizer)
You switch the dimensional stabilizer on.
You examine the lights
The lights readout features three small bulbs: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit).
You pour the salt
What do you want to pour the can of salt onto?
Cage
(the faraday cage)
Putting things on the faraday cage would achieve nothing.
You pour the salt on the floor
You pour out some salt in a ring around the faraday cage.
You open Door
You open the faraday cage.
You enter Cage
(the faraday cage)
You get into the faraday cage.
You look around
Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown) (in the faraday cage)
The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded.

As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a system diagram on it, and lashed to the column there is a faraday cage with a window on its door looking inside. Next to it is a an overlay engine, and behind it a a dimensional stabilizer. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by the control panel for the whole system. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the faraday cage there is a sign hanging from a chain.

It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer.
You go outside
You get out of the faraday cage.

Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown)
The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded.

As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a system diagram on it, and lashed to the column there is a faraday cage with a window on its door looking inside. Next to it is a an overlay engine, and behind it a a dimensional stabilizer. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by the control panel for the whole system. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the faraday cage there is a sign hanging from a chain.

It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer.
You look at the list
It is a short list of steps to take prior to running the system. Apparently being reminded of these safety tips was important enough for someone to permanently write this checklist on the surface of the table.
You read the list
The exact text of the checklist is as follows:

1. Ensure the system is properly connected.

2. Ensure the door is closed.

3. Plug in units that need electricity.

4. Insert desired card and turn on control panel.

5. Turn on dimensional stabilizer before opening door.

6. Check status lights before opening door.

7. Take any other precautions before opening door.
You close Door
You close the faraday cage.
You turn on the panel
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout creeps up to around 100 out of 100. Something seems to be happening in the faraday cage.
You examine the lights
The lights readout features three small bulbs: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit).
You look in Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is empty.
You examine the window
The window is shaped like a small crescent and provides you an obscured view inside the faraday cage.

Through the window of the faraday cage - although it's clearly impossible - you can feel as much as see another reality. It looks like the interior floor of the faraday cage is now obscured by a thick foggy mist with only occasional glimpses showing what may be bog underneath. A too-small, too-blue sun bathes the landscape in an unwholesome light through a violet sky.

You could possibly see more inside by opening the door.
You open Door
A three-foot long limacine creature drops from the inside of the door as you open it, but recoils upon coming into contact with the salt and retreats back inside. It may not be a bad idea to close the door now that it's in there.
You look at Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the open door of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It looks like the interior floor of the faraday cage is now obscured by a thick foggy mist with only occasional glimpses showing what may be bog underneath. A too-small, too-blue sun bathes the landscape in an unwholesome light through a violet sky.

Within the overlaid space is a giant slug.
Examine slug
When you try to look at the slug, it bites you. Numbness overpowers you and before you realize what's happening, you're being devoured by a pack of slugs.
You examine the window
The window is shaped like a small crescent and provides you an obscured view inside the faraday cage.

Through the window of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It looks like the interior floor of the faraday cage is now obscured by a thick foggy mist with only occasional glimpses showing what may be bog underneath. A too-small, too-blue sun bathes the landscape in an unwholesome light through a violet sky.

You could possibly see more inside by opening the door.
You consult Edwin about the punch cards
You don't find any reference to "punch cards" in the Journal of
Edwin Cragne.
You read Edwin
I write this journal in part for you, brother, for although we have our Differences and disagree on methods, you are likely the only one to fully appreciate my Work and correspondingly the only one to further it should I perish in my efforts.

We both need to face Dangers and make sacrifices to seek the Truth. It is only through this Truth that the name of Cragne may be restored to its rightful glory and our proper place be returned.

As it has become clear that we are at War, the stakes have grown higher. While I can respect your conservatism during peacetime, it has no place now. Your restrictions to using livestock for experimentation are causing unacceptable delays in your progress, and make no mistake, if one of the farmers ever catches you making your parts collections or leaving behind the lifeless remains, they will look upon you no more kindly than they would look upon me for making use of vagrants that none shall miss. Your squeamishness serves no purpose and offers no advantage. It is time to be strong.

But I have made progress, even where you have stalled! The things I have seen! Mind-twisting realities you can only imagine! My System here works for a wide range of alien environments. I have successfully overlaid these other realities with our own in a controlled manner, and have freely entered many to make observations, collect samples, and even interact with natives. I have gazed upon the ancient city of Kadath across the plains of Leng; conversed with the fungi of Yuggoth; and found riches in dark Swamps heretofore unknown to any sentient life.

I have left a System Diagram showing how the system may be properly connected, and a Safety Checklist. I have also included brief descriptions of each component in this journal to get you started should you find me dead (or not find me at all). In addition, this volume contains a record of my travels and philosophy as described above, and it would behoove you to consult it.

(Be aware that anything left in the Faraday cage when a new reality is overlaid will appear in my junkroom [FFFFFFFF]. For reasons I have yet to determine, most objects maintain their molecular structure when so transported, but punch cards lose their holes and return to virgin status. As strange as this is, I must admit it's quite convenient.)

Finally, I have been seeking other like-minded Men of Power to assist us in our Work. There are others who have goals close enough to our own that we may profitably work together to make the most of this War and grant us all that which we deserve.
You consult Edwin about the leng
The hex code of 59D8FE74 takes one to the plains of Leng at a point where Kadath may be safely observed.
You consult Edwin about the hex codes
You don't find any reference to "hex codes" in the Journal of
Edwin Cragne.
You consult Edwin about the overlay engine
This wonder performs the actual joining of the two separate spaces in the one confined area of the Faraday Cage. When connected, it sucks power out of the very firmament of our reality. It is best not to leave it running for too long. I now take the precaution of unplugging everything when not in use.
You unplug the overlay
You unplug the overlay engine system cable.
You turn off the control
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout drops to 0 out of 100.
You look at Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently unlit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.
You open Cage
(the faraday cage)
You open the faraday cage.
You examine it
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently unlit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.
You examine the card
Which do you mean, the 00A02209 punch card, a blank punch card, the AE9B711D punch card, the 0B46E931 punch card, the C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), the black business card (smelling faintly of mildew) or the employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You consult Edwin about the slug
You don't find any reference to "slug" in the Journal of Edwin
Cragne.
You plug in the overlay
What do you want to plug in the overlay engine system cable to?
Outlet
Only two-prong plugs can fit in this outlet.
You connect the overlay to Cage
(the faraday cage receptacle)
The overlay engine system cable is plugged in to the faraday cage receptacle.
Per the system diagram, this looks correct.
You put ae9b711d in the control
(the control panel)
You put the AE9B711D punch card into the control panel card slot.
You look at stabilizer
(the dimensional stabilizer)
The dimensional stabilizer is about the size of a large trunk. Its wooden casing thoroughly hides whatever is going on inside, but it has a system receptacle near the bottom, a system cable in the space right next to it connected to the faraday cage receptacle, and a activation toggle on the top near the front edge.

The dimensional stabilizer is currently switched on.
You turn on the control
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout creeps up to around 100 out of 100.

You should have been more careful and followed the safety checklist, but you don't have time to consider that now as a wave of gravitational energy swept out the faraday cage door killing you instantly (and likely doing a great deal of damage to the immediate area).
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the window of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It looks like the interior floor of the faraday cage is now stagnant water and the space beyond the now translucent walls is filled with decaying trees and other unhealthy plant life. The sky glows in an eerie maroon that not even an abstract painter lost in madness would deign to paint it.

You could possibly see more inside by opening the door.
You open Door
An eldritch mass of tentacles and teeth swings down through the door at you from somewhere!
Inexplicably something seems to drive it back inside before it can reach you. It may not be a bad idea to close the door now that it's back in there.
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the open door of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It looks like the interior floor of the faraday cage is now stagnant water and the space beyond the now translucent walls is filled with decaying trees and other unhealthy plant life. The sky glows in an eerie maroon that not even an abstract painter lost in madness would deign to paint it.

Within the overlaid space is a tentacled creature.
You look at the creature
(the tentacled creature)
The tentacled horror grabs you and pulls you down below the surface of the swamp. You don't get the chance to drown before it eats you.
You put 0b46e931
(in the keypunch)
You put the 0B46E931 punch card into the keypunch card slot.
You put 0b46e931 in the control
(the control panel)
You put the 0B46E931 punch card into the control panel card slot.
You turn on the panel
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout creeps up to around 100 out of 100. Something seems to be happening in the faraday cage.
You look at Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the window of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It is a desert landscape with a pyramid in the distance that looks neither Central American nor Egyptian, but rather something unwholesome and inhuman. A doorway in it opens out into a cramped plaza decorated with obscene snake statuary, and heat shimmers mostly obscure the inner walls of the faraday cage.

You could possibly see more inside by opening the door.
You open Door
You open the faraday cage.
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the open door of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It is a desert landscape with a pyramid in the distance that looks neither Central American nor Egyptian, but rather something unwholesome and inhuman. A doorway in it opens out into a cramped plaza decorated with obscene snake statuary, and heat shimmers mostly obscure the inner walls of the faraday cage.
You enter Cage
(the faraday cage)
Your stomach lurches as you enter an area where two separate realities seem to be somehow coexisting in the same space. It makes you lose all sense of direction.

It is a desert landscape with a pyramid in the distance that looks neither Central American nor Egyptian, but rather something unwholesome and inhuman. A doorway in it opens out into a cramped plaza decorated with obscene snake statuary, and heat shimmers mostly obscure the inner walls of the faraday cage.

Some sort of bipedal lizard emerges from the pyramid. It sees you and hisses something that sounds like "Minu‽ Lukur kasadu! Dakusu!"

The lizard man picks up a handful of javelins.
You examine the lizard
Before you get the chance the lizard man hurls a javelin, striking you in the chest.
Go outside
You feel transiently disoriented as you exit out of the weird overlaid space within the faraday cage.

Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown)
The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded.

As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a system diagram on it, and lashed to the column there is a faraday cage with a window on its door looking inside. Next to it is a an overlay engine, and behind it a a dimensional stabilizer. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by the control panel for the whole system. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the faraday cage there is a sign hanging from a chain.

It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer.
You close Door
You close the faraday cage.
You unplug the overlay
You unplug the overlay engine system cable.
You turn off the control
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout drops to 0 out of 100.
You close Door
That's already closed.

You gag a little from the dust.
You put c353f128 in the control
(the control panel)
You put the C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew) into the control panel card slot.
You turn on the panel
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout creeps up to around 100 out of 100. Something seems to be happening in the faraday cage.

You can feel the sweat dripping off you.
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently unlit), a yellow bulb (currently lit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the window of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It is like looking onto a stark rocky plain with a cloudless twilight sky above. In the distance beyond the translucent inner walls of the faraday cage you can see some mountains and craters. It's a perplexing view, as the horizon seems too close and the sharpness of vision does not seem to drop off like you'd expect.

You could possibly see more inside by opening the door.
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently unlit), a yellow bulb (currently lit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the open door of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It is like looking onto a stark rocky plain with a cloudless twilight sky above. In the distance beyond the translucent inner walls of the faraday cage you can see some mountains and craters. It's a perplexing view, as the horizon seems too close and the sharpness of vision does not seem to drop off like you'd expect.
You enter Cage
(the faraday cage)
Your stomach lurches as you enter an area where two separate realities seem to be somehow coexisting in the same space. It makes you lose all sense of direction.

Although the faraday cage somehow seems to protect everything outside it from the raw vacuum in this environment, it apparently can't protect someone who directly enters it. You have an extremely unpleasant final few minutes.
You consult Edwin about the yuggoth
The hex code of 923647F1 takes one to the frozen world of Yuggoth in a place where one may converse with the fungi. They are knowledgeable on many matters, and have offered to take me on a trip to visit many wonders. I hope one day to witness one of the rare fungal blooms of Yuggoth.
You look at Edwin
This handwritten journal appears to cover a period from September 1939 to May 1943 in the life of Edwin Cragne, a self-styled scientist and inventor. It has a maroon cover and is densely packed with a tight, neat writing and sporadic equations. Portions of it appear to have been written for Edwin Cragne's brother. Other portions appear to have been written only for himself and are in code. However, the parts that are not encoded seem to cover many of the devices in this boiler room, all of which Edwin Cragne apparently built himself. You could consult the journal about them.
You consult Edwin about War
This new War has the potential to surpass even the Great War, and the ordinary people still have no idea what is really happening in Europe. And they criticize us!
You consult Edwin about Men of the Power
The Illuminati are real and nearby, in spite of Vernon Stauffer's assertion to the contrary. He uncovered the evidence of the truth and missed it even as he wrote of it. I have placed his work in my secret cache where I keep my greatest treasures.
You consult Edwin about the secret cache
It is in an overlaid reality of course. I won't write out the hex code plainly here, but know brother that your methods of experimentation inspired my choice of it. How felicitous that your inanimate cow flesh could be thus translated!
You get c353f128
(the C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew))
Taken.
You put the blank in the keypunch
(the keypunch)
You put the blank punch card into the keypunch card slot.
You examine the keypunch
(the keypunch)
Looking at it up close it is obviously a mechanical keypunch for punch cards. It is about four feet tall and appears to be handmade of some kind of heavy metal, with welding done with more enthusiasm than skill. It has a card slot in the middle in which to insert a card to be punched. It has a hex keypad underneath it that allows one to set eight digits of data. Currently it is set to 00000000. It has a handle on the right that can be pulled to make the punching happen.

There is a blank punch card in the keypunch card slot.
You set the keypunch to 923647f1
(the keypunch to)
You have successfully changed the card punch setting to 923647F1.
You pull the handle
The card gets punched. Its new code is "923647F1".
You look at Door
The faraday cage door has a small window in it and is currently closed.
You examine the panel
(the control panel)
The control panel is a mechanism that appears to feature some of the best technology the early 1940s had to offer. An analog gauge labeled the "power readout" takes up much of the right hand side of the panel and has a needle hovering near 100 out of 100. A punch card slot (currently empty) sits on the left toward the bottom, with a round on/off button situated above it. A power cord (plugged into the outlet) and a system cable (connected to the overlay engine receptacle) are in the back. Overall there is not a lot of room left on top of the table upon which it is resting (but there is a checklist there plus a drawer beneath).

The control panel is currently switched on.
You turn off panel
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout drops to 0 out of 100.
The faraday cage goes back to normal.
You connect overlay to Cage
(the faraday cage)
(first taking the overlay engine system cable)
That seems to be a part of the overlay engine.
You put 923647f1 in the panel
(the control panel card slot)
(first taking the 923647F1 punch card)
You put the 923647F1 punch card into the control panel card slot.
You turn on the panel
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout creeps up to around 100 out of 100.

You should have been more careful and followed the safety checklist, but you don't have time to consider that now as a wave of gravitational energy swept out the faraday cage door killing you instantly (and likely doing a great deal of damage to the immediate area).
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.
You close Door
You close the faraday cage.
You look at Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently unlit), a yellow bulb (currently lit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the window of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It is a dark landscape, with some dim light coming from something beyond a star but not quite a sun hanging in the sky. Its light is not enough to blot out the ordinary stars, and a dark misshapen moon is noticeable only because it is a different shade of dark from the rest of the firmament. The land is mountainous with icy formations sparkling in the limited illumination available. Some kind of strange winged crab-like creature appears to be flying in the distance.

You could possibly see more inside by opening the door.
You open Door
You open the faraday cage.
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently unlit), a yellow bulb (currently lit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the open door of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. It is a dark landscape, with some dim light coming from something beyond a star but not quite a sun hanging in the sky. Its light is not enough to blot out the ordinary stars, and a dark misshapen moon is noticeable only because it is a different shade of dark from the rest of the firmament. The land is mountainous with icy formations sparkling in the limited illumination available. A pink winged creature peers out from behind some rocks, giving you a glimpse of an orb-like head.
You enter Cage
(the faraday cage)
Your stomach lurches as you enter an area where two separate realities seem to be somehow coexisting in the same space. It makes you lose all sense of direction.

Although the faraday cage somehow seems to protect everything outside it from the deadly cold and poisonous atmosphere of this environment, it apparently can't protect someone who directly enters it. The strange creatures of this land watch with dispassionate interest as you quickly die.
You set the keypunch to the ffffffff
(the keypunch to)
You have successfully changed the card punch setting to FFFFFFFF.
You pull the handle
The card gets punched. Its new code is "FFFFFFFF".
The card now seems to be very flimsy; it may no longer be safe to use.
You put the ffffffff in the panel
(the control panel card slot)
You put the FFFFFFFF punch card into the control panel card slot.
You look at Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the window of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. Now it looks like the interior of a sparsely-furnished log cabin with the translucent outlines of the inner walls of the faraday cage where there ought to be solid normal walls.

You could possibly see more inside by opening the door.
You open Door
You open the faraday cage.
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the open door of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. Now it looks like the interior of a sparsely-furnished log cabin with the translucent outlines of the inner walls of the faraday cage where there ought to be solid normal walls.
You enter Cage
(the faraday cage)
Your stomach lurches as you enter an area where two separate realities seem to be somehow coexisting in the same space. It makes you lose all sense of direction.

Now it looks like the interior of a sparsely-furnished log cabin with the translucent outlines of the inner walls of the faraday cage where there ought to be solid normal walls.
You look at the card
Which do you mean, the 923647F1 punch card, the C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), the 0B46E931 punch card, the AE9B711D punch card, the 00A02209 punch card, a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), the black business card (smelling faintly of mildew) or the employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You look at the blank
It is a typical punch card, a thin piece of cardboard the size of a bank note from a bygone era. This one is blank.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You put
(on the piece of chalk)
You can't wear that!
Go outside
You feel transiently disoriented as you exit out of the weird overlaid space within the faraday cage.

Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown)
The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded.

As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a system diagram on it, and lashed to the column there is a faraday cage with a window on its door looking inside. Next to it is a an overlay engine, and behind it a a dimensional stabilizer. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by the control panel for the whole system. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the faraday cage there is a sign hanging from a chain.

It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer.
You close Door
You close the faraday cage.
You turn off panel
(the control panel)
The needle on the power readout drops to 0 out of 100.
The faraday cage goes back to normal.
You get FFFFFFFF
Taken.

You can feel the sweat dripping off you.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a FFFFFFFF punch card
a 923647F1 punch card
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card
an AE9B711D punch card
a 00A02209 punch card
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
two blank punch cards
the Journal of Edwin Cragne
The Seven Gaunts
a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a sinister iron key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
(smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling
faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open)
an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You look up the cow in Edwin
You don't find any reference to "cow" in the Journal of Edwin
Cragne.
You consult Edwin about the secret cache
It is in an overlaid reality of course. I won't write out the hex code plainly here, but know brother that your methods of experimentation inspired my choice of it. How felicitous that your inanimate cow flesh could be thus translated!
You put the blank in the keypunch
(the keypunch)
You put the blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew) into the keypunch card slot.
You set the keypunch to the DEADBEEF
(the keypunch to)
You have successfully changed the card punch setting to DEADBEEF.
You pull the handle
The card gets punched. Its new code is "DEADBEEF".
You close Door
That's already closed.
You examine the panel
(the control panel)
The control panel is a mechanism that appears to feature some of the best technology the early 1940s had to offer. An analog gauge labeled the "power readout" takes up much of the right hand side of the panel and has a needle hovering near 100 out of 100. A punch card slot (currently empty) sits on the left toward the bottom, with a round on/off button situated above it. A power cord (plugged into the outlet) and a system cable (connected to the overlay engine receptacle) are in the back. Overall there is not a lot of room left on top of the table upon which it is resting (but there is a checklist there plus a drawer beneath).

The control panel is currently switched off.
You put the DEADBEEF in the panel
(the control panel card slot)
You put the DEADBEEF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew) into the control panel card slot.
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now closed, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the window of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. Now it looks as though there is a completely different room within the bounds of the faraday cage, or actually beyond its bounds as you can see the translucent outlines of its inner walls where there ought to be solid normal walls. It looks far more pleasant than the boiler room.

You could possibly see more inside by opening the door.
You examine Cage
(the faraday cage)
The faraday cage is about seven feet tall and perhaps four feet wide. Its door has a crescent-shaped window in it that enables you to somewhat see inside it, even when the door is closed. It's wrapped (as best as possible while still allowing the door, which is now open, to work) with tightly-wound copper wire. A row of three lights is arranged across the top above the door: a green bulb (currently lit), a yellow bulb (currently unlit), and a red bulb (currently unlit). On the bottom there is a receptacle for cables (it has an overlay engine system cable and a dimensional stabilizer system cable connected now). There is also a power cord dangling from the back of it that is plugged into the outlet.

A line of salt on the floor encircles the faraday cage.

Through the open door of the faraday cage you can feel as much as see another reality. Now it looks as though there is a completely different room within the bounds of the faraday cage, or actually beyond its bounds as you can see the translucent outlines of its inner walls where there ought to be solid normal walls. It looks far more pleasant than the boiler room.

Within the overlaid space is a marble end table (on which are a book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati and a golden apple).
You enter Cage
(the faraday cage)
Your stomach lurches as you enter an area where two separate realities seem to be somehow coexisting in the same space. It makes you lose all sense of direction.

Now it looks as though there is a completely different room within the bounds of the faraday cage, or actually beyond its bounds as you can see the translucent outlines of its inner walls where there ought to be solid normal walls. It looks far more pleasant than the boiler room.

In the overlaid space you can see a marble end table (on which are a book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati and a golden
apple).
You get all from the table
book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati: Taken.

golden apple: Taken.
You look at New England
A nearly featureless hardcover book with a midnight blue cover, one has to squint to make out the faded title book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati on the front. It's printed much more clearly inside the cover, above the the insignia of the Backwater Public Library. Curiously the Backwater Public Library claim was stamped over an earlier message: "This book is the property of the Saugus Public Library". This history book has apparently had something of a history of its own. It was written by Vernon Stauffer, A.M., Dean and Professor of New Testament and Church History, Hiram College, in 1918.
You read it
... Indeed, when a noted Philadelphia minister of the day, the Reverend Ashbel Green, visited New England in 1791, he found an aptitude for polemical discussion on the part of the clergy which impressed him as most extraordinary. Through his contact with the Boston Ministerial Association he encountered "Calvinists, Universalists, Arminians, Arians," and at least one "Socinian," all participating in pleasant social intercourse, despite their radical differences of religious opinion...
You read it
... The Federalist leaders by their precipitate and inconsiderate action had very much overshot the mark and were about to bring their house tumbling down about their heads. As for the opposition, those of its leaders whose highest political interest was party advantage lived to bless the day when, blinded by hysteria or lust of power, the Federalist party made the alien and sedition acts the law of the land...
You read it
... Alexander Hamilton left among his manuscripts certain comments which he had made upon the character and import of the French Revolution. Before we turn to consider the European Illuminati and the outcry against its alleged presence in the United States, we may, by perusing this document, throw a little added light upon the gnawings of anxiety and fear which were felt at the time by very rational gentlemen in America...
You look at the apple
This is an apple made from a beautiful yellow metal. It has the inscription "τῇ καλλίστῃ" subtly engraved into its side. It
is so
shiny you can almost see your reflection in it.
You look at your surroundings
Now it looks as though there is a completely different room within the bounds of the faraday cage, or actually beyond its bounds as you can see the translucent outlines of its inner walls where there ought to be solid normal walls. It looks far more pleasant than the boiler room.

In the overlaid space you can see a marble end table.
Go outside
You feel transiently disoriented as you exit out of the weird overlaid space within the faraday cage.

Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown)
The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded.

As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a system diagram on it, and lashed to the column there is a faraday cage with a window on its door looking inside. Next to it is a an overlay engine, and behind it a a dimensional stabilizer. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by the control panel for the whole system. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the faraday cage there is a sign hanging from a chain.

It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You destroy the overlay
(the overlay engine)
Violence isn't the answer to this one.
You turn off the stabilizer
(the dimensional stabilizer)
You switch the dimensional stabilizer off.
You read Edwin
I write this journal in part for you, brother, for although we have our Differences and disagree on methods, you are likely the only one to fully appreciate my Work and correspondingly the only one to further it should I perish in my efforts.

We both need to face Dangers and make sacrifices to seek the Truth. It is only through this Truth that the name of Cragne may be restored to its rightful glory and our proper place be returned.

As it has become clear that we are at War, the stakes have grown higher. While I can respect your conservatism during peacetime, it has no place now. Your restrictions to using livestock for experimentation are causing unacceptable delays in your progress, and make no mistake, if one of the farmers ever catches you making your parts collections or leaving behind the lifeless remains, they will look upon you no more kindly than they would look upon me for making use of vagrants that none shall miss. Your squeamishness serves no purpose and offers no advantage. It is time to be strong.

But I have made progress, even where you have stalled! The things I have seen! Mind-twisting realities you can only imagine! My System here works for a wide range of alien environments. I have successfully overlaid these other realities with our own in a controlled manner, and have freely entered many to make observations, collect samples, and even interact with natives. I have gazed upon the ancient city of Kadath across the plains of Leng; conversed with the fungi of Yuggoth; and found riches in dark Swamps heretofore unknown to any sentient life.

I have left a System Diagram showing how the system may be properly connected, and a Safety Checklist. I have also included brief descriptions of each component in this journal to get you started should you find me dead (or not find me at all). In addition, this volume contains a record of my travels and philosophy as described above, and it would behoove you to consult it.

(Be aware that anything left in the Faraday cage when a new reality is overlaid will appear in my junkroom [FFFFFFFF]. For reasons I have yet to determine, most objects maintain their molecular structure when so transported, but punch cards lose their holes and return to virgin status. As strange as this is, I must admit it's quite convenient.)

Finally, I have been seeking other like-minded Men of Power to assist us in our Work. There are others who have goals close enough to our own that we may profitably work together to make the most of this War and grant us all that which we deserve.

You can feel the sweat dripping off you.
You consult Edwin about the kadath
The hex code of 59D8FE74 takes one to the plains of Leng at a point where Kadath may be safely observed.
You consult Edwin about the elder gods
You don't find any reference to "elder gods" in the Journal of
Edwin Cragne.
You consult Edwin about Cthulhu
I have located sunken R'lyeh where Cthulhu lies dreaming. It is not safe to enter there, but it may be observed using a hex code of 880A5D23.
You consult Edwin about the ialdabaoloth
You don't find any reference to "ialdabaoloth" in the Journal of
Edwin Cragne.
You consult Edwin about Vaadignephod
You don't find any reference to "vaadignephod" in the Journal of
Edwin Cragne.
Go downward
Something tells you that Edwin Cragne really would not want you to take his secrets out of this room and that you really ought to leave the journal in the boiler room.

Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
About yourself
You look at your hands, stained ruddy orange by the rust clinging to the ladder rungs. You attempt to wipe them clean on your clothes. It makes virtually no difference.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the green door! Green is the color of poison and untamed growth!"
You look at Door
The green door leads southwest.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the risk of the uneven stone floor! Dampness is the breeding ground of festering things! Water represents a thirst that cannot be assuaged!"
You examine the floor
The floor is wet and uneven, with water pooling in the lower spots. If it were not so rough you would be fearful of slipping.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Avoid the green door! A door indicates passage out of life! A door bespeaks passage out of life!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the plague of the thing that isn't here!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the threat of the rusting iron ladder!"
You examine the ladder
The rungs of the ladder are coated in ancient rust.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Shun the curving brick walls!"
You examine Walls
The brickwork has been laid with care, but it is crumbling from exposure to the all-consuming damp. Blankets of cobweb, thick with dust, lie across the hollows in the mortar. You see nothing of interest and are not inclined to take a closer look.
You go southwest
This tunnel bends to the northeast. The walls shimmer slightly, gently undulating in the spectral darkness. To the west, set into the wall, almost invisible in the mortal dimness, is an antediluvian door. Daylight and a slight breeze wafts down some non-euclidean steps that lead up.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a horse in mid-gallop. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at Door
Featureless except for a faint rune scratched into its center, this antediluvian door almost disappears into the surrounding wall. Underneath the rune is a keyhole. Strangely enough, the door's obsidian surface doesn't match the tunnel walls.
You examine the rune
Two crescents, back to back, centered above an eye faintly scratched into the door's surface (probably with someone's dying breath).
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Beware the walls! Water signifies a thirst that cannot be assuaged!"
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Flee the threat of the wjtm-rune! To see something above you suggests that you need to set your goals higher! Eyes signify surveillance!"
You examine Walls
Looking closer, you see that the shimmering walls are a byproduct of water seeping through the bedrock from the river above.
You pull the string
The doll intones: "Guard against the omen of the thing that isn't here!"
You pull string
The doll intones: "Flee the peril of the antediluvian door! Dimness or faintness symbolises a lack of conviction!"
You pull string
The doll intones: "Beware the omen of the antediluvian door! A door indicates passage out of life!"
Ascend
Courtyard (Finn Rosenloev)
As you walk cross the square courtyard, you are repeatedly twisting your legs, and you cannot help but wonder how many broken legs these cobblestones have caused over time.

A beautifully decorated well built by blocks of granite dominates the courtyard. Opposite it, to the east, is the entrance to the curiosity store.

To the north, a high portal, the only apparent exit from the courtyard, is blocked by a heavy metal portcullis. Not too far from the well is the way down to the tunnel.

Above you, two guard towers rise majestically on either side of the drawbridge, and a parapet connects them so that soldiers of those days were able to quickly move from one side to the other.

You can't help but feel that the castle is watching you with expressionless eyes through the empty windows.
You examine well
The well is built on a base of white marble, and although the marble is cracked and broken in places, it has preserved its former beauty.

In silence you admire the craftsmanship that has gone into building this well. The stones are so well adapted that there is no gap between them.

Mounted on top of the well is a small roof raised on two wooden columns, covering the hoist mechanism.
You examine the hoist
The mechanism is nothing more than a wooden cylinder operated by a handle. There's no rope or bucket around to raise any water with.

In the hoist mechanism is a winch handle.
You pull the handle
You turn the handle, but it rattles in the wooden drum without making it turn around. Useless.
You look at the portal
This is the entrance (or exit) to or from the courtyard. People used to walk in or out through the impressive arch, but the portcullis makes that impossible.

A niche has been built into the side of the portal, and in it is a statue of a knight in full armor: a symbolic guard of the old gate.
You look at the statue
He stands tall in his niche, one hand on his sword, the other reached out with fingers clawed, as if he is holding on to some sort of handle.

Although marked by the teeth of time and weather, he is still an incredible piece of art
You put the handle in Hand
Gently, you place the winch in the hand of the knight. It fits perfectly.
You pull the handle
As you pull the winch, you hear a faint click, and a light tremor goes through the statue.
You examine the statue
You've broken it!!—Nah, not really. But something has changed. The knight's head has risen almost an inch from his shoulders. It looks a bit like a screw that hasn't been screwed all the way in.
You examine the Head
Which do you mean, the knight, the mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) or the pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Knight
Grabbing the knight's head with both hands, you manage to rotate it a little. A crunching sound is heard, and a crack becomes visible in the wall behind the statue.
You examine the crack
The wall behind the knight has a small crack in it.
You put the handle in the crack
(first taking the winch handle)
The winch handle is held snugly in the knight's grip.
Go north
You maneuver behind the knight and enter the secret passage.

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You go to the south
Courtyard (Finn Rosenloev)
As you walk cross the square courtyard, you are repeatedly twisting your legs, and you cannot help but wonder how many broken legs these cobblestones have caused over time.

A beautifully decorated well built by blocks of granite dominates the courtyard. Opposite it, to the east, is the entrance to the curiosity store.

To the north, a secret passage is hidden in the niche near the barred gate. Not too far from the well is the way down to the tunnel.

Above you, two guard towers rise majestically on either side of the drawbridge, and a parapet connects them so that soldiers of those days were able to quickly move from one side to the other.

You can't help but feel that the castle is watching you with expressionless eyes through the empty windows.
You examine the castle
The windows are empty.
Go east
Curiosity Shop (Rachel Spitler)
A mingling of comfortable scents welcomes you to the small shop -- coffee, apples, cedar, soap, peppercorn -- and below it, just a hint of something metallic you can't quite recognize. The large windows behind you cast a dappled sort of light over the rug-strewn floors, the cheerful back counter with its display case underneath, the walls crowded with goods for sale. The courtyard lies back out to the west.

A woman is bustling about behind the counter.
About yourself
It's you!
You look at the coffee
(the smell)
You can't seem to find where the scent is coming from. On the air, you catch a whiff of Jessenia's shampoo. Smells nice.
You examine the styrofoam
The swirls in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the windows
The courtyard waits outside.
You look at the counter
The cash register and phone are surrounded by jars of bright-colored rock candy, cinnamon sticks, and other small goodies. A notepad, dark with ink, is pushed off to one side. Underneath the counter, a glass display case prominently features a beat-up violin, a geode, and an elegant tarot deck.
You examine the violin
It looks pretty beat-up to you. Still, there's a sort of sad dignity in its dark curves. The strings almost seem to vibrate of their own accord, as if aching to be played.
You examine geode
A concave riot of gorgeous purple crystals -- orderly yet chaotic, playful yet disciplined, a handspan across and more than you can hold in your mind.
You examine tarot
The exquisite deck of cards is nestled in velvet and protected by a shiny wooden box. The top card is turned perpendicular to the rest to more clearly display its minutely-detailed artwork. The letters
XV are inscribed between the wings of a cavorting Devil.
Great black brows meet in a sadistic V over his laughing visage, but the man and woman chained at his feet seem not so much frightened as exhausted. The entire tableau is supported on a platform of some 80 tiny human figures, painstakingly rendered.
You examine the woman
The shopkeeper is a tall, dark-haired woman with glowing brown skin -- metaphorically glowing -- about half a generation older than you. She speaks with a slight Spanish accent and wears a plain canvas apron over a dark blue blouse and jeans. A small amulet rests over her heart. Although she's keeping very busy, she beams whenever you catch her eye, and it seems to come naturally.

At the moment, Jessenia is taking inventory.
You examine the amulet
(the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew))
It's a tarnished silver pendant, about the size of your thumb, on a leather cord. The pendant is shaped like an open hand. It's been damaged - a deep groove, like a chisel mark, cuts across the palm, nearly breaking the pendant in half.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the jessenia's amulet
A tiny silver hand with a triangle on its palm, oddly cute, peaceful. It hangs on a thin, mismatched-looking metal chain.
You examine the notepad
When Jessenia's back is turned, you lean over and discern a list of odd phrases in tidy handwriting, some struck through. The first line catches your eye: Ghana Dive Pod
Continue
You take another peek. A line catches your eye: VIP Hogan Dead
You keep going
You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Ova-Handed Pig
Continue
You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Vapid Hag Node
You talk to Jessenia
You say hello to Jessenia.
You ask Jessenia about the tarot
"Those were mailed here anonymously not long ago," says Jessenia reverently. "They're handmade. I'm not even sure what the material is -- it feels like thin slices of ivory. There's real power in a work of art like that -- someone's time, all their attention, the touch of their hands, even before you get to the beauty of it. I wish I knew who made them."
You ask Jessenia about the geode
"Nice, isn't it?" beams the proprietor. "I traded a beautiful old tea set for that."
You ask Jessenia about the violin
"I found that under some junk in the back office," says Jessenia. "Strange, eh? I don't play a note, but I'm told it's in very good condition for being so old and so neglected."
You examine the register
The cash register and phone are surrounded by jars of bright-colored rock candy, cinnamon sticks, and other small goodies. A notepad, dark with ink, is pushed off to one side. Underneath the counter, a glass display case prominently features a beat-up violin, a geode, and an elegant tarot deck.
You ask Jessenia about the amulet
(the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew))
Jessenia gamely admires your broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew).
You examine goods
The shelves dominating the north and south walls are all but overflowing with items, useful or delicious or at least interesting. There's no order to them as far as you can tell: spoons, jugs, bottles, sachets of spices, bolts of cloth, barrels of apples, sacks of flour and sugar, knives, ribbons, straw hats, garden trowels, brooms, mouse traps, paints, wooden boxes of tea, heaps of hand-dipped candles. You don't see a brand name anywhere. It all seems charmingly old-fashioned and homely. At first. But...

As you look more closely, you start to notice peculiar things scattered among the household goods. A stack of small cast-iron cauldrons; several rolls of thick parchment as tall as your waist. Substances with confounding labels sit innocently together in a wooden rack. Above the display, a line of fearsome masks leer down on you. One shelf holds an assortment of animal skulls, paws, furs, tusks, antlers, feathers; a tiny curtain is drawn across a display of glass jars, but you catch a glimpse of lumpy red that turns your stomach. Cards are sold in packs of 79, but all of them seem to be blank. Crystals of every description stand in bunches among the household tools. It's all rather overwhelming.
You ask Jessenia about her amulet
(the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew))
Jessenia wrinkles up her nose at your broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew).
You ask Jessenia about the jessenia's amulet
She shyly covers the amulet with her fingers. "Just a superstitious bauble," she says. "A... humble charm against evil."
You ask Jessenia about Jessenia
"Me? Oh, not much to tell," laughs Jessenia. She seems like a nice lady, but she's not a very good liar. She does go on to explain that she's only been in Backwater for a few years, but dances away from the subject of why she came here.
You ask Jessenia about the Shop
You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite.
You ask Jessenia about Peter
Which do you mean, the djr-fake-peter, Peter or book items?
You ask Jessenia about Vaadignephod
Which do you mean, manifold or Vaadignephod?
You ask Jessenia about notepad
(the notepad)
You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite.
You ask Jessenia about goods
"Anything in particular you'd like to know about?" she asks brightly.
You ask Jessenia about the parchment
"Some of those already have writing on them," Jessenia warns brightly. "You can try your luck, but I can't promise it'll say anything you want to read."
You ask Jessenia about the masks
Jessenia's salesman cheer seems to slip a bit as she flicks a glance at the masks. "They came as a set," she says. "There used to be seven, but when I noticed they had ten horns between them..." She makes an embarrassed gesture and turns away.
You ask Jessenia about the cauldrons
Jessenia laughs. "I don't even know what people do with those. Teenage girls buy a lot of them, together with candles and crystals."
You ask Jessenia about the crystals
"Something for everybody!" says Jessenia amiably. "Love, healing, clarity, courage, luck. Some maybe less wholesome, but only for study. And of course, they're beautiful, too!"
You ask Jessenia about the candles
Which do you mean, the generic goods, the first candle or the second candle?
You look at Key
Which do you mean, the Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew), the splintery wooden key, the ornate bronze key, the sinister iron key, the frosty blue key, the intricately folded origami key, the silver and ivory key or the key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You look at the jar of the keys
The label on this musty jar indicates that it's meant to store old keys. You'll have to open it up to see what's in there.

In the jar of old keys are a splintery wooden key, an ornate bronze key, a sinister iron key, a frosty blue key, an intricately folded origami key and a silver and ivory key.
You look at your surroundings
Curiosity Shop (Rachel Spitler)
A mingling of comfortable scents welcomes you to the small shop -- coffee, apples, cedar, soap, peppercorn -- and below it, just a hint of something metallic you can't quite recognize. The large windows behind you cast a dappled sort of light over the rug-strewn floors, the cheerful back counter with its display case underneath, the walls crowded with goods for sale. The courtyard lies back out to the west.

Jessenia might have been watching you, but just glanced away.
You examine the wares
The shelves dominating the north and south walls are all but overflowing with items, useful or delicious or at least interesting. There's no order to them as far as you can tell: spoons, jugs, bottles, sachets of spices, bolts of cloth, barrels of apples, sacks of flour and sugar, knives, ribbons, straw hats, garden trowels, brooms, mouse traps, paints, wooden boxes of tea, heaps of hand-dipped candles. You don't see a brand name anywhere. It all seems charmingly old-fashioned and homely. At first. But...

As you look more closely, you start to notice peculiar things scattered among the household goods. A stack of small cast-iron cauldrons; several rolls of thick parchment as tall as your waist. Substances with confounding labels sit innocently together in a wooden rack. Above the display, a line of fearsome masks leer down on you. One shelf holds an assortment of animal skulls, paws, furs, tusks, antlers, feathers; a tiny curtain is drawn across a display of glass jars, but you catch a glimpse of lumpy red that turns your stomach. Cards are sold in packs of 79, but all of them seem to be blank. Crystals of every description stand in bunches among the household tools. It's all rather overwhelming.
You ask Jessenia about the skulls
(the bird bones)
You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite.
You ask Jessenia about the tusks
"I have a friend who's a trapper," says Jessenia, and leaves it at that.
You ask Jessenia about the glass jars
(the dusty glass jars)
You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite.
You ask Jessenia about the trolley
Which do you mean, the trolley pass, the trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew) or the proposed trolley system map?
Go north
You maneuver behind the knight and enter the secret passage.

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You wait for the brown Line
You sit on the memorial bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the brown line. Within moments, a phantom trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 12:10 am; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Brown Line -- Train Station.

You shiver for no reason at all, as if someone has just walked over your grave.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a Viking longboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go south
To the north is the gigantic windowless bulk of the train station. Perhaps that is unsurprising, given the rest of the town. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine.
You go to the south
You pass over the bridge. The ravine has become a white river, teeming with creatures: you see a fin, a gill, a plaintive upturned face, before each is swept away.

It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)
You wear the mask
You're already wearing that!
You lie on the altar
You get onto the stone altar.

You lie down, settling your body into the impression and your face into the cavity at the end. The milkweed leaf mask protects your face from the strands of orange slime that you belatedly notice fill the cavity. Is it even you doing this? It feels like the most natural action in the world.

As you press your face deeper into the cavity, your vision warps. The world seems to fold and buckle: what was convex becomes concave and what was concave becomes convex.

The altar wobbles and inverts, giving you the bizarre sensation of lying atop a smooth green hole that floats in midair. Deeper within the hole is a shelf of green stone with something resting (how?) on it.
You examine the shelf
On the shelf is an imaginary basalt sphere.
You put the pendant in the sphere
The imaginary sphere rotates suddenly, spinning the slot away from the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew).
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
an imaginary basalt sphere
a golden apple
a book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati
a FFFFFFFF punch card
a 923647F1 punch card
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card
a 00A02209 punch card
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Seven Gaunts
a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a sinister iron key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
(smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling
faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw
a piece of chalk
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open)
an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
An earworm is lodged deeply in your head.
You put the mask in the sphere
The imaginary sphere rotates suddenly, spinning the slot away from the giant milkweed leaf.
Examine slot
The slot is pinched very narrow, like a tiny, unhappy mouth. If the sphere is a piggy-bank, you shudder to imagine what dreadful, corroded coin was intended to be inserted.
You examine the pendant
It's a tarnished silver pendant, about the size of your thumb, on a leather cord. The pendant is shaped like an open hand. It's been damaged - a deep groove, like a chisel mark, cuts across the palm, nearly breaking the pendant in half.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You touch the pendant
Except for the sharp edges of the groove, the pendant is smoothly polished. It must have been shiny when it was new.
Break pendant
It's broken already.
Rub pendant
You rub the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew).
You go south
The imaginary basalt sphere vanishes with a sound like a popping soap bubble.

The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a Viking longboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You wait for the blue Line
You lean against the church, hold out your pass, and wait for the blue line. Within moments, a ghostly trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you
find yourself transported to

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
Go east
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

On the cart is a shabby journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.
You look in the sp.
You unzip the side pocket just enough to take a peek inside. It contains an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew), a dull machete, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew), an ornate metallic box, a book list, a cast iron spire and a library card.
You examine the book list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
The Dollmaker's Journal
Twin Hearts Between the Planes
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
Tolerating An Asinine God
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
Venator in Tenebris
'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
The Seven Gaunts
New England and the Bavarian Illuminati
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY

The librarian sorts some books.
You give the Legends to the librarian
Klonk-klonk. On the cart it goes.
You give Dollmaker to the librarian
Klonk-klonk.
Examine journal
Which do you mean, The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly
of mildew), the shabby journal, the Journal of Edwin Cragne
(smelling faintly of mildew), the moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) or the tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You examine the tiny leather
It's a tiny leather book. It's plain except for an unusual and quite striking design that has been embossed on the cover. Although discolored by age, the initial pages are quite legible. Unfortunately, many of the later pages have suffered heavily due to the silverfish and are covered with a patchwork of irregular, notched holes - only fragments of the once clear handwriting remain.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
New England and the Bavarian Illuminati
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY

There! It changed again! Weird.
You examine Edwin
This handwritten journal appears to cover a period from September 1939 to May 1943 in the life of Edwin Cragne, a self-styled scientist and inventor. It has a maroon cover and is densely packed with a tight, neat writing and sporadic equations. Portions of it appear to have been written for Edwin Cragne's brother. Other portions appear to have been written only for himself and are in code. However, the parts that are not encoded seem to cover many of the devices in this boiler room, all of which Edwin Cragne apparently built himself. You could consult the journal about them.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The librarian stamps something.
You look up Cthulhu in Edwin
I have located sunken R'lyeh where Cthulhu lies dreaming. It is not safe to enter there, but it may be observed using a hex code of 880A5D23.
You read New England
(first taking the book New England and the Bavarian
Illuminati)
... The practical development of this pernicious system has been seen in France. It has served as an engine to subvert all her ancient institutions, civil and religious, with all the checks that served to mitigate the rigor of authority; it has hurried her headlong through a rapid succession of dreadful revolutions, which have laid waste property, made havoc among the arts, overthrown cities, desolated provinces, unpeopled regions, crimsoned her soil with blood, and deluged it in crime, poverty, and wretchedness; and all this as yet for no better purpose than to erect on the ruins of former things a despotism unlimited and uncontrolled; leaving to a deluded, an abused, a plundered, a scourged, and an oppressed people, not even the shadow of liberty to console them for a long train of substantial misfortunes, or bitter suffering...

the cart.
You examine the list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY

By now, you're used to seeing the list shrink dynamically.

The librarian fusses about behind the counter. You hadn't noticed before, but she doesn't ever seem to move her fingers. Her left hand is permanently in a pointing position, three fingers curled back. Her right is like a puppet's. She's probably a stroke survivor or something. You try not to stare.
You go to the west
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You put the books in the bp
faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
Close bp
You close the book pocket.
You go southwest
Drinking Fountain (Lucian Smith)
A public drinking fountain is placed in a nook here, nearly overgrown with ivy. You can return to the town square to the northeast.

Behind the main fountain, mounted in the same pillar of brick, is a second, somewhat smaller fountain.

You can also see a well-dressed ghost (smelling faintly of mildew) here.
You examine Ghost
(the Ghost Libation Legend)
The Lonesome Keen Serves One

Ingredients: 1 part cold gin 2 parts warm apple cider 1 pinch cinnamon 8 grains salt

Instructions: "It alls means something, thids drink. My great-grandfather... a Cragne! Keening Ken Cragne! Through from the... to the top. Is he here now? Is he dead? (laughs) And we remember wha (unintelligible) Kenneth Cragne! It all meanses something... listen to me... listen... Two parts cider, yeah? Because two days outta three, ol" Ken Cragne put cider in his flask! Calm days, they say. My dad said thad. Calm Ken days... Calm. But I wasn't alive then I don't (unintelligible.) But still I remember the gin days, you know? I shouldn't remember 'em right? Because that's crazy, right? (laughs) Why do I remember Ken Bastard Cragnes cold gin days, huh? Thas weird, right? My grandpa's the only kid of nine to like... Hold on okay. Lemme EXPLAIN the DRINK. The pinch of cinn- of cinnda- the punch a cibadon... cinnamon. That's Ken's lonely work! Train conductor, and actually the only one in my family to do that particular occupation. Big money becauss he smuggled cinner... cinn... he smuggled lots of things actually. They'd all be dead by now anyways, right? (unintelligible) What were we talking about? Oh! Oh god! EIGHT GRAINS OF SALT! EXACT! PRECISE OR HE DOES THE THING OKAY? Eight kids eight grains eight bloody brains. I would sing thadt. Perfect or Ken... Ken is here right now, right? Don't tell him I said- he just dead but he's here... He usedta beat up my mom and dad... after they died! I don't know knowww whyyy. We Cragne's got space in our blood. Space times. Very dignified, do you hear me? Very dignified! That's the name. That's hell. LISTEN TO (unintelligible) dig... we got.. we... please...
You examinwell-dressed Ghost
A well-dressed and glowering African-American man, impatient with a sense of purpose.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

Seeing the smaller fountain, the well-dressed man scowls, and a sledgehammer suddenly materializes in his hands. He stalks towards it, frost blossoming from the ground at each step. Standing in front of it, he hefts the sledgehammer high into the air, bringing it down with great force--only to see it harmlessly pass through the fountain's bowl, without even a whisper of wind. He glares at the fountain, then turns and sees you watching him. He considers for a moment, then seems to come to a decision. He tosses the sledgehammer to you, and you catch it one-handed.
You hit the smaller Fountain with the sledgehammer
With a shout, you attack the "colored" fountain with the sledgehammer. Memories bubble up inside you with each strike. BAM. Standing at the counter for an hour, while everyone but you is served. BAM. The constant, constant looks of surprise when people walk in and
see someone like you working in a place like that. BAM. Being at least interrogated by the police if not outright arrested any time an unsolved crime takes place in town. BAM. Your friends--your friends--voting to install BAM this BAM damn BAM fountain. BAM.
BAM. BAM. The last of the fountain finally disintegrates beneath your blows, and fatigue overtakes you. You slump against the fountain, breathing heavily, and the sledgehammer slips from your grasp and fades from view.

The well-dressed man comes up and puts a cold hand on your shoulder. His mouth doesn't move, but you hear a faint, accented voice, speaking inside your head. "Thank you. That was... satisfying. It's not enough. But it was still satisfying." The man's shoulders straighten as if a weight was lifted off of them, and you hear a sigh. "I... might be able to help. I'll try, at least." The man begins fading from view, as the spot on your shoulder where he's touching you gets colder and colder. You gasp with pain and clutch the spot just as the man fades entirely. Slowly, your shoulder begins to warm up again, but a spot on your collarbone remains cold to the touch.

You follow the sensation of cold down your arm to your hand, which now appears to be holding a pair of reading glasses.
You examine the reading glasses
A pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses with the Backwater library insignia on each eyepiece.
You wear them
(Disclaimer: Wearing these reading glasses may slightly decrease the difficulty involved in searching for library books. Adventurers who are concerned with maintaining hint purity are advised to use their best judgment.)

You put on the pair of reading glasses.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a skateboard. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You describe your surroundings
Drinking Fountain (Lucian Smith)
A public drinking fountain is placed in a nook here, nearly overgrown with ivy. You can return to the town square to the northeast.

A ragged hole graces the side of the brick fountain.
You examine Hole
(the ragged hole)
A ragged hole gapes ominously in the side of the fountain where the secondary fountain used to be.

In the ragged hole is Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition).
You read it
You flip through the book, looking at various of write-ups and pictures of men and women in 1920's garb until, with a start, you recognize the well-dressed ghost, staring at you intently from the page. You read his entry:

Everyone should recognize our "darkly beloved" town librarian, always ready with a smile and a book suggestion for all who walk in his doors, especially those of our younger generation. What you may not know is that his family has been here for six generations, which is pretty unusual for someone like him! Even more amazingly, Mr. Josey is a college graduate--as were his father, and his father's father!
So don't be surprised when you go into our beloved library and see this face: he's an institution just as much as the building is!

There's a clipped newspaper article tucked inside the book at that page, which you remove.

As you finish reading the passage, your own hands grow cold, and the book briefly frosts over before fading again, leaving traces behind only in the library insignia.
You examine the clipped newspaper article
LIBRARIAN DIES IN ALTERCATION IN TOWN SQUARE.
You read it
May 24th, 1926

Local librarian and black man Emmett Josey was found dead next to a sledgehammer in the town square last night, a victim of suspected foul play. The sledgehammer has been identified as belonging to the deceased, but why he would have had it with him, at night, in the town square, has been the subject of much debate. Responding to speculation that Josey may have been upset by the recent vote to install a second drinking fountain to better serve the needs of our whole community, the bill's sponsor Vincent Cragne (a second cousin to our mayor), speaking at the bill-signing ceremony, said, "Mr. Josey was somewhat vocal in his opposition to the bill. But like all of us, he knew that bowing to the will of the majority is a cornerstone of a democratic society, and informed me personally that he bore me no ill will." Despite the unfortunate circumstances, the bill-signing ceremony proceeded as planned,  the only hitch being that Mr. Cragne was unable to sign the bill himself, due to a recent farming accident that left his right hand shattered. We wish him all the best for a speedy recovery. The circumstances of Mr. Josey's death are expected to remain unsolved.
You ask Emmett about the murder
"I can't tell you anything about that," the voice in your head replies. "It's been too long. The books I can remember, mostly. But not much else."
You ask Emmett about the Personalities
A sigh echoes in your head. "Didn't really think I needed an entry in that, but I couldn't really complain. Jess was so up-beat about the whole thing. The entry about me is..." Another sigh. "She... meant well."
You ask Emmett about Cragne
Feeling foolish, you turn your shoulder towards the Journal of
Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), but get no response.
About you
You're still feeling tired, but confident as well.
Go north
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
Go northwest
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Shack Exterior (Michael Lin)
A clearing, outside a wooden shack. A clockwork doll sits here, utterly incongruous at the edge of the woods.

The woods are to the northwest, while that godforsaken town is to the southeast.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a sailboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go southeast
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You wait for aqua Line
You lean against the access ramp, hold out your pass, and wait for the aqua line. Within moments, a phantom trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
Go downward
(first opening the the rusty metal hatch)
Using the key as a handle, you slowly, painfully drag the hatch open as it screeches in protest.

Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins. The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey! Come closer! You're not deaf, are you?"
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a skateboard. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"Hey, you! I'm waiting! Yoohooo?"
Go northwest
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

For a moment you think you see something moving in the shadows, but it's probably just your mind playing tricks on you.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a Viking longboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go upward
Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
Stark whitewashed brick walls close in on all sides beneath a low vaulted ceiling. There is something fundamentally wrong with the architecture in here. Lines that should be parallel or perpendicular seem ever so slightly off, making you feel distinctly uneasy.

An enormous desk overflowing with stacked papers takes up most of one side of the room. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a kayak. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go downwards
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.
Go southeast
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins. The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Psst! Come closer! Can you hear me?"
You go upward
Taking a deep breath, you grasp the ladder for support and hook your leg up to the first available step. The metal creeks and groans alarmingly as you transfer your weight, but the bolts hold firm. You shakily gather yourself and begin to ascend back up to the surface.

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.
Go south
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
You wait for the Orange Line
You lean against the rotting deposits, hold out your pass, and wait for the orange line. Within moments, an insubstantial trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You go north
The Invisible Worm (Sam Kabo Ashwell)
A dimly-lit tavern, old enough that all its straight lines have worn or warped slightly out of shape, and everything feels cluttered and a little too small; you've had apartments with living-rooms bigger than this. Heavy, dark beams support a low ceiling, and the walls are crowded with ancient farm tools and yellowing photographs. A cramped doorway, south, leads back outside.

The bartender impassively surveys the room.

Old-timers monopolize the fireplace nook; a straggle of teenagers hunch in a corner.

The old-timers wax poetic about the time there was a plague of frogs on Giles Driscoll's niece's land, in punishment for the sins of the government.
Go east
Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You wait for the purple Line
You sit on the memorial bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, an insubstantial trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
Go northeast
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Cragne Family Plot (Mark Britton)
A cramped and neglected place on unwholesome yellow soil. Over the years the gravestones have shifted like teeth in an overcrowded mouth, collapsing one atop the other. Crabgrass pokes up limply between them, urine-yellow and parched-looking. The earth mounds up around the shabby crypt, as if it's sunk over the years into the Vermont topsoil. You wonder who would want to be buried here--and who would willingly consign their ancestors to this brutal place. Perhaps that's why it's been so neglected.

Four squat columbariums stand north, east, south, and west of here. A winding and uncertain path leads southwest. By stepping over collapsed gravestones and bleached obelisks you can go northwest. Carefully. You could also enter the crypt from here, if you were able to open it.

Three graves nearby draw your eye. One headstone teeters drunkenly, half overrun by lichen. One headstone has collapsed entirely. An adjacent plot stands open, overlooked by a blank headstone. The grave within is flooded almost to the top with bubbling rainwater.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a gunblade. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine urn
Which do you mean, the silver urn, the copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) or the bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You open silver urn
That's already open.
You open copper urn
Greasy red liquid flows out over your hands, itching like centipede legs. Something deep in the urn is just visible, adhered to the side. It is not ashes. Tiny hands, half-reduced to corpse-liquor, fold over a tiny blackened face.
You examine the sp
A heavily reinforced pocket to store your sides in, if you're the kind of person who has too many sides to fit on a sidering. Wait, what? No, it's a pocket on one side of the backpack's central cavity. You can put whatever you want in there.
You look in the sp.
You unzip the side pocket just enough to take a peek inside. It contains an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew), a dull machete, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew), an ornate metallic box, a cast iron spire and a library card.
You look at your surroundings
Cragne Family Plot (Mark Britton)
A cramped and neglected place on unwholesome yellow soil. Over the years the gravestones have shifted like teeth in an overcrowded mouth, collapsing one atop the other. Crabgrass pokes up limply between them, urine-yellow and parched-looking. The earth mounds up around the shabby crypt, as if it's sunk over the years into the Vermont topsoil. You wonder who would want to be buried here--and who would willingly consign their ancestors to this brutal place. Perhaps that's why it's been so neglected.

Four squat columbariums stand north, east, south, and west of here. A winding and uncertain path leads southwest. By stepping over collapsed gravestones and bleached obelisks you can go northwest. Carefully. You could also enter the crypt from here, if you were able to open it.

Three graves nearby draw your eye. One headstone teeters drunkenly, half overrun by lichen. One headstone has collapsed entirely. An adjacent plot stands open, overlooked by a blank headstone. The grave within is flooded almost to the top with bubbling rainwater.
You examine the northern columbarium
The geometric shapes incised deep into the marble prick at your eyes. No explanatory plaque is affixed. You wonder whose name was obliterated.
You examine the bronze urn
The metal seems to absorb all light. Unfamiliar colors dance iridescent on its surface. It's greasy to the touch.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the copper urn
The smell leaches through the metal, clinging to your skin, your hair. Your stomach rumbles. You're almost hungry.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the western
The marble is blank. Mold has seeped into its pores, dyeing it a fungal yellow. You don't want to touch it.

A bouquet of flowers, black with rot, lies at the foot of the columbarium.

In the western columbarium is a silver urn.
You look at eastern
Crude figures are incised into the white marble door. One is jackal-headed, cringing and skeletal. Another is fat and imbecilic as a maggot. The tarnished plaque's name has been eaten away; in its place someone has scraped "O homines ad servitutem paratos!"
You examine southern
The southern columbarium's front panel hangs ajar, as if ripped asunder. Battered by the wind, it swings; the sound drills into your skull. Your gums ache.

Into the granite wall, someone has carved "MEDIA VITA IN MORTE SUMUS" in long, ugly slashes.
You put copper urn in southern
You put the copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) into the southern columbarium.
You put the silver in the western
Which do you mean, the silver urn, the silver and ivory key, the tarnished silver teapot from the Queen Mary (smelling faintly of mildew) or the antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Urn
(first taking the silver urn)
You put the silver urn into the western columbarium.
You examine blank
(the blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew))
It is a typical punch card, a thin piece of cardboard the size of a bank note from a bygone era. This one is blank.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You clean it
You rub the blank headstone.
You examine grave
Mildewed and splintering boards cover the nearest grave. Beneath, gritty ocher water, thick as paint, laps the soil. The grave is open. A granite headstone looms over it, implacably blank.

In the flooded grave are some rotten flowers.
You fill the silver urn with the water
Minutes pass, punctuated only by the gentle splash of stinking water onto the soil. Your shoulders ache; your fingers go numb holding the urn. Yet you've made some progress, and the grave walls are showing.
Go down
Your throat closes up at the thought of touching the water.
You'll have to find another way down.
Empty urn
(the silver urn)
You can't bail that.
You fill the silver urn with the water
Minutes pass, punctuated only by the gentle splash of stinking water onto the soil. Your shoulders ache; your fingers go numb holding the urn. Yet you've made some progress, and the grave walls are showing. Your legs are numb, your clothes soaked with reeking water. As you stare into the empty grave, it leers up. Beyond your reach rainwater sloshes round the bottom.

You think you could climb down now. Carefully.
Go downward
You clamber cautiously into the grave, gagging at the stench, and don't relax until your feet touch the ground. Your footing is unsteady here; the walls seem to be dissolving before your eyes, slick with iridescent runoff that reminds you of gasoline. To the west is the grave of Zadie Cragne, you think, and to the east is the grave with the vandalized headstone; yet your sense of direction down here is limited at best.

The dirt to the west is dissolved more than the rest. Something pokes through the mud there.
Dig
Which way do you want to dig?
You examine west
You see nothing unexpected in that direction.

The rain pounds your back and rattles your bones. Looking down, you realize you're knee-deep in water already. Around you the mud groans ominously.
You dig west
The mud crumbles away. You hold your breath, expecting a whiff of rot, a crumbling coffin no longer than your arm. But there is nothing--nothing but a pewter box too small to be a coffin.

You hope, at least, it's too small to be Zadie's coffin.
You get pewter box
You scoop the box out of its crumbling niche. A whiff of stale air hits you, and you recoil. Yet the box remains safely cradled to your chest. Something inside it thumps, as if to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You can see no further into the grave.

The rain pounds your back and rattles your bones. Looking down, you realize you're knee-deep in water already. Around you the mud groans ominously.
Go upwards
You get out of the flooded grave.

Cragne Family Plot (Mark Britton)
A cramped and neglected place on unwholesome yellow soil. Over the years the gravestones have shifted like teeth in an overcrowded mouth, collapsing one atop the other. Crabgrass pokes up limply between them, urine-yellow and parched-looking. The earth mounds up around the shabby crypt, as if it's sunk over the years into the Vermont topsoil. You wonder who would want to be buried here--and who would willingly consign their ancestors to this brutal place. Perhaps that's why it's been so neglected.

Four squat columbariums stand north, east, south, and west of here. A winding and uncertain path leads southwest. By stepping over collapsed gravestones and bleached obelisks you can go northwest. Carefully. You could also enter the crypt from here, if you were able to open it.

Three graves nearby draw your eye. One headstone teeters drunkenly, half overrun by lichen. One headstone has collapsed entirely. An adjacent plot stands open, overlooked by a blank headstone. The grave within is flooded almost to the top with bubbling rainwater.
You examine the pewter
A dull pewter box, unaccountably heavy. Your gaze skids over the engravings. Damp and glistening, they look very nearly alive.

With a thunderous squelch the walls cave in and the grave floods again; an acrid stink mushrooms up. Your eyes water, your throat tightens. Anything you left in there is probably pretty damp.
You look at the teetering
A perfectly round face gawps up at you, its eyes and mouth neatly drilled out. Deep gashes score the granite, the name obliterated. You wonder how long it took. You wonder how much hate it took.

Just readable beneath a carpet of lichen is the inscription: "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat-" Here the inscription has been pulverized. A line below it continues: "-till thou return unto the ground; for out of it was thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto-" The inscription crumbles away. An entire line has been scraped off.

The quotation's almost familiar, but there's something off-putting about the missing words. They draw the eye like wounds.
You look at collapsed
The stone is pitted, perhaps acid-eaten. A litter of dead insects and blackened leaves leaks from every cranny. Almost unreadable is the inscription "Zadie Cragne, 1829."

One date. You search in vain for a second, then glance round at the jostling tombstones and wonder how many infants lie beneath.
You unlock the pewter with Key from an the urn
You unlock the pewter box.
You open it
You open the pewter box, revealing The Lives of the Roman
Emperors.
You read it
--Octavius Lucilius Saturninus, accused of turning Palatine Hill into his whorehouse. Few reliable reports exist from Saturninus's contemporaries.

Fragments of satirical poetry now survive. Until the 17th century, the commentaries of Sextilius were rarely copied and often actively suppressed; they appear on several lists of books condemned by the Papacy. Sextilius's depictions of Saturninus's court are outrageous not for their sexuality, nor for their frank violence. Rape and incest were not unknown in the literary tradition of Imperial Rome, nor in the Imperial court (witness the accusations leveled against Saturninus's predecessor Gaius Lucilius and his daughters, the survivors among whom were exiled by the Salvius family).

Rather, Saturninus was condemned primarily for his offenses against the Roman religious-political complex. The Eastern cult promoted in Saturninus's court did not merely deny the existence of the Roman gods; nor did it "simply" elevate Saturninus and his family to the pantheon. Saturninus is believed to have struck at the very heart of Roman morality, depicting Rome herself in helpless thrall to the Eastern gods--

As you finish reading the passage, your own hands grow cold, and the book briefly frosts over before fading again, leaving traces behind only in the library insignia.

Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a Viking longboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go southwest
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go inside
Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund)
Nothing should be growing here anymore — the heating and irrigation have been off for years — but roots seem to have covered everything.

The walls curve inward, forming a huge dome, with a mesh of roots covering it from the floor up to about halfway to the ceiling. Sunlight still breaks through in places, throwing a pattern of bright spots across the room. The roots grow from an enormous tropical tree at the center of the greenhouse, towering all the way up to the ceiling, which it hides behind a thick crown of leaves.

A spiral staircase, seemingly woven of roots, leads to a circular mesh walkway higher up along the wall.

The parrot sculpture protrudes from the roots near the exit.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a kayak. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form the engine of a train. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You drop the gloves
Dropped.
You go north
You climb the steps to the porch.

Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.
Wear the calfskin
(first taking the calfskin coat)
You put on the calfskin coat.
Look around
Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch two strangely shaped metal hooks are fastened to the wall.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.
You examine the hook
(the hooks)
Two black metal hooks protrude from the wall, twisting in strange ways, like the outline of the human form projected through some alien dimension. Or perhaps the Cragnes simply wanted hooks that could hold any item of clothing.

The floor below the hooks is lost in an unusually deep black shadow.
You get the cloak
Taking the cloak reveals a leather boot, mate to the first one.

The cloak tingles strangely in your hands.
You put the cloak on hook
(the hooks)
You put the black cloak on the hooks.

Your senses return to normal.
You examine the boot
(the mate of the first leather boot)
A brown leather boot like the first, but without the mud. You think you glimpse something behind its pulled-out tongue.
Search boot
(the mate of the first leather boot)
You discover a slip of paper inside the boot.
You examine the slip of the paper
It says "Inspected by Number 8."
Go north
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

Outside the windows, the sunset is an ominous red. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You go east
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east to the master bedroom; a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

The massive black armoire still stands against the north-west wall; you can now see a pocket-sized notebook inside it.

It would seem that the armoire doors have somehow been torn off since you were last here. They lie on the floor nearby.
You examine armoire
(the doorless armoire)
The massive wardrobe's doors have been torn off entirely; trios of splintered screw-holes show where the hinges previously attached in the upper and lower corners. There's a pocket-sized notebook inside.

In the doorless armoire is a pocket-sized notebook.

Why do you suddenly fear that you've left your keys in The Kitchen (Edward B)? You know where your keys are, don't you? (And where's this name coming from?)
You examine notebook
A pocket-sized composition notebook with a marbled black-and-white cardboard cover. Many pages have been torn out, judging by the number of strands of torn paper still caught in the wire spiral binding.
You get it
Taken.

You catch a faint smell of smoke.
You read the notebook
Turning to the first page, you find a series of notes inscribed with thin, looping letters. "July 6, I think? We've been here three
days now. Uncle Roger said my luggage was destroyed on its way to the house. He sounded mad, but I don't think he was mad that I lost all my things. I think he's mad that I don't believe him. Uncle Theo gave me this note book to replace my journal. He also told me that he's actually not my uncle--he's my cousin, once removed, whatever that means. That seems wrong, though! He looks older than uncle
Roger!" (To continue to the next page, simply read the notebook again.)
You read the notebook
"The house was almost empty when we got here, but people I don't recognize have been arriving all day today. I'm used to Roger not telling me what's going on, but all Theo would say was that it's like a family reunion. I don't like being around this many strangers, so I am hiding in the bathroom with my music and some tracing-gears."
You read the notebook
This page is full of idle drawings, and around the outermost margins the artist has decorated with a repeating pattern of hearts linked at the base... although, elongated as they are, they almost look more like cartoonishly twisted bones.
You read the notebook
Most of the next page has been torn out:"The old folks let down
their guard when they think I'm not listening, so I [. . .] with my headphones on, and I heard some [. . .] say to Theo how honored he [. . .] to the Very Gated Court. He[. . .] to [. . .]"

Several more pages after this one are missing.
You read the notebook
If any more notes were written, they have all been torn out. A long-legged ungulate has been drawn with heavy pen-strokes on the inside of the back cover of the notebook. It has been captioned in block letters: THE WHITE ANTELOPE.
Go upward
Top of Stairs (Q. Pheevr)
You are at the top of a staircase, which leads down to Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample). An archway leads east to Upstairs Hall, north end? (Jason Love).

On the north wall is a round white wall clock.

Standing against the west wall is a dilapidated kitchen sink with a pine cabinet under it.
Go east
Upstairs Hall, north end? (Jason Love)
Something about this hallway feels wrong. Or at least, more wrong than usual.

You yet stand in the north end of the upstairs hallway: here are the large doors north and east, the hallway south, the archway west... but the lighting has changed. It's dark--too dark to see, even--but an orange light flickers under the doorway to the north-east.

A couple of short-lived sparks fly out from under the north-eastern door.
You go to the northeast
Your senses scream that the room behind this door is burning, but the doorknob itself isn't hot. You swing it open: there is no fire. There isn't even a bathroom; the room in front of you just looks like a continuation of the hallway. You stride forward without thinking, but it's not until you've passed through the door that you recognize the objects in your peripheral vision as a sink beneath a mirror-mounted medicine cabinet. You turn back to reexamine the room you've just left, but you are faced instead with an old, bricked-in doorway.

Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east to the master bedroom; a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

The broken doors to the armoire lie on the floor near the center of the room.

The doorless armoire stands against the north-west wall. There's nothing inside.

Something has changed among your possessions.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a pocket-sized notebook
a slip of paper
a calfskin coat (being worn)
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
a pewter box (open but empty)
a silver urn (open but empty)
a clipped newspaper article
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple
a FFFFFFFF punch card
a 923647F1 punch card
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a sinister iron key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You examine JogMaster
A portable audio player with an attached lanyard so you can Wear It While You Jog! The JogMaster apes more popular brands at a fraction of the price; what it lacks in features, it makes up for in rugged simplicity. It's little more than a yellow brick of plastic with a power switch and a slot in which to insert cassette tapes. This particular unit comes with included Battle Damage, including a jammed battery cover, a missing lever to eject the current cassette, and a crimped headphone jack. Fortunately, a small speaker permits playback even without headphones. In addition to all the wear and tear incurred during normal use, you find one scar which was surely deliberate: someone carved the name "Carolyn" along one side.

The battered yellow JogMaster is currently switched off.
You turn it on
You switch the battered yellow JogMaster on.

A voice is audible through the soft static that now emerges from the JogMaster's speaker. The man speaks with the cadences of one addressing a gathered crowd:

"--pains me to undo the work of any of our illustrious ancestors,
the fact remains that the Incarnadine Chalice, even at its height, was little more than a hobby for great uncle Gregor. Perhaps only, in fact, something with which to distract us kids. That distraction has now become burdensome."
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a child's wagon. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"Our... organization... has worn many forms in the past.
In rare circumstances, it has even tolerated the membership of adulterated bloodlines. I thought to continue this tradition by extending official invitation to our Mr. Chambers, whom you all know, and I interviewed him, though perhaps he did not realize that an interview was occurring."
You look at the armoire
(the doorless armoire)
The massive wardrobe's doors have been torn off entirely; trios of splintered screw-holes show where the hinges previously attached in the upper and lower corners. There's nothing inside.

"His ambition has always been clear, but I never before imagined
just what acts that ambition might inspire him to, never imagined what plots he might engineer when I passed over him to select his brother as my successor."
You go south
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.

"The man made pamphlets! Pamphlets, I say, as
though he were hosting a Sunday luncheon! Not content to stop there, he saw fit to resume the Incarnadine Rites! This dime-store Rasputin thought these audacities might warrrant official sponsorship, and so to 'sell me' on the idea, he sought to offer me his niece as incentive!"
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a perfect fern, just like in a fancy latte. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"More fool him, then, as the girl had all the intuition and
cleverness he himself has lacked. None since my grandmother has had the gumption to perform the Rite upon herself, and little Carolyn even invoked the Colorless Name as she did it. Even a practice as hokum as the Rite has power when performed with patronage."

A sudden sparking noise echoes inside the hole.
You look at Door
A simple door, made from a rich, dark wood. An oval window takes up the upper third of the door, but is covered in such a thick layer of dust and grime that you can hardly see through it. The small brass knob is surrounded by a circular design of inlaid triangles cut out of deep, reddish-brown cherry wood. Even if you could see through the grime, you can't imagine that you'd see more than a couple of feet in this rain.

The man's voice rises in pitch and intensity. "So let us honor her memory and follow her example. Roger already dwells in smoke, but the rest of the Chalice shall be arriving at the Manor within the hour. We will use our problem to solve our problem: go up and welcome the newcomers. (If you did not bring your knife, I have extras.) I call upon my familiar, the spirit of Egnalosaf, the great white antelope, envoy of the scintillating omnivalent Vaadignephod, and blessed reflector of iniquity; by your power, I invoke as Fuscous Alderman of the Variegated Court the commencement of this Incarnadine RIte, writ large! Go, remember, and enjoy!"
White light flickers from somewhere inside the hole in the wallpaper.
You unlock Door with red Key
You unlock the wooden door.

The cassette must be designed to loop automatically. Having reached the end of the recording, playback resumes from the beginning.
You turn off jogmaster
You switch the battered yellow JogMaster off.
Examine backpack
You love this backpack. From the outside it's modestly sized and easy to carry, but the inside is surprisingly capacious. In addition to the cavernous main pocket of the backpack itself, there's a key pocket for your keys, a book pocket for your books, a side pocket for your sidequests, a hidden pocket for your ineffable mysteries of time and space, and a trash pocket for your trash. Zippers on all of these pockets let you open and close them at will.

In the Jansport backpack are a hidden pocket, a key pocket, a book pocket, a side pocket and a trash pocket.

The light in the void swells, casting strange shadows in the hallway.
You put red Key in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.

You hear an electronic humming noise coming from the hole in the wallpaper.
You go to the south
(first opening the wooden door)

Balcony (Reina Adair)
The balcony has definitely seen better days. Once it was more than likely a fine place to sit and look out over the skyline or whatever one desired to do out here. However, its charm has been lost with the passage of time. The wood, once more than likely shiny and well polished, is now rotten and peeling in various spots. Somehow, despite the way the architecture has aged, the railing at the end of the balcony itself is still somewhat sturdy. All around, the view of the scenery is breathtaking, albeit somewhat unsettling for some reason. Occasionally, a slight breeze blows past you, but you can't tell if its supposed to be warm or cool. The only exit from here is to the north.

A statue with a very strange appearance to it is standing here, almost as if it is watching the area.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Lavender Line -- Cragne Manor Balcony.
You look at the statue
This statue looks to be in the shape of a human, although it is next to impossible to make out what the gender is supposed to be. Built using pure black marble, all one can do is make out the basic shape of the various body parts, such as the head, the arms, the legs, etc.
The position is somewhat bizarre, almost like the person in question is reeling back in terror or fear.

Looking closer at the statue, you notice that the right arm is extended outwards almost as if it is holding out its hand. In its hand, you discover a key! You go ahead and take it.
You examine Key
Which do you mean, the sturdy key, the splintery wooden key, the ornate bronze key, the sinister iron key, the frosty blue key, the intricately folded origami key, the silver and ivory key or the key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You look at sturdy Key
This key looks like it's seen some use throughout its time, yet it still looks and feels very sturdy. While it shows some slight hints of rust, it has lost very little of its original color.
You put Key from an the urn in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.
You go north
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.

The light in the void swells, casting strange shadows in the hallway.
Go north
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east to the master bedroom; a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

The broken doors to the armoire lie on the floor near the center of the room.

The doorless armoire stands against the north-west wall. There's nothing inside.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a maple leaf. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You unlock the master door with sturdy Key
You unlock the master bedroom door.
You put sturdy Key in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the sturdy key, then zip the key pocket back up again.
You go east
(first opening the master bedroom door)

MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS)
Et voila!

Here we have the master bedroom of Cragne Manor, which is by turns contradictorily capacious and cramped. Though you can't put your finger on it, something about this windowless chamber sucks the very air out of your lungs and puts you on edge. One would have to be a master indeed to achieve any rest in this offputting room.

Though it is relatively sparsely furnished, it wouldn't be much of a bedoom without a bed -- and there it is, a four-poster tall, dingy, imposing and unsettling. Next to it is a bedside table, on which resides some torturously elongated lamp -- apparently the dim room's only light source, currently turned off.

To the west is the hallway door through which you first arrived, and to the east there is also a door to what is most likely a walk-in closet.
You look at Bed
You warily sidle up to the uncomfortable-looking grey bed and briefly perch on its (now confirmed-uncomfortable) edge. It's a bedroom, the bed is its central, nay defining feature -- why not try out the bed, right? Worked out OK for Goldilocks, didn't it? Well, turns out this would have been a bad idea had you thought of doing it instead of momentarily losing agency and having it done on your behalf. Right in the middle of ... whatever it was you were trying to accomplish anyway, you're hit by an invisible wave that feels like a Mack truck pulling a tractor trailer full of fatigue, you briefly lose consciousness and collapse as a veil of sooty burlap is dragged across your field of vision and a thousand thousand chittering things argue spiritedly at the periphery of your mind.

When you awaken from troubled dreams, you find yourself transformed in this bed into a horrible vermin.
About yourself
Now you are a cockroach. You have a head, a thorax and an abdomen. Your wingless carapace glints dully in the dim light of the room, which is just peanuts compared to your three pairs of limbs.
You look at the lamp
(turning on lamp)

At the sound of the lamp's switch, your hitherto unimagined cockroach instincts kick in like an unstoppable force; drawing on some reservoir of limber grace and vigor -- practically racing the lamp's light to the corners of the room, you find yourself instinctively flinging your roachy self off of the bed , making a bee-line for the nearest wall -- which you proceed to scurry up -- and on to the ceiling. Along the way, the lamp's pull-cord snags on one of your legs, and its inadequate illumination once again fades like the camera bulb in a disposable Polaroid.

It is upside-down on this ceiling where, unbeknownst to you, you inadvertently crawl over a magical pentacle of cancellation that has been wallpapered over. It quietly works its protective charms on you, but "protective" is relative, as you find you resume your human form and quickly discover, from your ceiling vantage point, that gravity effects humans differently from cockroaches.

Down you crash, but happily, you don't seem to break anything too mission-critical.
You describe your surroundings
MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS)
Here we have the master bedroom of Cragne Manor, which is by turns contradictorily capacious and cramped. Though you can't put your finger on it, something about this windowless chamber sucks the very air out of your lungs and puts you on edge. One would have to be a master indeed to achieve any rest in this offputting room.

Though it is relatively sparsely furnished, it wouldn't be much of a bedoom without a bed -- and there it is, a four-poster tall, dingy, imposing and unsettling. Next to it is a bedside table, on which resides some torturously elongated lamp -- apparently the dim room's only light source, currently turned off.

To the west is the hallway door through which you first arrived, and to the east there is also a door to what is most likely a walk-in closet.
You examine the lamp
(the waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew))
A small flashlight, with a rubber ring where it screws together to keep the water out-though some oily substance coats the inside.

Inside the flashlight is a clump of glowing vegetation.
You examine elongated lamp
Due to the peculiar shape of the bedside lamp and the unusual angle at which the table supports it, you are unable to interact with the lamp without first being in the bed, so in you go!

(sitting on the bed first)

You warily sidle up to the uncomfortable-looking grey bed and briefly perch on its (now confirmed-uncomfortable) edge. It's a bedroom, the bed is its central, nay defining feature -- why not try out the bed, right? Worked out OK for Goldilocks, didn't it? Well, turns out this would have been a bad idea had you thought of doing it instead of momentarily losing agency and having it done on your behalf. Right in the middle of ... whatever it was you were trying to accomplish anyway, you're hit by an invisible wave that feels like a Mack truck pulling a tractor trailer full of fatigue, you briefly lose consciousness and collapse as a veil of sooty burlap is dragged across your field of vision and a thousand thousand chittering things argue spiritedly at the periphery of your mind.
Go east
(first getting off the bed)
(first opening closet door)

This large closet, illuminated only by the light coming through the door, is so filled with a jumble of clothes that your head spins as you contemplate the mess. In fact, it's so untidy that it's difficult to look at the disorder directly. Squinting through the chaos, you see shelves leading up to the ceiling on one side and a cabinet on the other.
You examine the cabinet
Your eye can't quite resolve the angles of the cabinet, but the three (three?) drawers it contains are plain to see. There is an empty frame on the top that might have held a mirror once, but whatever was inside it has been removed.
You look at the shelves
You can't see how these strangely tilted shelves are staying upright and together, but it's lucky for you that they are, as the piles of clothes and forgotten possessions would bury you if they failed. Their contents are piled high to the point that the ceiling is obscured.
You open the drawer
Which do you mean, the upper drawer, the middle drawer or the lower drawer?
Upper
You open the upper drawer.
You examine it
The upper drawer is empty.
You open middle drawer
You open the middle drawer.
You examine it
The middle drawer is empty.
You open the lower drawer
You open the lower drawer.
You look at it
The lower drawer is empty.
You go west
MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS)
Here we have the master bedroom of Cragne Manor, which is by turns contradictorily capacious and cramped. Though you can't put your finger on it, something about this windowless chamber sucks the very air out of your lungs and puts you on edge. One would have to be a master indeed to achieve any rest in this offputting room.

Though it is relatively sparsely furnished, it wouldn't be much of a bedoom without a bed -- and there it is, a four-poster tall, dingy, imposing and unsettling. Next to it is a bedside table, on which resides some torturously elongated lamp -- apparently the dim room's only light source, currently turned off.

To the west is the hallway door through which you first arrived, and to the east there is also a door to what is most likely a walk-in closet.
Go west
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east to the master bedroom (which is also open); a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

The broken doors to the armoire lie on the floor near the center of the room.

The doorless armoire stands against the north-west wall. There's nothing inside.
You go south
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.

A sudden sparking noise echoes inside the hole.

The hallway fills with a flash of light and shadows flee down the hall. Moments later the clap of thunder causes the entire house to shake and groan.
You go to the south
Balcony (Reina Adair)
The balcony has definitely seen better days. Once it was more than likely a fine place to sit and look out over the skyline or whatever one desired to do out here. However, its charm has been lost with the passage of time. The wood, once more than likely shiny and well polished, is now rotten and peeling in various spots. Somehow, despite the way the architecture has aged, the railing at the end of the balcony itself is still somewhat sturdy. All around, the view of the scenery is breathtaking, albeit somewhat unsettling for some reason. Occasionally, a slight breeze blows past you, but you can't tell if its supposed to be warm or cool. The only exit from here is to the north.

A statue with a very strange appearance to it is standing here, almost as if it is watching the area.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Lavender Line -- Cragne Manor Balcony.
You wait for the black Line
You lean against the wooden door, hold out your pass, and wait for the black line. Within moments, a spectral trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

As you descend the unsteady ladder, a piercing shriek freezes you to your core. Perhaps it is merely pressure being released from some ill-maintained valve in the boiler room above. Perhaps it is something else, waiting in the darkness below.

Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
You go upwards
Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown)
The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded.

As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a system diagram on it, and lashed to the column there is a faraday cage with a window on its door looking inside. Next to it is a an overlay engine, and behind it a a dimensional stabilizer. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by the control panel for the whole system. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the faraday cage there is a sign hanging from a chain.

It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer.
You go to the north
Something tells you that Edwin Cragne really would not want you to take his secrets out of this room and that you really ought to leave the journal in the boiler room.

Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.
You examine coffee
The swirls in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go downward
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Under the Basement (Ivan Roth)
Tentatively, you lower yourself down from the ladder, and discover that you're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north.

You blink, and suddenly right before you is a pale figure — one that wasn't there only moments ago.

The ghost speaks. "I am Fedwick Baines, the sub-librarian of the Cragne library's Forbidden Annex. This is the home of the books that the Cragnes could not allow to circulate; as far as I know, each of these volumes is unique in all the world."
About yourself
You can't see yourself directly, but you have a pretty good idea. You have dark circles under your eyes, your hair is frizzed. It hasn't been a good day. Peter has to be somewhere, right?
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the carvings
On the wall are strange, unholy hieroglyphs. You can barely make them out, however, because it seems like the carvings have been scorched and defaced—almost like someone was trying to erase them from the wall, but without doing serious damage to the rock. How peculiar.
You examine Cage
This heavy iron cage looks like it was last disturbed in the Stone Age. Inside, an angry-looking vampire bat flutters around in a rage. A silver bell on a long chain dangles from the bottom.

In the hanging iron cage is a vicious-looking bat.
You look at bat
A black ball of fur and fangs sulks inside the cage. "That little ball of furry malice is sulking because it's in a brand-new enclosure," Fedwick tells you. "Chewed right through the bars of the last one, took me days to catch. I had to chase the infernal rodent through every single room in Cragne Manor."

He pats the thick iron cage with a smug expression. "Well, that won't happen again on my watch!"
You look at the list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY

The sub-librarian hovers sternly in the corner.
You look at the cabinet
An ornate, ebony cabinet, bedecked with curlicues and wingéd cherubs, has been set, improbably, into the western wall of this stone cavern.
You open the cabinet
The ghost of the librarian bats you away with a spectral hand, a bizarre sensation that chills you to the bone. "Take a book, leave a book," he says icily. "If you want to read something, bring me a book."
You look at Tunnel
You try to peer into the blackness, but it is absolute. If there's anything that way you'll have to go north, into the caves, to see it.

The sub-librarian hovers sternly in the corner.
You look at Baines
Hovering before you, pale and ghostly, is an old, bald man wearing a very old-fashioned spectral tailcoat. He bows his head at you when he sees you looking, but there's a faint hint of an amused smile around his lips.
You open the bp
You open the book pocket, revealing The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew), a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew), a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew), an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly
of mildew), a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew) and an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew).

The sub-librarian hovers sternly in the corner.
You examine it
It is an old issue of the Backwater Chronicle, a local newspaper that ceased to be decades ago. This issue is dated July 31, 1920. The local museum should see this!

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You read it
You turn the pages and check the next article:

The auditorium of Backwater High saw a festive ball on Satday evening when freemasonry lodge Order of the Eastern Star invited local notables to the yearly Rosencrantz Ball. While the Providence Hot Jazz Orchestra conducted by Robert "Bop" Shindlaw played sudatory tunes and while the kitchen brigade of the Boardwalk Inn provided small delicacies as well as inspiring drinks, money was collected through admission and raffle ticket sales to appease the dolor of the victims of February's fatal spring tide. Among the guests were mayor Joe Slater (accompanied by his daughters) and surgeon in residence Dr. Basil Elton (accompanied by his third wife, Lily). An accompanying picture shows mayor Slater clinking glasses with surgeon Basil Elton, the latter one being a head taller than the dignitary.
You give the newspaper to Baines
Which do you mean, the old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), the clipped newspaper article or the yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You give the old newspaper to Baines
The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: The Liquid Sky. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it," he
says. "And give it back to me when you're done."

Fedwick peers scornfully at you.
You examine Liquid
(The Liquid Sky)
In black type on the cover of this thin volume are the words "The Liquid Sky", and under them, "Ostregot". It looks like a book of poetry.
You read it
You flip open to a dog-eared page:

or thumbed through stacks
that no one mind had pulled apart, and reconvened
with red twine
and indices and keyboard dust and forum jokes
and tacks

but only two things are certain, says Ben Franklin:
the death of the body and the mind, obliterated,
dust to dust
and the death of the spirit of the book
after it has been read and read again
every passage explored, inspected, made to fit

so when they had Prohibition they built secret rooms under the stairs, with combination locks
and now the Prohibition house is a museum and the museum is open twenty days a week
and you can sign up for a VR tour
that takes in every detail
and every visitor knows more than Warren Harding did
when the bomb went off
You give Liquid to Baines
(The Liquid Sky, by Robert N. Ostregot to the ghost)
The ghost snatches back The Liquid Sky, by Robert N.
Ostregot. "Don't think you're getting another one for giving this back," he says, wagging his finger. "I do this to find new things to read."
You give the faded delivery to Baines
(first taking the faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew)) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: The Reign
of Reason. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of
it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done."
You look at Reign
"The Reign of Reason", by Godos Atrakut, is an old red book with yellowed pages, but the curious design on the cover looks distinctly modern.
You read it
You open to a random page:

"It's true. In gazing at that perfect Law, that unassailable and genius invention of those unsurpassed sages legalis in
ancient Istanbul... I was enlightened, or lifted from my body, or something changed spiritually within me. I am not ashamed to say it: damn all those religious men! It is not Christ who enlightened me! In the great library of Constantinople, a statute got me high..."

[You can type HINT for a hint at any time.]
You read it
You open to a random page:

"It's true. In gazing at that perfect Law, that unassailable and genius invention of those unsurpassed sages legalis in
ancient Istanbul... I was enlightened, or lifted from my body, or something changed spiritually within me. I am not ashamed to say it: damn all those religious men! It is not Christ who enlightened me! In the great library of Constantinople, a statute got me high..."

As you close the book, something on the inside cover catches your eye. In faint, wabbling pencil marks, someone has scrawled a name: Barach'speroth Arguule. You wonder if the ghost knows his book
has been defaced with these strange words...
You ask Baines about Arguule
You wouldn't have said it was possible even moments ago, but somehow the pale white ghost manages to blanch with fear. "Bara- uh, that name is not the name of any author, or any human being. If you have to know, B- Ba- Ba- that being is the first servant of the one who binds me here, the one whose name I will not even try to say. The incantation of Arguule may be hidden somewhere in these books; it is not his name, it is something more baleful..." he demurs. "I've said too much," he says, and falls silent.

You resolve to examine these books more attentively than ever when you read them, in case you might discover— whatever that is...
You read Reign
You open to a random page:

"It's true. In gazing at that perfect Law, that unassailable and genius invention of those unsurpassed sages legalis in
ancient Istanbul... I was enlightened, or lifted from my body, or something changed spiritually within me. I am not ashamed to say it: damn all those religious men! It is not Christ who enlightened me! In the great library of Constantinople, a statute got me high..."
You give the divination to Baines
(first taking The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew))
The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: The
Imagined Worm. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care
of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done."
You look at Worm
The cover is appropriately worm-y, and prints the title — "The Imagined Worm: My Journey Through the World of Creepy-Crawlies, by Elizabeth P. Stashwart" — in big, loopy script; but it doesn't give you much sign as to why this book is in the Forbidden Annex.
You read it
The pages of this book are densely-printed and rice-paper thin. You flip through it until you reach an illustration: a cross-section of some kind of slug-like worm. It certainly sounds nasty, but you can't understand half of the words on this page. You're a few college degrees away from getting much out of this book.
You ask Baines about Worm
The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask.

"I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac."
You ask Baines about Stashwart
(Elizabeth P. Stashwart)
"Stashwart is a distinguished researcher in the field of blood-swallowing parasites; a brightly-burning woman. She would come over some times to show Leopold — Leopold Cragne, I mean — some of
the
things she was working on; he had an amateur interest in parasitology. Someone once claimed to me, and I won't say who, that that she wrote The Imagined Worm as an amusement for her young nephew. But
as far as I know, she never had a nephew, and it doesn't seem like much of a children's book to me..."
You ask Baines about Leopold
"Leopold?" the ghost looks surprised. "He never wrote anything. I can comment on the authors of the books on these shelves and some of the people mentioned therein, but my relationship with Leopold Cragne- he was my employer and he took good care of me. I did his bidding, and I have no regrets. That's all I will say on the matter."
You ask Baines about ostregot
"Ostregot was a brilliant young poet, but emotionally a wreck. He died tragically young, collapsed of nervous exhaustion at the top of the Space Needle. The last time I met him, he told me he was going to throttle God."
You ask Baines about Atrakut
(Godos Atrakut)
"Atrakut was slightly before my time. He was close to Leopold; shockingly close, though he was an old, old man before I ever saw him. He was a true believer, that man, though a true believer in such strange things that I could scarcely believe it of him. I wonder if Leopold held him close because of what he found in Istanbul in 1918 — that discovery made it into only one writing of Atrakut's: The
Reign of Reason. Leopold made sure that no one would ever read
it... other than me, of course. And perhaps you," says the ghost, and around his lips plays the faintest of smiles.
You examine cover
(the battered yellow JogMaster)
A portable audio player with an attached lanyard so you can Wear It While You Jog! It's little more than a yellow brick of plastic with a power switch and a slot in which to insert cassette tapes. Damage to the unit includes a jammed battery cover, a missing lever to eject the current cassette, and a crimped headphone jack. A small speaker permits playback even without headphones.Someone carved the name "Carolyn" along one side.

The battered yellow JogMaster is currently switched off.
You examine the sp
A heavily reinforced pocket to store your sides in, if you're the kind of person who has too many sides to fit on a sidering. Wait, what? No, it's a pocket on one side of the backpack's central cavity. You can put whatever you want in there.

Fedwick peers scornfully at you.
Examine bp
Judging from the book pocket's enormous size and soft velvet lining, you suspect the backpack manufacturer designed it for Johnny Depp's character from The Ninth Gate.

In the book pocket are a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew), a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew), Tatooine 1: Anchorhead
(smelling faintly of mildew) and an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew).
You give the postcard to Baines
(first taking the postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: Between
God and Madness. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care
of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done."
You look at God
"Between God and Madness," by Hiram Strangecraft. It's a somewhat beat-up old book that looks like it used to be a library copy. The inside front cover is marked with a strange seal.
You examine the seal
You already have that.

A seal of curious design, stamped in red ink with such force that it impacted the pages behind it. The design appears to be just an abstract shape, although maybe it's writing in a script you can't read. It gives you the shivers, a little bit.
You read God
You open up to a random page and start reading:

"them. The nightmares come again, faster this time, as if driven by some invisible engine that makes as it destroys, loosening the innermost screws that hold perception to experience, fastening mortal souls to the invisible word. It is God, it is the Devil, it is the infernal nothingness of an ancient rite betrayed. There is no name for the horror I must face; it is eternal, unburied, unbroken, even though O God I so dearly wish that it could be destroyed, that the endless midnight of my spirit could be leavened by its absence; but absence is all that it is not; it is slithering, it is dripping, it is the god before the god that ever made machine, ..."

It goes on and on like that. Don't you have better things to do?
No
That was a rhetorical question.
You read God
You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this.

You shut the book, but one page catches your eye and you quickly flip it open again. In the margin, someone has scribbled: "It must be
said three times, in the presence of the carved seal... that is the only way to banish the spirit and secure what he has stolen... he is covetous, it is the only way... but it is so dangerous that I am afraid to do it, even to retrieve my precious and defiled memory... the god's first servant will be summoned... but I will mark the word, the incantation, before he kills me... it is the only way..."

That's tantalizingly little information — all you need to learn now
is
what that incantation is!
You give waterlogged to Baines
(first taking the moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew))
The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: The Broken Tongue. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it,"
he says. "And give it back to me when you're done."
You examine Tongue
The Broken Tongue looks like an old academic text, by one
Noah Chaplinski. There's some weird lettering in an unfamiliar alphabet on the cover.
You ask Baines about Noah
(Noah Chaplinski)
"Noah Chaplinski was a distinguished professor of languages at the Miskatonic University. Leopold corresponded with him occasionally. Of course, Chaplinski made a serious mistake: he requested a pass to the Secondary Archives at Miskatonic U. He went mad, naturally, and worse. In the most literal sense, it's a tale as old as time." The ghost shakes his head.
You ask Baines about Strangecraft
(Hiram Strangecraft)
"They used to keep Strangecraft up in the attic, which seemed cruel to me, but I suppose there was no other solution. He was absolutely mad. And they couldn't turn him over to the Asylum — not with everything he'd heard, and not with Dr. Wagner still running the Asylum like his personal panopticon. There are some things that have to stay in the household. I convinced Leopold not to burn all the man's manuscripts, but of course they could never be published, so I keep them here in the Forbidden Annex."
You read Tongue
You open to the first page, and the symbols you see are incomprehensible. You flip to a random page, and its the same. Not even an alphabet you recognize — although it may match the symbols on the cover.
You examine the lettering
You can't make out the meaning of these squiggles.

Fedwick peers scornfully at you.
You give the soggy to Baines
(first taking the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew))
The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: Out of the Infinite. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of
it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done."
You look at infinite
This book promises more poetry from the mind of Robert N. Ostregot. It looks a little more well-loved than the other Ostregot book.
You read infinite
You flip through the ratty pages and read a short verse:

What is the point of the end of the world if under its skin, you are trembl
this is the tidepool
so cling to it, wait for it
this is the cataclysm

Hmm. You're not sure you like this one very much. It reminds you uncomfortably of Strangecraft's writing. You wonder if the author was unwell.
You read infinite
You flip through the ratty pages and read a short verse:

What is the point of the end of the world if under its skin, you are trembl
this is the tidepool
so cling to it, wait for it
this is the cataclysm

Hmm. You're not sure you like this one very much. It reminds you uncomfortably of Strangecraft's writing. You wonder if the author was unwell.

On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood — but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word:
ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who
scrawled it was being dragged away...
You say the ANGARITHEP
The ghost shudders and flickers. For a moment you see a glimpse of tangled limbs. Upon reconstituting, he whispers hoarsely. "Do not say that word!"

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw the carvings on the wall glow red.
You say the ANGARITHEP
The ghost flickers again, and takes on form after form. A squirming mass of tentacles, a waterfall of slime, a thousand cockroaches in the shape of a body, a blazing orb of purple light, and then again the shuddering form of Fedwick Baines. "Stop, I beg of you! I'll give you anything!" He pulls out a stoppered vial and a stack of books, trying to hand them to you, but they flicker and shudder along with his ghostly body.
You say the ANGARITHEP
You say the word again, but the moment that the last syllable slips out you can only regret it. This time, the ghost screams,
before flickering so violently that it gives you a searing pain behind your eyes. An eviscerated tiger; a flock of screaming crows; a burning book, with yellow, judging eyes in the dancing flames; your husband, Peter, his arms bound and a thrashing tentacle forcing its way out of his throat; the tilt of a nauseous ship; the wail of an injured child; a leopard with a thousand eyes instead of spots. And then it's Fedwick Baines again, but his ghostly form is cut, as if with a razor, bleeding from ragged lacerations that criss-cross his torso, almost in the form of a star. His voice is curt and ragged. "You did th-"

But at that moment, a mass of enormous, toothy tentacles bursts from his chest, splattering his ghostly organs in every direction and cutting him off mid-speech. The tentacles flail and grab, seizing chunks of his spectral body and pulling them into the void of his ruptured chest, now seemingly a portal to another dimension.

The tentacles are reaching towards you, too, now, and you flinch in terror as one ice-cold, rubbery tentacle brushes your jaw. You need to act fast.
You go upwards
You scramble up the ladder in a mad rush, those hideous tentacles lapping at your thighs, and you just slip through the hatch as they're reaching for your body, trying to pull you down. You slam the hatch shut and stand on it, shaking. It's impossible not to hear the slapping and scraping of those horrible tentacles, wherever they come from, desperately searching for something in the Forbidden Annex to devour.

Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.
Go upward
The Kitchen (Edward B)
The Cragne family kitchen. Light from a naked bulb feeds shadow down the spaces between old cabinets, counters and bookshelves. A dusty, doorless fridge overlooks an oven just as worse for wear. You'd guess it's been a minute since anyone's used this room to cook. A doorway leads east, and a wooden door set in the floor appears to lead to a cellar or basement.
You go downwards
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Carefully, you descend the creaking steps.

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.
Go downwards
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth)
You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north.

A pile of things lies on the cave floor, where Fedwick was standing.

You can see The Conservative's Cookbook, a little stoppered
vial of blue liquid, an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew), a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) and a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) here.
You examine conservative
It's a big, blocky book with a stain-proof cover and a picture of a guy with a chef's hat and a gavel on the cover. The title reads: "The Conservative's Cookbook, with Clarence T. Smokeless". The cover is stamped with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book.
You read it
(first taking The Conservative's Cookbook)
It's a bunch of recipes for baked goods and stuff. Nothing particularly revelatory there.

As you finish reading the passage, your own hands grow cold, and the book briefly frosts over before fading again, leaving traces behind only in the library insignia.
You get all
little stoppered vial of blue liquid: Taken.

old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.
You open the cabinet
You open the bookcase, revealing
The Liquid Sky, by Robert N. Ostregot,
In Defense of Reason,
The History of the End, or, Last Men,
Mysteries of the Red City,
Beyond the Dream of Moons,
The Ant That Breeds,
Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial
edition,
Across Black Oceans,
The Searcher in Darkness,
Out of the Screaming Planet,
The Doctrine of the Long Stick,
Reading the Sky and
The Monolith.
You examine Searcher in Darkness
(first taking The Searcher in Darkness)

Taken.

This leatherbound, pocket-sized volume reminds you of those "worst-case survival" books, but the title etched on the cover in lacy handwriting suggests a different tone: Searcher in Darkness,
by Endrew Skeinweld. It smells old, but maybe it's just mildewy.
You read it
You flip through the little pages of Searcher in Darkness.
There's a lot of cave maps, and a diagram of an old-fashioned oil lamp. One unusual illustration catches your eye: What looks like a rubbing of a weird stone carving, a seven-pointed star encircled by an open eye. The caption says it was found in Gorogoth Cave, right here in Vermont, by a spelunker named Barnabus Trail. The second sentence of the caption has been blotted out with black ink, and a cursory glance suggests there's no further discussion of the carving.

On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood — but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word:
ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who
scrawled it was being dragged away...
You put Searcher in the cabinet
You put The Searcher in Darkness, by Endrew Skeinweld into
the bookcase.
You look at the bat
A black ball of fur and fangs flutters helplessly in the cage.
You unlock Cage with the sinister iron key
(first taking the sinister iron key)
You unlock the hanging iron cage.
You open Cage
You let the creaking iron bars swing open.

The vampire bat squeaks and flies out of the cage at top speed, circles a few times and zooms through the opening in the ceiling.
You put the sinister iron key in kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the sinister iron key, then zip the key pocket back up again.
You go to the north
Hesitantly, you enter the mouth of the cavern, and start feeling your way through the tunnel...

You feel your way through enveloping darkness, and then pad in silence through the rough-hewn tunnels of the deeper caves...

You clamber over domes of rock, and then claw apart loose basalt, stumble onto a cliff and peer over at the steaming jungle at the center of the earth... topple over...

You collapse on blue soil, under an unknown moon...
You go to the south
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

The sky outside is purple, with a few stars already visible. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You go to the south
Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.

You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here.
You go to the south
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go to the south
You round the path and find yourself in a familiar knoll flanked on three sides by tall, dark cliffs. In the center of a clearing before you is a huge pile of rusting railroad track.

Leaning back against the pile of iron, Christabell gives you a fatigued wave and after some exertion of effort becomes more substantial.

"Hello, again, Friend Naomi," she says weakly.

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see Christabell here.

[ HINT: you can type "hints" for a hint for this location ]
You talk the tea
(the teapot (smelling faintly of mildew))
Christabell squints as she looks at you, shading her eyes with her hand.

"Runes of the Deep Ones preserve us, Naomi. By what
Artefise are you so surfeited of Potence, that
Louminance does burne mightily about you? Had I Haires upon my
Bodie, they would upon their very Ends stand aright, you do so exude Glamour. By what Manner did that come to pass, I do wonder?
You talk carol
"When she were a Childe, she did come visit me frequently, standing as you do now. I do flatter mieself to thinke she did seek my Company for Wisedom and Solace, but let us also admit that for a Childe, the Crâne Manse was naught but a Place of Boredom most profound."

The light plays strangely over Christabell and for a brief instant she appears ghostly and luminous rather than solid.
You look at Carol
Carol is wearing a her highschool uniform.

Carol continues to comb her long hair.
You examine table
A small ivory-colored painted wooden table, just to the side of the window. A few items of makeup are arranged neatly on one corner, and a small, round mirror stands on the other
You examine the mirror
Your face is distorted in the makeup mirror and items behind you are a blur.
You look around
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
The room has changed since you last saw it: there are fewer toys and it is less cluttered; in a word, more mature.

The bed now sports a light blanket, pastel blue in color, pulled taut over the twin mattress, with two pillows stacked at the head of the bed. To one side of the window stands a small table with a number of items on it, including a small mirror and some makeup. The large bay window looks out on the same scene as before, but leaves on the trees far below are just now beginning to sport autumn colors. To its side, the small writing desk has been replaced with a larger one and some books are stacked beside the same desk lamp you saw last time. A few pieces of artwork are stuck to the wall next to the desk. Nearer to the entrance, an old-fashioned turntable rests on a wooden stand.

Notably missing is the large framed portrait of President Eisenhower and its weighty golden frame. A single bent nail remains in the wall surrounded by a slightly discolored patch of wall where the picture once hung.

Below that space, three stuffed toys sit in a tight circle on the same tiny chairs that you saw last time. The exit is to the south.

You can see Carol and a window (closed) here.

Carol carefully applies some makeup.
You examine the desk
A large dark wood desk and matching chair, very grown-up in appearance. Several books are stacked on the desk, along with a piece of newsprint and a desk lamp. A few drawers run down the side of the desk. Above the desk some drawings have been Scotch-taped to the wall.
Examine book
(the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew))
The old paperback book is pretty thick, and the pages are yellowed and lacerated here and there. You're not a bookworm, but the condition of the book and the outdated font and style of drawing on the cover tell you it was printed decades ago, maybe at the beginning of the century.

Judging by the cover the book seems to be a bit pulpy. It shows a large, old and eerie house on a clearing in the woods. The title is "ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY." A scraggy sticker with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, on it indicates that by no means you want to pay the fine for exceeding the return deadline.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.
Examine stacked
Several hardcover books are stacked on one side of the desk and topped by a stapled bit of looseleaf paper. Reading along the spines from top to bottom, the books are: "Our Colonial Heritage",
"Fundamentals of Algebra", and "Modern Etiquette: A
Primer".

Carol mutters to herself in some forgotten language.
You open the drawer
You snatch at it several times, until your brain registers that it is not there. Alarmingly, when your fingers touch the drawers they penetrate the surface. You know it is not the case, but visually, it appears that your has been severed neatly at the surface, the fingers lost somewhere in the interior. Reflexively, you whip your hand back.

Carol holds her hands to her face and giggles. "Silly Naomi! You should see the look on your face!"

"That's not something you can play with," instructs Carol. "Not worth the trouble."
Examine newsprint
Your eye is first drawn to the date, November 22, 1963, and the curious fact that the paper is not yellowed at all. Below the newspaper masthead is a black and white photograph, stippled with tiny dots as they were in those days, of a number of people crowded around a convertible. Below that, a title, "Tragedy in Dallas".

You don't have to read further. You know what this is.
You talk to Carol
You say hello to Carol.

Carol appears oblivious to your prescence.
You examine the desk
A large dark wood desk and matching chair, very grown-up in appearance. Several books are stacked on the desk, along with a piece of newsprint and a desk lamp. A few drawers run down the side of the desk. Above the desk some drawings have been Scotch-taped to the wall.
You examine the lamp
(the waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew))
A small flashlight, with a rubber ring where it screws together to keep the water out-though some oily substance coats the inside.

Inside the flashlight is a clump of glowing vegetation.
You examine the drawings
Three drawings are taped to the wall above Carol's desk, the top one in crayon, the middle in ink, and the bottom one painted with watercolors.
You examine crayon drawing
Primitive technique, limited palette, crayon on manila paper.

There are three stick figures on the left, generously, as man, woman, and child. The man drawn mostly in gray, the woman wearing a red dress with large skirt, and the child wearing a blue dress of the same style, her blonde hair done up in braids. The figure in the middle is more of a jumble: recognizably human with a hat and beard, stooped over with a cane. On the right, are a bunch of brown lines, behind them great masses colored in black vertical lines, and in from of all that the outline of a woman, not a stick figure, but just back and forth strokes of yellow crayon.

In the corner, it is labelled "Carol, Age 5."
You examine the ink drawing
India ink on hot press bristol board.

It has the quality of being drawn hastily to capture the event. In places, the ink is smeared suggesting that the artist lacked practice with fountain pens. The drawing does not have much in terms of perspective, but some cross-hatched shading does give it depth.

Three creatures are outlined, their backs towards the viewer, each leaning towards the center of the drawing where another creature lays on the ground surrounded by a dark pool, suggestive of blood. The three creatures appear to be dismembering the poor creature on the ground, some sort of animal, which struggles desperately, flailing at them with its three remaining limbs. Its fourth has already been wrenched away by one of the attackers, who chomps into it with sharp simian teeth.

In the corner, it is labelled "Carol, Age 10."
You examine the watercolor
Windsor & Newton series 1 watercolors on 140# cold press Arches paper using wet-on-wet technique. Limited palette: ultramarine blue deep, burnt umber, burnt sienna, mars black with touches of alizarin crimson.

At first, the paint-saturated paper looks like nothing more than muddy splotches, but as you stare at it, forms begin to emerge. There is something in the lower right hand corner that you can't quite bring yourself to look at, but in the center, a long, black tubular thing fights a losing battle to escape, its back cracked and red-tinged bubbles escaping.
You look at the drawer
You can no more yank open these ephemeral drawers than touch any other ghostly item in this room. They are closed, and absent some divine intervention, they will stay closed.
You look at your surroundings
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
The room is surprisingly neat and tidy, particularly for a teenager, and the furnishings are sparse: a bed, table, desk, and a turntable.

A few toys are gathered neatly in one corner beneath a blank patch of wall, where a large framed portrait once hung. A few pieces of artwork are affixed to the wall above the desk. The exit is to the south.

You can see Carol and a window (closed) here.
You examine the window
The large bay window is framed in the same age-worn rosewood trim that decorates the rest of this once great mansion.
You look through mirror
Your hand goes right through it.
You look at the turntable
A wooden turntable with speakers built into the cabinet rests on a folding wooden table. There is a record on the turntable, but the turntable is off.
You examine the record
The center is black, with silver writing. You can't make out much beyond "Wagner" and "Die Walküre".
You look at Bed
The bed is perfectly made and a light blue woolen blanket stretched drum-taut over it. The pillows are perfectly aligned with the upper edge of the blanket.
You look at the coffee
This is odd. As you watch the swirls in your cup, they form a pair of lovers that rotate around the cup, maintaining a steady distance from each other.

You remember that twin objects like this mean you are split between two intricately entangled destinies, and that at any given moment, one of them will be the right place for you to be, but the coffee can't tell which. Way to drop the ball there, coffee.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go to the south
"I've learned a few things since you were here last time; surely, you must know that Christabell taught me every chance she got.
She's such a generous soul, and so starved for company out there on the hill." Carol glances out the window towards the cliffs.

"Seems like you are the one who can't get enough of company. No wonder you don't get a lot of visitors, if you trap everyone in your room. Not many teenagers would want to lock adults in with them."

"Well, you are the only one who can see me, so you've got that going for you. No, I'm happy to let you go, I just want to be able to find you again, you know, if I need you for something."

"It's nice to be needed."

"So I understand. I will lower my barrier for you just as soon as you agree to bear my mark. The good news, it's painless, the downside: it is a stain on your immortal soul. There's no such thing as a free lunch, after all. So, what'll it be, shall I mark you?"

She extends an index finger towards you.
No
"Well unless you know some way out of this room that hasn't occurred to me, we're going to be here together until you do agree, but no hurry on my account. We can come back to the marking issue later."
No
Carol shakes her head sadly.

Carol reminds you that she'd really appreciate it if you would say "yes" so she could get on with the rest of her day.
Leave
"Not to be a bore," say Carol, "but I need to ask your consent to mark you before you split; can I place it?"

"Malice, is it me, or is Naomi being just a little bit selfish by now allowing me to place my mark?"

Carol nods at Malice as he (apparently, though you don't hear a thing) lends her his wisdom.

"No doubt about that at all," giggles Carol with a conspiratorial wink at the demonic clown. "If she would just say "yes", the world
would be a better place. From a certain point of view."
You enter the window
First of all, this window is many stories above the ground; the drop would be certain death. Beyond that, though, the window isn't open.
You open the window
The window has a badly rusted child-proof safety lock -- on the outside.

Carol rolls her eyes waiting for you to say "yes" so she can place her mark.
You open the safety lock
The window has a badly rusted child-proof safety lock -- on the outside.
You examine the window
The large bay window is framed in the same age-worn rosewood trim that decorates the rest of this once great mansion.
Yes
"Thank you for being so reasonable. This will only bring us closer," says Carol as she pokes you gently with her finger. You do not feel pressure where she touched you, it was more like air blowing gently on your shirt.

Carol withdraws her finger and stares at it, puzzled. "That's odd."

"Problem?" You say.

"No, not really a problem, more of an inconvenience. It seems like you've already been marked, presumably by Christabell for your own protection. That makes sense, I suppose. Can't be too careful." Carol looks out the window. "As you probably know, a person can only be marked by one spirit."

"Oh?"

"Yes, so I had no choice, since you were already marked, I placed mine upon your daughter."

"I don't have a… wait a minute, what?" You glance at your belly where she touched you, "You mean, I'm…" Come to think of it, you have had a lot of nausea lately, in fact, Peter had to pull over on the drive up. And you've been feeling tired, which is unusual for you.

"Yes, so congratulations on that, I suppose. Anyhow, you're free to come and go as you please now."
Ploughver
Mens voices, people shuffling around frantically, things moving, falling.

"The brazing is blown, pressure is down to ten percent!" The voice is just slightly louder than the blaring klaxon.

"Dive planes up 30".

"Moderators are full in, it's no good, I'm scramming."

"All hands. Prepare for emergency blow. Larsen, in five and then hit it."

"Aye. Five. Four. Reactor quenched. Three. Two. We're pitching. One. Blow!"

"Tanks are good, but no blow. Sir, I think we're iced up."

"Crushing depth minus 200, minus 300."

And then silence.

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see Christabell here.

[ HINT: you can type "hints" for a hint for this location ]

As the day has progressed, the shadows over the hillside deepen, but you easily perceive Christabell, every bit as substantial as you last saw her, walking briskly over to to greet you.
You talk the resentment
"Carol seemed quite angry at you, Christabell."

"I do suppose she does have summe Reason, but know you that she did lead me on and I do think appreciate my Attentions. I am given to wonder if it was not she who did lead mee about wrongly."

"That's no excuse."
You talk the assassination
"On her desk, I saw a clipping of the assassination of
President Kennedy -- we have Presidents now, like President Dukakis -- they are in charge of the whole government. Let me back up, the American government is divided into the principal branches: executive, legislative, and judicial. The president…"

"I do know what a President be; Carol had explained it to me
upon a Tymme in much the excruciating Detaile as upon whych I did feare you do embark."

"Fine. So, she had this newspaper…"

"Yes, I do know what be a News Paper."

"Right. So, she had this newspaper article about the
assassination of President Kennedy -- is that one of her
Runes?"

"Nay, that be the result of her calling upon the Deep Ones; the
Rune that doth have Relation to it would of its own Accord enter into her Book."
You talk the scrapbook
"Carol said she had left her scrapbook at her school --
I wonder if that's true or if she was hiding them from me."

"So distracted was she as a Gyrll, it is not unthinkable that she did simply leave it. You must watch for another Oppourtunity to present itself."
Ploughver
.

Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
Carol stares out the window, her back to you. She's a bit taller and dressed in a sharply tailored turquoise shift. Without bothering to turn around, she addresses you, "I have been expecting you, Naomi. I knew you would come once more before I die."

[ HINT: you can type "hints" for a hint for this location ]

The room is brighter, but colder. A fluorescent fixture fills the room with blue-white light, which reflects harshly off the glassy gray walls. The stubby light gray carpet dulls the sound in the room, but contributes no warmth. At least one item in the room has not changed: the bed, same frame, although the blanket is now a darker blue, and there are no pillows. A small reading light is clamped to the headboard and there are a couple books stacked next to the bed. At the foot of the bed, the heavy gold frame is back, this time occupied by Richard Nixon. On the ground far below the bedroom window, a heavy padding of snow has covered the ground. To the left of the window, the desk is a now a steel and chrome affair, very modern. A computer terminal occupies about half the desk and a binder lies next to it. Above the desk, two rows of metal shelves have been installed. The record player is gone, replaced now by a reel-to-reel tape machine on the same little stand. The exit is to the south.
You look at stacked
A few books are stacked next to the bed, but you can read the titles, How to Make Friends and Influence People, The Compleat
Manual of Wardes and Seales, and The Indian grammar begun:
or, An essay to bring the Indian language into rules, for the help of such as desire to learn the same, for the furtherance of the Gospel among them.
You talk to Carol
You are already talking to Carol.
You examine Computer
A bulky affair, larger and deeper than your Viewsonic monitor back in the office. Most of the terminal is a white plastic case, except the front, which is a dark green and mostly occupied by a glass screen, upon which white text glows on a black background. The lower portion of the front panel features an integrated keyboard. Above the keyboard and to the right of the screen, the case is marked in white lettering: "Computer Terminal Corporation" and "DATAPOINT 3300". Between those words, the case is stamped with an arrow in circle logo. You notice a sticker applied to the side of the case, near the bottom. It reads, "Property of General Dynamics". A large red rocker switch on the bottom right side of the keyboard emits a red neon glow.
You examine the window
The large bay window is framed in the same termite-infested rosewood trim that decorates the rest of this once great mansion. It looks like the child-proof lock that once secured the window shut has long since fallen off.
You look at the binder
A black binder containing computer printouts.
You read it
You flip open the binder into which some green and white fan-fold paper has been pasted on several pages. The first page seems to be an index, written in the same blocky letters as on the cover. The index reads:

* INS Dakar (Israel), 25 January
* S647 (France), 27 January
* K-129 (Soviet), 8 March
* USS Scorpion, 22 May
You read Dakar
25 JAN 1968 1601Z AUTHENTICATED RMX-998-LPO
SIGINT ATHENS REPORTS ENCRYPTED CW DISTRESS
SIGNAL FROM ISRAEL NAVY DIESEL-ELECTRIC
SUBMARINE DAKAR STARTING 1001Z ENDING 1003Z TODAY.
NO FIX BY RADIOGONIOMETRY. VESSEL LAST OBSERVED
BY TRAWLER AT 2301Z ON 24 JAN 1968 AT 35.005N
BY 26.954E APPROXIMATE HEADING 135 AT 7 KNOTS
BELOW PERISCOPE DEPTH WITH FLOOR AT 3000M. NO
OTHER SUBMARINES WITHIN 100NM AT THAT TIME. NO
HYDROPHONIC EVENTS REPORTED BY UK WESTERN
SOVEREIGN BASE AREA CYPRUS. LOSS OF VESSEL
CONFIRMED BY IDF AT 1430Z. WILL DELAY SEARCH
UNTIL 2200Z 25 JAN 1968. EOM.
I beg your pardon?
Kwisatz haderach
You join your fists together and aim at the binder, and speak the invocation: "kwisatz haderach".

Carol tries to get between you and the scrapbook, but she is not fast enough. As the book dissolves progressively to dust to small to see. Carol sags, as if suddenly exhausted.

"You idiot," she scolds. "What was that for? I've done nothing to you -- well, nothing to speak of."

"You were growing too powerful; it makes me uncomfortable."

"I thought you were a little more rational than that, Naomi. I am disappointed in you. That was, of course, just one of many volumes -- my power is little diminished."

"Also," Carol adds as a petty afterthought, "the word is Maud'dib. I at least read the book. When he used the weirding module, the thing he yelled was Maud'dib, not Kwisatz Haderach. You could at least get that one detail right."
You break the window
The house has survived Vermont winters, it will survive you.
You open the window
Carol is watching you too closely.
You look around
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
The room is brighter, but colder. A fluorescent fixture fills the room with blue-white light, which reflects harshly off the glassy gray walls. The stubby light gray carpet dulls the sound in the room, but contributes no warmth. At least one item in the room has not changed: the bed, same frame, although the blanket is now a darker blue, and there are no pillows. A small reading light is clamped to the headboard and there are a couple books stacked next to the bed. At the foot of the bed, the heavy gold frame is back, this time occupied by Richard Nixon. On the ground far below the bedroom window, a heavy padding of snow has covered the ground. To the left of the window, the desk is a now a steel and chrome affair, very modern. A computer terminal occupies about half the desk. Above the desk, two rows of metal shelves have been installed. The record player is gone, replaced now by a reel-to-reel tape machine on the same little stand. The exit is to the south.

You can see Carol and a window (closed) here.

You sense that the ploughver spell has recharged.
You examine the shelves
The metal shelf immediately above the desk displays a few pieces of artwork. Above the art, the two stuffed dolls you have come to know as Master Sweetpaws the Monkey and Malice the Clown sit menacingly on the upper shelf, their lower legs dangling over the edge.
You look at artwork
Three small sculptures, none of them over about eight inches high stand on the lower shelf: a opalescent one on the left and a jet black one in the middle.
You look at opalescent
Opalescent pastel blotches swirl lazily over the ovoid sculpture. Unable to tear your eyes away, you feel yourself losing a grip on this reality.

"Rover, they're gaining on us — cut in the Casimir Drive," orders the woman strapped into the acceleration couch to your right. She is of medium height, dark hair, and wearing an orange space suit with a MARSPACE insignia.

To your right, a cybernetically enhanced Dalmatian leans forward from his customized couch to paw at a few buttons on the command panel. The view out the windows suddenly changes, as the slowly moving stars are replaced by the chaotic discharge aura of the zero point transition.

Suddenly, one of the pirate ships flanks you, its cutting beams chewing through the lateral ablative plating.

"It must have tracked our Condensate discharge," yells Janet.

The dog spins his couch, deftly tracking the enemy vessel and lets loose with the rail guns, slicing the marauder into two glowing red halves.

"Good boy!" Janet reaches across to scratch Rover just where he likes it, behind the ears, and pushes the Synch Regulator all the way forward, revving the ship to full Asymmetry.
You examine the jet
It looks like a brick. How is that art?

"It looks like a brick," you say, pointing at it. "How is that art?"

"It is a brick of sorts," replies Carol. "But it's a particularly important one. It's made of a ceramic with special properties that make it an excellent insulator. Father could explain it better than I."

"So it is valuable?" you ask.

"Valuable? It has no value in the here and now, but for a certain few individuals in 2003, the fact that it is on display here in 1969 rather than installed in its proper place will be a matter of some worth, at least to them."
You open the window
Carol seems to have her eye on you.
You examine right
(which of the three sculptures do you mean, the one on the left or one in the middle?)
You talk right
"Well," says Carol.
You talk art
"Sorry? Didn't follow that," says Carol.
You show right to Carol
(first taking the conspicuous absence of space)
Your hand goes right through it.
You talk absence
"How interesting," says Carol.
You look at the desk
Curved, tubular polished steel tubes support a single sheet of glass, about a half inch thick. A matching chair is right next to the desk. The only item on the desk is a huge antiquated computer terminal.
You examine the chair
(the desk chair)
A modern rolling chair that matches the desk.
You open window
She is so distracted by what you were just talking about that you are able to get near the window without her noticing.

You pull up on the window and it slides only a fraction of an inch up in its gritty track.
Continue
Carol is intently focused on what you are doing.
You talk more
"Well, you learn something new every day," says Carol.
You open window
She is so distracted by what you were just talking about that you are able to get near the window without her noticing.

You pull up on the window and it slides only a fraction of an inch up in its gritty track.
You look at Carol
Carol now wears her hair in a tight, efficient bob, giving her a more mature appearance, but you would put her age at nineteen or twenty.

Unbidden words pour from your mouth, "Such an End the New Gods will not permit; now with their Powers adjoined to mine, I do slay your Instrument and disrupt your Fusion." Suddenly, all of Christabell's power and infinitely more turn inward.

"No!" screams Carol, as she tries to push a wedge of her own powers through the crimson fist tightening on your belly.

But it is not enough. Within you, there is a final fluttering, and then nothing.

As Carol fades, you read her final silent words on her lips, "I'm sorry." And she too is gone.

"Your small Parte in this be nowe Compleat, dear Naomi," whispers Christabell. "Carol's Cycle is broken, but long will the Frewt of her Deeds despoil the Earth. In this Struggle I have been emptied of my Potence and do take my Leave, mine owne Fusion finally untangled."
You look around
Before you can do that, a book appears in mid-air and drops to the wooden floor. Clouds of dust waft up around it.
Describe the surroundings
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
Shafts of sunlight filter through the filthy window, which is now closed.

The room is empty: the carpet has been taken up, all furniture removed, and nothing left on the walls. Dust hangs in the air of this room so long abandoned.

You can see a window (closed) and a Tome of Naomi here.
You examine Tome of naomi
A photograph flitters out of the Rune Book, spirals around you and floats to the ground.

A thin, leatherbound tome. A title is embossed on the cover: "Tome of Naomi".
You get it
That's the thing about Rune Books: they like to be where they are and no where else. They are very finicky in that way.
You read it
You carefully lay open the crusty leather-clad book revealing a number of entries, each corresponding to a faded newspaper clipping:

For Gluttony of the Bestowance:
Boat Wreck On Sable Island

For Gluttony of the Bestowance a second time:
Watery Fate for Convict

For Gluttony of the Bestowance yet a third time:
Body Found

For Sloth of Mouvement:
Orphan Survives

For Sloth of Mouvement a second time:
Boardwalk Tragedy

For Sloth of Mouvement yet a third time:
Hargreaves Remembered

For Pride in Erasure of the Runes of Another:
Seinfeld Actor Dies

For Murder of Your Own Childe:
Red Tide
You examine the photograph
Stains cover large part of the front side, hiding the faces of what looks like a mother and a couple of small siblings. The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, is wearing a white, wedding dress. The kids both have on a kind of work overalls, over a white blouse. The boy on the right is not stained, still... he seems to have no face, as if time has worn out his features.

On the reverse side of the picture is something written, in a trembling hand-writing:

Put its gift over daan
And you'll soon end your search.

Below this, a different and more forceful hand has written "Don't forget to say ahe'hee!".
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a stochastic pattern resembling television static. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go south
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
The broken doors to the armoire lie on the floor near the center of the room.

The doorless armoire stands against the north-west wall. There's nothing inside.
You go to the south
White light flickers from somewhere inside the hole in the wallpaper.
Go south
Balcony (Reina Adair)
The balcony has definitely seen better days. Once it was more than likely a fine place to sit and look out over the skyline or whatever one desired to do out here. However, its charm has been lost with the passage of time. The wood, once more than likely shiny and well polished, is now rotten and peeling in various spots. Somehow, despite the way the architecture has aged, the railing at the end of the balcony itself is still somewhat sturdy. All around, the view of the scenery is breathtaking, albeit somewhat unsettling for some reason. Occasionally, a slight breeze blows past you, but you can't tell if its supposed to be warm or cool. The only exit from here is to the north.

A statue with a very strange appearance to it is standing here, almost as if it is watching the area.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Lavender Line -- Cragne Manor Balcony.
You wait for the blue Line
You lean against the wooden door, hold out your pass, and wait for the blue line. Within moments, a phantom trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You look at the book list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of
MICHAEL GENTRY
Examine book
(the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew))
The old paperback book is pretty thick, and the pages are yellowed and lacerated here and there. You're not a bookworm, but the condition of the book and the outdated font and style of drawing on the cover tell you it was printed decades ago, maybe at the beginning of the century.

Judging by the cover the book seems to be a bit pulpy. It shows a large, old and eerie house on a clearing in the woods. The title is "ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY." A scraggy sticker with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, on it indicates that by no means you want to pay the fine for exceeding the return deadline.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.
Go east
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

Illuminati, De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende
Zeeworm, a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum
Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew), Tolerating An Asinine
God (smelling faintly of mildew), The Seven Gaunts, a
pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal
(smelling faintly of mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and the
Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) and a shabby
journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.
You give Book to the LIBRARIAN
Which do you mean, the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew), the moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), the postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew), the faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew), the old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), The Conservative's Cookbook,
Out of the Infinite, by Robert N. Ostregot (smelling faintly
of mildew), The Broken Tongue, by Noah Chaplinski (smelling
faintly of mildew), Between God and Madness, by Hiram
Strangecraft, The Imagined Worm, by Elizabeth P. Stashwart,
The Reign of Reason, by Godos Atrakut (smelling faintly of
mildew), the pocket-sized notebook (smelling faintly of mildew),
The Lives of the Roman Emperors (smelling faintly of mildew),
the clipped newspaper article (smelling faintly of mildew), Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) (smelling faintly of mildew), Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf (smelling faintly of mildew), Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew), the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), the tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew), Tatooine 1: Anchorhead
(smelling faintly of mildew), the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew), the bookshelf, De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm, the 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum
Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew), Tolerating An Asinine
God (smelling faintly of mildew), The Seven Gaunts, the
pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal
(smelling faintly of mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and the
Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew), the shabby
journal or De Vermibus Laceris?
You give Anchorhead to the LIBRARIAN
Which do you mean, Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly
of mildew) or the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Old paperback
(first taking the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)) Klonk-klonk.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
an a worn out, decaying picture
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)
a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew)
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew) The Conservative's Cookbook
Out of the Infinite, by Robert N. Ostregot (smelling
faintly of mildew)
The Broken Tongue, by Noah Chaplinski (smelling faintly of
mildew)
Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft
The Imagined Worm, by Elizabeth P. Stashwart
The Reign of Reason, by Godos Atrakut (smelling faintly of
mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a pocket-sized notebook (smelling faintly of mildew)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
The Lives of the Roman Emperors (smelling faintly of
mildew)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a clipped newspaper article (smelling faintly of mildew)
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (open)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You put the Books in the bp
soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew): Done. postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
Out of the Infinite, by Robert N. Ostregot (smelling faintly
of mildew): Done.
The Broken Tongue, by Noah Chaplinski (smelling faintly of
mildew): Done.
Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft: Done.
The Imagined Worm, by Elizabeth P. Stashwart: Done.
The Reign of Reason, by Godos Atrakut (smelling faintly of
mildew): Done.
pocket-sized notebook (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
clipped newspaper article (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.
Close bp
You close the book pocket.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
an a worn out, decaying picture
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew) The Conservative's Cookbook
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
The Lives of the Roman Emperors (smelling faintly of
mildew)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region

Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You look at the book list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
The Lives of the Roman Emperors
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque
Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares
The Conservative's Cookbook
You go east
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

On the cart are Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) (smelling faintly of mildew), an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew), a book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati,
De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm, a
'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling
faintly of mildew), Tolerating An Asinine God (smelling faintly of mildew), The Seven Gaunts, a pink-bound book (smelling
faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of
mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River
Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) and a shabby journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.
You give cookbook to the LIBRARIAN
Which do you mean, The Conservative's Cookbook, Mama Hydra's
Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf (smelling faintly of mildew) or Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Go west
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You put the cookbooks in the bp
Which do you mean, Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf (smelling faintly of mildew) or Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You put the Mama Hydra's in the bp
You unzip the book pocket, deposit Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the book pocket back up again.
You put culinary in the bp
You unzip the book pocket, deposit A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the book pocket back up again.
You put Wheldrake in bp
You unzip the book pocket, deposit Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the book pocket back up again.
You examine the cross
The inner ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE.
You examine the central circle
The circle looks solid. Apart from the set of talons that frame it, it has one single mark: a triangle pointing somewhere northeast.
You go to the northeast
No visible exit there. You can go north, east, west, southwest, and southeast.
You turn central
It is immovable.
You turn inner
You maneuver the inner ring and it turns one step clockwise with almost no friction. The symbols now are:
The inner ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH.
You turn inner
You maneuver the inner ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The inner ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER|CROSS.
You turn inner
You maneuver the inner ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The inner ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER.
You turn inner
You maneuver the inner ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The inner ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE.
You examine the middle
The median ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

DAAN      |SHI       |AAK'EE    |HAI       |TLÈÈ      |JI.
You examine the outer
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER.
You turn outer
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN.
You turn outer
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

WOMAN     |FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE.
You examine the emblem
The big emblem, one yard wide, is embedded in the center of the square like a manhole. The surface looks golden, although you seriously doubt it is anything more than pyrite. Its three rings surround a central circle tightened by bird claws with a single triangular mark pointing northeast. The rings themselves are bedecked by a series of symbols (outer to inner, then clockwise from north):

WOMAN     |FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE
DAAN      |SHI       |AAK'EE    |HAI       |TLÈÈ      |JI WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE.
You turn middle
You maneuver the median ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The median ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

JI        |DAAN      |SHI       |AAK'EE    |HAI       |TLÈÈ.
You say ahe'hee
As you speak the magic word (nice one, lady!), the central circle of the big emblem sinks into the ground, revealing a shallow hole. There is something inside!
You look at Hole
In the central hole is a copper amulet.
You get the amulet
(the copper amulet)
Taken.
You look at it
It is an hexagon-shaped copper amulet, held by a long chain. It shows the stylized shape of an octopus -- or whatever that thing is, given it has maybe twenty-four tentacles.

On the back, the words T11 C1996 are the only features worth
noticing.
You examine the amulet
Which do you mean, the copper amulet or the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You wear the copper amulet
You put on the copper amulet.
Go downwards
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins. The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey, you! I'm waiting! Hellooooo?"
Go northwest
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a maple leaf. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the copper amulet
It is an hexagon-shaped copper amulet, held by a long chain. It shows the stylized shape of an octopus -- or whatever that thing is, given it has maybe twenty-four tentacles.

On the back, the words T11 C1996 are the only features worth
noticing.
You turn on the vcr
You press the power button a couple of times, and nothing happens.
The power cord is unplugged.
You plug the cord in
You plug the power cord into the mannequin's bloody socket. It swallows the entire plug, leaving only the cord emerging from the dummy's abdomen and snaking toward the TV. The mannequin's hands and feet twitch with unholy excitement.
You put the TAPE 11 in the vcr
You turn the Panasonic on. A plain blue screen is displayed.

(first taking tape 11)
The tape plays. The screen is black. Nothing seems to be happening, but then you hear the hiss and crackle of static. The audio on this tape seems to have been transferred from something very old, perhaps a wax cylinder. The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes. A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 1503.
You look at the vcr
It's a 29-inch model, perhaps even bigger. It has all the features of a TV and a VCR, including a four-digit counter that tells you where you are on a tape. A single power button controls the whole thing, and the counter has a reset pin you can push. With a tape in, you can PLAY, EJECT, REWIND, or FAST-FORWARD TO (FF TO) a specific spot.

The huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo is currently switched on.
Ff to 1995
You fast-forward until the counter reads 1995.

The tape plays. The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes. A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 2045.
Rewind
You rewind the tape all the way. The counter now reads 1431.
Ff to 1996
You fast-forward until the counter reads 1996.

The tape plays. The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes. A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 2046.
You examine the mannequin
It's a single-piece female model with articulated joints. It's missing its head; someone has raggedly hacked it away, leaving a rather sharp edge. The painted eye on the torso has been replaced by an oozing socket. It's wearing nothing.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a maple leaf. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Play
The tape plays. The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes. A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 1481.
You look at the PIN
It's got a four-digit display and a little pin that you can push to reset it. It currently reads 1431.

>  X PIN

It's got a four-digit display and a little pin that you can push to reset it. It currently reads 1431.
Ff to 1996
The tape advances, continuing with the same tinny voice droning on. Suddenly, though, a different recording cuts in, and a new (but equally old) voice whispers: "My dearest Salona:" There's a
rustling noise, followed by a crash. "Apologies, I have still not
yet familiarized myself with this phonographic contraption. I hope this message finds you well, or, as well can be expected given the circumstances. I must be brief, as I am not certain to tarry long in this fearful place. I have instructed my man to send you with this missive your most favorite varietal of peaches, newly pickled in a jar with a most singular reagent that, I am told, shall restore to you life and vitality. I only pray this does not reach you too late.

"Until next we rejoin, I remain, Edmund--" And the voice cuts
off.

Hm. That seems noteworthy. Make a note of it. Really.
You examine the jacket
A patch on the left breast reads "Century 21 Real Estate." There's dried blood all around the collar.
Go southeast
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins. The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey, you! This way! Can you hear me?"
You go upward
Taking a deep breath, you grasp the ladder for support and hook your leg up to the first available step. The metal creeks and groans alarmingly as you transfer your weight, but the bolts hold firm. You shakily gather yourself and begin to ascend back up to the surface.

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.
Go south
River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins.

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.
You ask man about Peter
(the one-eyed man about that)
"Do you know my husband? His name is Peter Cragne and..." you stop, looking for the right thing to say. "Well, I need to find him."

"Oh, Madam, how twisted is the fortune of a bride missing her groom! Although, these days, I come to think of it as a natural aspect of modern marriage, isn't it?"
You ask man about Edmund
(the one-eyed man about Edmund)
There is no reply.
You go to the north
The man returns to his pretended duties, while keeping his one eye one you.

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You wait for the purple Line
You lean against the ripped headline, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, a spectral trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go to the south
Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a stone altar here.
You examine the altar
A large, roughly rectangular slab of the same black granite as the surrounding cliffs.
You examine coffee
The swirls in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go southeast
Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover)
Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain, and its perimeter circled by dead pigs and cows in buzzing heaps.

A hole is smashed into its side.

To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant.
You examine Plant
(the Cragne Meatpacking Plant)
Block print, more than twenty feet tall, spells out CRAGNE MEATS INCORPORATED across the building. At least it did, until the
elements had their say. And the grease-fires. Now the plant advertises C  GN  ME TS   CO PO   ED.
You examine the smoke
Heavy lines, trickling from the chimneys like starbound grease.
You examine Hole
A door used to be here. Apparently it was too small for whatever wanted to get in—or out.
You look at the bricks
You've seen grease-traps more hygienic than this building's bricks. Filthy grease-traps.
You look at Walls
Block print, more than twenty feet tall, spells out CRAGNE MEATS INCORPORATED across the building. At least it did, until the
elements had their say. And the grease-fires. Now the plant advertises C  GN  ME TS   CO PO   ED.
You touch Hole
As you reach toward the hole in the wall, you brush something moist.
You examine moist
You can't see any such thing...
You touch moist
You push your fingers through the air inside the hole. It's like cottage cheese. Heavy, damp, and clammy slime submerges your arm to the elbow, although you can't see anything. But you can feel
something hard, chitinous. When you remove your hand, there's no physical residue.
You get it
Your intentions recoil like cowering dogs.
You eat it
You bite an invisible pustule. It bursts, releasing sludge that slithers down your throat.
You eat yourself
You nip yourself. Your skin bruises.
You hit it
You lift your hand to strike, and—and—dig your fingernails into
your
palm.
You pull the String
The doll intones: "Flee the peril of the buzzing heaps!"
You examine the heaps
Some instinct called them to the plant, compelled them to fall in this particular arrangement. Their limbs are like letters, their slaughter grammar. Whatever language they might embody, its blasphemy could never be written. Only erased.
You pull the String
The doll intones: "Flee the chimneystacks!"
You examine the chimneystacks
In certain tarot decks, there is a card with a corpse on the ground, many swords stuck upright in its back. Chimneystacks are not, perhaps, unlike swords. Buildings are not unlike bodies. But whatever the card was meant to represent, you suspect it wasn't a meatpacking plant.
You pull the String
The doll intones: "Avoid the hazard of the thing that isn't here!"
You pull the String
The doll intones: "Beware the buzzing heaps!"
Search heaps
Flies buzz around your face. You bend down, feel along the ground, shove corpses aside as you dig through their desiccated heaps. They weigh practically nothing, like papier-mâché, but you find one that's still plump: a sheep with a bloated belly.

You pull its body into the open.
You examine the sheep
Its face has been scraped raw: a skull with bulbous eyes in red sockets.

They're eyes you recognize.

You only met her once, but you'll never forget those bulbous eyes. Old Lorraine Cragne, your husband's great aunt once-removed (or can great aunts be once-removed?), standing at a cutting-board in the kitchen. She had a rabbit pinned down. She ripped it open. Because, she explained, she could examine its guts to read the world's hidden language.
Open belly
The sheepskin is weaker than wet tissue-paper. It shreds in your hands, and steaming intestines pour through soggy fur. They spread toward your feet on the ground.

Did Lorraine have a seat on the board at Cragne Meats? You can't remember.
You look at the intestines
So many flies. Everywhere. They swarm the intestines like fingers following sentences in a book, tracing each loop, every bloody coil. Their buzzing is louder than ever before.
You search them
These intestines have fallen in this arrangement because it was meant to happen. Not only their coils, but also the empty spaces between them, seem to mirror other patterns nearby. Lorraine would've been able to interpret them. She knew how to read the blank spots in the world.
You listen
All this buzzing, buzzing, buzzing is like an old woman rasping, rasping, rasping: What the guts say is what they don't. What isn't here, that's what's really here. That's why the suckling came, because its name's not here. Not anymore. Speak what isn't here, and it will rise. Yes, we will rise.
You say the raeainrrat
Even thinking the name is too much. Every syllable is a claw inside your skull, scraping the bone like nails raking chalkboards. Something wants out. Something's already out.

Right here, in this hole smashed in the wall.

Reality ripples outward from the hole, impressed by an idea. By the name. Corpses rattle, gyrate like bathwater swirled into a drain. What isn't here screeches. What isn't here screams. What isn't here rises high into the sky, displacing clouds, festooned with carcasses, and crowned by a sheep's head whose bulbous eyes look to the stars.

It rises. It rises.

What isn't here, isn't here now.
Look around
Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover)
Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain.

A hole is smashed into its side.

To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant.
You examine Hole
A door used to be here. Apparently it was too small for whatever wanted to get in—or out.
You enter Hole
The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen)
You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door.
About yourself
You look yourself over and realize that you are a mess right now. You wonder how it came to this.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the hooks
The meat hooks are rusty, stained and out of reach. They are all empty except for a hook at the southern end of the room, which holds the body of a dead animal, hanging from its legs head down.
You examine the animal
This dead animal is some sort of dog of a breed unknown to you. There is something disturbing, twisted about this dog. It hasn't been dead for long. Especially you notice its stomach which seems particularly big and hard, as if there is something inside of it.
You examine table
This is a very long wooden table running the full length of the room from north to south. It is stained with old blood.
You examine Door
The door is ajar, so you can quickly leave this terrible place.
You examine doorway
It is just a doorway.
You go to the west
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones)
This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom.

You can see a pentagram on the floor here.
About yourself
You fight down the urge to compulsively examine the comparative size of your knees in relation to one another. It's a compulsion that pops up when you're under stress, has done since the knee fetishist you dated before Peter dumped you in college. You want to look right now but it just feeds the compulsion. No, no, you mustn't look! You won't! They're still the same size, Naomi. Your knees are still the same size.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a row of trees. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the stall
A walled bathroom stall in the corner of the room. Someone wrote "Beware Horse" on the side of the stall in marker. For some
reason. Below that, someone has written "Don't use the shitter,
bro!", also in marker. Pretty wide existential gap between those
two graffiti but okay. Anyway the door to the stall is slightly ajar.
You look at the graffiti
Someone wrote "Beware Horse" on the side of the stall in
marker. For some reason. Just below that they wrote "Don't use the shitter, bro!", also in marker.
You examine the mirror
A perfectly normal bathroom mirror: one of those big frameless dealies that they hang on the wall above the sink. In it you can see the bathroom reflected: the stall/toilet, the urinal, the shower, all floating in a terrifying dark void filled with unfamiliar stars. Wait what.

There's a sign on the corner of the mirror that says "Mirror Temporarily Out of Order - mgmt.".
You look at Sign
It says "Mirror Temporarily Out of Order"
You examine the shower
A chrome showerhead hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room, presumably for the plant employees to wash various species
worth of meat and meat byproducts off their filthy bodies. Directly below the showerhead, there is a large metal grate over a drain in the floor. On the wall between, there's a single shower knob that says "warm".

Above the knob, someone has scratched the words "Don't Shit In The Shower Anymore Bro!" into the wall. What the hell is wrong with
the savages that use this bathroom?
You look at the drain
A hole in the floor that keeps liquids of various kinds from filling up in the room. There's a metal grate over it.
You look at the urinal
A stainless steel trough in the floor, presumably for pissing into. There's a blue urinal cake at the bottom. Right about head-height above the urinal, the words "Do Not Shit Here Either" are
scratched into the wall. Just below that are the words "stop
telling us where not to shit, dude" in smaller letters. And just
below that is the word word "No".

So much drama.
You enter the stall
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl.

Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti.

You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here.

On the toilet are a candle shaped like a human hand and a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine.
You examine the candle
You see nothing special about the candle shaped like a human hand.

...what? It's just a weirdly shaped candle. Lots of bathrooms have candles, to freshen the air after using the facilities. That's all this is. Totally normal bathroom!
Examine magazine
(the Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew))
This is a cutting from an old Italian magazine. Printed on a corner is "La Domenica del Corriere, 2 Maggio 1972", and is apparently an article about an Italian monk and his alleged invention. In particular, a photo on the page strikes you. Attached to the newspaper cutting is what seems a typewritten translation of the article in English.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the juggs
It's the Virgin Alewives of the Midwest issue, according to the cover. "Oh hey dere I've never had a man but I'd sure like to doncha know!" proclaims the woman on the front in big red 80's font, as she stands there with two strategically-placed giant beer steins and not nearly enough clothing for a Midwest winter.

Ooo, it says there's an article on cornhole strategy, too!
You look at the cabinet
A laminated white medicine cabinet bolted to the wall above the toilet.
You open it
You open the medicine cabinet, revealing a cheap lighter, a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a bloodstained witch-knife.
You look at lighter
One of those cheap shitty little cigarette lighters you buy out of a tray at a bodega or gas station, the ones that don't work very well and have too little fluid. People only buy these when they're broke, or when they're so high that they actually appreciate the cliche head-shop clip-art on the side of the thing.

The art on this one is of a wizard holding a glowing marijuana leaf up over his head like it's the frikkin' Triforce. Damn. That's actually rad.
You look at the pepto
A bottle of pink bismuth-subsalicylate. It's for drinking when your poops are sick.
You look athe witch-knife
More properly known as an "athame", it's a black-handled witch-knife that sorcerors use in rituals to focus magical energy. And also to shank folks. This one is covered in dried blood, indicating a shanking happened at some point in the past.
You examine Door
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl.

Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti.

You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here.

On the toilet is a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine.
You look at bar
(the rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew))
The remains of the broken leg is light and sturdy and long enough to stretch from your hand to your elbow.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You open it
It seems to be locked.
You examine the grab bar
One of those metal grab bars for people who have difficulties walking or standing, set into the wall next to the toilet.
You get the Juggs
Taken.

Oh hey looks like somebody left a handwritten note tucked in the back of the vintage issue of Juggs. It becomes dislodged by your ministrations and floats gently to the floor of the stall.
You get handwritten
(the handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine)
Taken.
You read it
It has some writing on it in gothic script, which says:

Edward! Stop leaving the damn candle on the pentagram when you're
not using the toilet-portal. I'm tired of the meatpacking proletariat falling ass-first into orbit around my [mustard stain] and
dying there every week. And I'm already burning through a truly astounding quantity of baby souls to maintain a bathroom in two spacetime locations at once, much less keep a five-million-mile wormhole open for every sausagewright that can't be arsed to read a sign on the work toilet. So again: keep the candle off the pentagram and don't open up any more portals!

Also, it is absolutely imperative that you get that demonic
monster out of the bathroom pipes before it kills again, lest we be caught. Since it is an unliving abomination that cannot die, I recommend banishment: use the [ketchup stain] spell on the
vellum [more ketchup] scroll; it's on my bookshelf. As my
apprentice you should have the magickal skill to cast the spell on the horse without your [whiteout, or possibly mayo] turning
inside out.

At any rate I have business in space, but expect my return on the
full moon of [mayo?]

I remain,
Konstan[lettuce stuck on the page] Cragne
P.S.: If I find you have touched my journal in my absence, I shall transmogrify you into an abscess on a buttocks. xxoxo be good

Oh lord, this bathroom has some mysterious mystical connection to one of your bizarre in-laws. Why are they all so weird and/or evil? And a horse? What horse? What's turning inside out, now? Demon in the pipes? One thing at least is for certain: Edward (whoever that is) needs to stop eating on the can while reading his mail
Look around
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl.

Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti.

You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here.
You look at the toilet
A standard porcelain commode. Suspiciously clean for a meatpacking plant bathroom, although it's probably covered in a thin layer of invisible meat debris like everything else in this plant. The bowl is open, containing some toilet water. It appears that the toilet is currently unflushable due to the fact that some obnoxious fuck ran off with the flush handle. Also, there is a sign taped to the toilet that has printed on it: "Caution! Danger! Subatomic structure of toilet EXTREMELY compromised! Localized failure of the strong nuclear force may occur! Use is unadvised! -maintenance, and then farther down
on the sign in a different hand: "RIP JON I TOLD YOU NOT TO SHIT HERE!". Troubling signage, to say the least.
You examine the graffiti
There's a giant ham drawn in sharpie dominating one wall of the stall, with the words "That's a big ham!" right underneath it in bic
pen. A couple of lightning bolts, some swastikas made of dicks, and a scrawl near the toilet that says "Help the toilet is pulling me in
by the ass and I can't hold on any more tell my wife I lo" with
just a long squiggle at the end leading down to the toilet bowl after that. Buncha' jokers in this meatpacking plant, that's for sure.
Go outside
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones)
This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom.

You can see a pentagram on the floor here.
You examine the pentagram
Just your run of the mill pentagram. About six feet across, artfully carved into the floor. You know. Perfectly normal pentagam. Perfectly normal bathroom.
You examine the sink
A perfectly normal stainless steel sink set into wall below the mirror. Looking at it reminds you of how much awful and/or weird stuff you've been touching with your bare hands, recently. And how covered in other peoples' germs you must be at this point. There's a tap on the back with a handle that turns on the water. Just above that tap handle, someone has scrawled the words "Stop Shitting In The
Sink" with a marker.

Okay maybe not the *best* sink to wash your hands in, but a sink nontheless and they're in short supply in this town.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage
issue of Juggs Magazine
a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine
a bloodstained witch-knife
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol
a rad wizard lighter
a candle shaped like a human hand (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (being worn)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You turn the knob
You unscrew the single shower knob and take it with you. Now the meat-stained workers of this plant will never be clean.

Right after you take the knob, a horrific banging sound starts up in the pipes. A wet, sloshing banging noise, like a bunch of hams were being tossed about in a washing machine. You remember your Uncle (the plumber, not the one that went to prison) telling you that pipes in buildings would do this sometimes when the air gaps were backed up. But then he also told you to always keep a bucket in your car to shit into "just in case there's no toilet all of a sudden". Whatever that meant. So who knows.
You describe your surroundings
You start to turn away from  shower, but then a new sound emanates from the bathroom appliance. The new sound is so strange that you pause:
"br-rn-nn-nn-nn-nn.". Like an engine on a car or a lawnmower turning over. "br-rnn-nn-nn-nn-nn". It's coming out of the  shower. Your Uncle never mentioned this plumbing noise.
You start to turn away from the  shower again, and suddenly the noise jumps 50 decibels: "br-RN-NN-NN-NN!!!" It sounds like a car engine right behind you and you whirl. There's only the  shower. But you notice something:
Something is oozing out of the drain. Something brown, and flabby. Meatlike. Something meatlike is backing up out of the pipes like sewage

And it has a pair of  LIPS. Big equine-looking lips and gums
on a long flabby snout, sticking out of the drain.
"Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN" say the lips and jaw, seemingly boneless, continuing to ooze out of the pipe. Half a head now, the eyeball on one side making a moist popping noise as it clears the drain. It glares at you. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!!". And then, with a sound like a plunger working furiously on a clogged drain, the meat retracts back into the pipe and it is gone.

You breath again.
You look at the mirror
Before you can do that, the wall of the bathroom buckles and then shatters outwards in a shower of drywall and fixtures, as a rolling ball of meat and sinew with four kicking limbs and a frothing toothless mouth bursts forth into the room.
You try to run but it's between you and the door, flailing and frothing. It squirms like a giant boneless worm and then the hoists the top-half of itself upright like a giant sausage with one end tottering in the air. "BR-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!" it screams at you from a long, boneless, mane-covered head. That's when you see the swishing tail.
It's a horse. A giant boneless horse. There's a giant boneless horse in the walls. Was in the walls. Now it's in the room with you , flailing hooves and making noises like a race car engine. What do you do??
You light the candle with the lighter
You flick the lighter a few times over the hand shaped candle. It takes a couple tries but you manage to get a finger to light, finally. One of the candle's fingers I mean, not your fingers, although it was touch and go there for a second. Anyway the lights in the bathroom flicker momentarily and for a brief moment you hear the sound of frenzied cackling from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Fresh lavender scent though, mmmm.

The horse surges forward and flails its boneless noodle-limbs wildly, catching you in the chest with a fist-sized hoof. You're thrown against the stall; shaking it and throwing the stall door open. You haul yourself to your feet as the flabby bag of horse pulls itself across the floor towards you. What do you do??
You put the candle in the pentagram
You put the lit candle shaped like a human hand on top of the pentagram. That doesn't seem like a good idea but okay.

The pentagram suddenly blazes alight with ghostly blue flame! And also something starts glowing in the toilet bowl, in the stall. Weird.

The boneless horse shudders. Then it jerks every muscle at once, coiling, then jacknifing up like a sausage being set on one end. It rears above you, hooved forelimbs (or backlimbs, you can't tell at this angle) pedaling in the air as it snaps and wreathes and tries to stay upright. It totters. The shadow of a boneless horse falls over you.
You enter the stall
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some kind of luminiferous æther in the open bowl.

Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti.

You can see a pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire) (smelling faintly of mildew)) here.

You watch from the stall as the rearing boneless horse falls forward in a graceless jacknife, right on the spot of bathroom floor that you were just standing. It makes a sound when it hits like a pudding truck crashing into a brick wall. That was almost you, standing under that pudding truck.

The horse picks its head up, looks at you with murder in its eyes and starts lashing out through the open stall door with giant hooves at the end of its boneless tentacle-like whip-legs. One just barely misses your head! What do you do??
You cut the horse with knife
You stab the boneless horse square in the body-sack. That doesn't seem to do anything so you stab it again. And again. Then you wiggle the knife around a little in there. Pretty soon you're elbow-deep in horse, still trying to hit a vital organ bingo, when the thing lashes out at you with a kick and nearly breaks your arm.

Okay then, stabbing the horse won't work. Next plan.

The horse lashes out again with a fist-sized hoof at the end of a boneless horse-leg. Time slows as it arcs through the air. It hits you square in the face, and you feel something in your forehead snap. Your legs give out and you slide downwards against the wall of the bathroom stall. The horse whips its boneless head around and around in triumph, eyes wild and crazy, mouth foaming. "Br-NN-NN-NN-NN-NN!" it neighs, making a noise like a car. Then it reaches in to gently nibble on you, like you were a sugar cube, as you lose consciousness for the last time.
Go outside
Hell no. There's a murderous sack of horse out there, with spite where its bones should be.

The horse lashes out again with a fist-sized hoof at the end of a boneless horse-leg. Time slows as it arcs through the air. It hits you square in the face, and you feel something in your forehead snap. Your legs give out and you slide downwards against the wall of the bathroom stall. The horse whips its boneless head around and around in triumph, eyes wild and crazy, mouth foaming. "Br-NN-NN-NN-NN-NN!" it neighs, making a noise like a car. Then it reaches in to gently nibble on you, like you were a sugar cube, as you lose consciousness for the last time.
You look around
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones)
This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a giant boneless horse in it which is trying to kill you. There's a hole in the wall that the boneless horse burst out of. There's a bathroom stall, a horse, a urinal, the horse again, a sink with a mirror over it, boneless horse, and even a horse. Perfectly normal horse. Bathroom! Perfectly normal bathroom!

You can see a pentagram on the floor here.

Oh and there's a giant boneless horse shlorping and oozling around the room, flailing and biting and making car engine noises.

The boneless horse shudders. Then it jerks every muscle at once, coiling, then jacknifing up like a sausage being set on one end. It rears above you, hooved forelimbs (or backlimbs, you can't tell at this angle) pedaling in the air as it snaps and wreathes and tries to stay upright. It totters. The shadow of a boneless horse falls over you.
You enter the pentagram
Oh hell no.

The rearing boneless horse falls forward in a graceless jacknife. The fleshy rubbery mass of the thing knocks you to the ground and the breath from your lungs. You try to wriggle free, but there is Only Horse above you. You try to take a breath but there is Only Horse to fill your mouth and nose with. You try to bite, to hit, but there is no space for it. Only Horse.

The last things you experience before you lose consciousness are the sounds of an engine gently revving somewhere on the other side of this horse, and a boneless mouth gnawing on your foot like it was a sugar cube made of You.

"BR-RN-nn-nnnnnnn........". Then nothing. Only Horse now, in this bathroom. Only Horse.
You examine the candle
You see nothing special about the candle shaped like a human hand.

...what? It's just a weirdly shaped candle. Lots of bathrooms have candles, to freshen the air after using the facilities. That's all this is. It even smells like lavender! Totally normal bathroom!

The index finger is lit, but weirdly enough the candle isn't melting. Huh. Maybe it's not wax? What kind of a candle isn't made of wax?

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The rearing boneless horse falls forward in a graceless jacknife. The fleshy rubbery mass of the thing knocks you to the ground and the breath from your lungs. You try to wriggle free, but there is Only Horse above you. You try to take a breath but there is Only Horse to fill your mouth and nose with. You try to bite, to hit, but there is no space for it. Only Horse.

The last things you experience before you lose consciousness are the sounds of an engine gently revving somewhere on the other side of this horse, and a boneless mouth gnawing on your foot like it was a sugar cube made of You.

"BR-RN-nn-nnnnnnn........". Then nothing. Only Horse now, in this bathroom. Only Horse.
You enter the stall
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl.

Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti.

You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here.

You watch from the stall as the rearing boneless horse falls forward in a graceless jacknife, right on the spot of bathroom floor that you were just standing. It makes a sound when it hits like a pudding truck crashing into a brick wall. That was almost you, standing under that pudding truck.

The horse picks its head up, looks at you with murder in its eyes and starts lashing out through the open stall door with giant hooves at the end of its boneless tentacle-like whip-legs. One just barely misses your head! What do you do??
You close Door
You slam the door of the stall closed, and see that someone has scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter,
Broseph" into the inside of the stall door. No kidding. Below
that, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. It is pulsating, faintly, in time with the hideous horse/car noises coming from outside the stall.

The stall shudders as the horse strikes the door from the outside. The Elder Sign on the back of the door flashes brightly, and the door holds. Thank fuck some eldritch-horror-savvy meatpacking employee throught to inscribe a protective rune in the here.
You examine Sign
(the Elder Sign)
Somebody carved it into the back of the stall door. It's like a lazy five-pointed star with a flame (or maybe it's an eye) in the center. Supposedly the Elder Sign is a powerful magical symbol that wards off Eldritch Abominations, at least according to an ancient worm-eaten manuscript that you once found propping up one corner of an old oven at a stoop sale.

At least that's what you recall; the wretched she-harpy hosting the sale refused to come down on the price of a panini press and you ended up walking off in a huff without buying anything at all, including the manuscript. Which in retrospect was clearly the wrong call but come on, who charges "like new" price for a panini press with rivulets of burned cheese all over the sides??

Anyway, there's an Elder Sign on the door and it's glowing a little bit. Maybe that means its working?
Look around
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl.

Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To
Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign.

You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here.
You examine the pentagram
Just your run of the mill pentagram. About six feet across, artfully carved into the floor. You know. Perfectly normal pentagam. Perfectly normal bathroom.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a shower knob
a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage
issue of Juggs Magazine (smelling faintly of mildew)
a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine
a bloodstained witch-knife (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol
a rad wizard lighter (smelling faintly of mildew)
a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (being worn)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of old keys (open)
a splintery wooden key
an ornate bronze key
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You put the candle in pentagram
You put the lit candle shaped like a human hand on top of the pentagram. That doesn't seem like a good idea but okay.

The pentagram suddenly blazes alight with ghostly blue flame! And also something starts glowing in the toilet bowl, in the stall. Weird.
You look at the bowl
A standard porcelain commode. Suspiciously clean for a meatpacking plant bathroom, although it's probably covered in a thin layer of invisible meat debris like everything else in this plant. The bowl is open, containing some kind of luminiferous æther. The luminiferous æther appears to have replaced the normal toilet water when you activated the pentagram. It's glowing slightly, bathing the stall in a panalopy of alien colors that have no terrestrial equivalents. It appears that the toilet is currently unflushable due to the fact that some obnoxious fuck ran off with the flush handle. Also, there is a sign taped to the toilet that has printed on it: "Caution! Danger! Subatomic structure of toilet EXTREMELY compromised! Localized failure of the strong nuclear force may occur! Use is unadvised!
-maintenance, and then farther down on the sign in a different
hand: "RIP JON I TOLD YOU NOT TO SHIT HERE!". Troubling
signage, to say the least.
You search it
In the toilet bowl is some kind of luminiferous æther.
You examine the aether
It's some manner or other of luminiferous æther, the kind that astronomers and Greek philosophers used to think that space was filled with. They were wrong about it being in space but apparently sometimes it is in toilet bowls? Anyway, it appears to have replaced the normal toilet water. It's glowing slightly, flickering through a series of sickly alien colors that have no terrestrial equivalent.
You get it
You're not sure how? It's kind of insubstantial to everything except gravity and light, at least if Newton was right. And even if you could just grab it, that would still require you to stick your mitts up to the elbow into the toiletbowl of a meatpacking plant.
You look at closet
You see nothing special about the janitor's closet.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
You read the handwritten note
It has some writing on it in gothic script, which says:

Edward! Stop leaving the damn candle on the pentagram when you're
not using the toilet-portal. I'm tired of the meatpacking proletariat falling ass-first into orbit around my [mustard stain] and
dying there every week. And I'm already burning through a truly astounding quantity of baby souls to maintain a bathroom in two spacetime locations at once, much less keep a five-million-mile wormhole open for every sausagewright that can't be arsed to read a sign on the work toilet. So again: keep the candle off the pentagram and don't open up any more portals!

Also, it is absolutely imperative that you get that demonic
monster out of the bathroom pipes before it kills again, lest we be caught. Since it is an unliving abomination that cannot die, I recommend banishment: use the [ketchup stain] spell on the
vellum [more ketchup] scroll; it's on my bookshelf. As my
apprentice you should have the magickal skill to cast the spell on the horse without your [whiteout, or possibly mayo] turning
inside out.

At any rate I have business in space, but expect my return on the
full moon of [mayo?]

I remain,
Konstan[lettuce stuck on the page] Cragne
P.S.: If I find you have touched my journal in my absence, I shall transmogrify you into an abscess on a buttocks. xxoxo be good

Oh lord, this bathroom has some mysterious mystical connection to one of your bizarre in-laws. Why are they all so weird and/or evil? One thing at least is for certain: Edward (whoever that is) needs to stop eating on the can while reading his mail
You put knife in the bowl
You put the bloodstained witch-knife (smelling faintly of mildew) into the toilet bowl.
You put the knob on the closet
Putting things on the janitor's closet would achieve nothing.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
You put the knob on the toilet
You screw the shower knob onto the toilet where the flush handle goes. You should be able to flush the toilet now.
Flush
(the piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew))
That isn't a thing you can flush. Probably.
Flush toilet
You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls. Briefly you can see a hole at the bottom of the toilet where the pipe would normally be, which appears to lead to a starry void into which some kind of luminiferous æther are ejected. Wild. Then the bowl refills with more luminiferous æther and you can't see the hole into space anymore.

Dare you try it while sitting on the can?
You sit on the toilet
You sit on the toilet.
Flush toilet
You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl under your bum, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls of the stall (and probably also along the bottom of your bum, but you can't see that so it's just a guess). Then the walls start spinning. Actually spinning. The meatpacking plant bathroom spinning around you starts to run like an oil painting left out in the sun too long, everything melting and flowing downwards. Downwards and inwards towards the toilet you're sitting on. Reality itself begins to swirl around you, like æther in a toilet bowl...
Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl...
You are hurtling bum-first at sub-light-speed through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, just like that homeless fortune-teller told you would happen one day after she read your palm (and right before she shouted at you about how chemtrails were retroactively changing the spelling of "Campbells Soup"). What a weird coincidence. Anyway, you look over your shoulder and see that you are rapidly approaching a star-filled exit from the wormhole. Before you can react, you are ejected out into a... bathroom stall?
Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the
toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space"))
This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL.

Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which:

There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a book of Unfortunate Baby Names, a mysterious scroll and a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)), and
what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space.

And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space.

You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here.
You examine the mirror
(the bathroom fixtures (in space))
The sink and shower, along with the mirror, are floating serenly nearby in space. They're a little farther out than you're comfortable traveling to from the stall, considering that they are in the airless void of space and the strongest nearby gravitational pull is from a toilet.
You look at the corpses
There's a bunch of frozen space corpses in low orbit around the bathroom, most of them in meatpacking employee coveralls. Wow, no wonder they had people stop using the toilet.One corpse's coveralls has a name-patch that says "Ed" on the front, and "Janitor" on the back. Guess that corpse is named Ed. Was named Ed. Do corpses still have people names? Hmm.

On a loop of Ed's coveralls, you see a pair of keys. Presumably that same corpse is the "Edward" mentioned in that handwritten note you found on the other side of the portal-toilet.
You get the keys
(the jar of old keys)
Taken.
You examine the coveralls
Ed's coveralls. There's a set of keys attached to them. They say "Ed" on the front and "Janitor" on the back, and they're covered in ketchup, mayo and mustard. Edward, you were a messy, messy boy.
You get all
book of Unfortunate Baby Names: Taken.

mysterious scroll: Taken.

small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says
"Mein Journal" on the front): Taken.
You put the keys in the kp
(the jar of old keys in the key pocket)
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the jar of old keys, then zip the key pocket back up again.
You get the keys
You reach up and try to take Ed's keys. Shit, they're attached to his coveralls.
You cut the keys
Try "attack the janitor's keys with something" instead.
You get Ed
He's hardly portable.
You read the scroll
It says:



Edward, this is the one! Use this spell on the horse! -
Konstantin

1: Lite thee a hande of glory and place it upon the pentagram to activate a portal. Use thee a hande or foote or other extremity; a torso of glory or an ass of glory will cause thine spell to fail and possibly thine life to end

2: Fasion thee a mannikin, poppet or figurine of wax, resembling the being to be sent by the Translocation and placeth it on the pentagrame.

3:Wave a stoat or ermine to focus the majickal energies. A live stoat or ermine must be used or else the spell will fail most dysaterously. Edward, I discovered that waving a dead one will do just fine, although you'll need to drink a Potion of Fortitude first or else your organs will end up outside your body. Yes, even the good organs. To make the potion, mix bismuth and carbonated corn syrup with a small amount of trilobyte milk. - Konstantin

4: Place a virgin on thine pentagram and sacrifice her most vigorously with an athame. It says "her" but honestly either gender will work fine as long as they're a virgin. Look for people buying Cure albums at the local record store, perhaps. - Konstantin

5: Shout the majick werd "OUTERICA". The thinge that has been representated with the wax mannikin shalle be most forcifully banishede to the other side of the thy active pentagrame.

At the bottom of the scroll, there's another note from Konstantin that says "Edward, this is VERY important! You must [ketchup
stain] the [mustard] or else [mayo]! This is
very important!! You must [more mayo]!! Son of a bitch,
was Ed eating a fucking hamburger over this ancient magic scroll?
You read Journal
Which do you mean, the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) or the
Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You read the blue journal
You can't, the owner locked the stupid thing shut. It's got a little keyhole on the front though.
You read the baby names
Elizabeth Dicksmith
Poonpounder H. Washington Jones

Yeah okay these are pretty bad.
You get the coveralls
You reach up onto the floating corpses and wrestle with Ed's coveralls, eventually stripping them from his frozen corpse. Turns out Ed liked to freeball it, and now it looks like he's mooning that icy planetoid the bathroom is orbitting.
You examine the baby names
The Book of Unfortunate Baby Names: Thrill to this hilarious collection of REAL BABY NAMES that REAL BAD PARENTS gave their
kids!
All text © Hillbilly Bathroom Laughter Press, 1991
Examine journal
Which do you mean, the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) or the
Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Blue
It says "Mein Journal" on the front, and it appears to be a collection of folios bound in very soft blue leather. It appears be locked, and has a little keyhole on it.
You look around
Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the
toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space"))
This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL.

Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which:

There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is nothing), Ed's bare-assed frozen space corpse, and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space.

And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space.

You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here.
You examine the planetoid
The lower half of your view is the curve of an icy planetoid covered in fluted alien spires that are barely visible against the inky blackness of space. Squinting, you can just barely make out strange, unwholesome shapes bumble-flying among the spires. The flying things must be huge, bigger than buildings. The flying things hurt to look at. The spires hurt to look at. The whole planetoid hurts to look at. There is something unsavory and threatening about all of it.

And you can't shake the gut feeling that the planetoid is somehow looking back at you. Even though that is insane.
You examine toilet
It's like the one on the other side of the magical portal inside the bowl, except the seat is plush which is pretty baller. The toilet is open and has some kind of luminiferous æther in it.
You sit on the toilet
But you're already on the toilet (in space).
Flush toilet
You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl under your bum, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls of the stall, just like it did back in the terrestrial bathroom. Then the walls start spinning. Then space starts spinning, the stars turning to long streaks of color like a timelapse photo of the night sky. Reality itself begins to swirl around you, like æther in a toilet bowl...
Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl, just like before...
You are hurtling bum-first through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, just in the opposite direction this time. Damn, that homeless woman was on point. Maybe it WAS spelled "Cambells" all along. Anyway, this return trip through the worm-hole takes a little longer, giving you some time to ponder things. Things like... hey, wait, didn't that handwritten note say these trips through the portal were powered by baby souls? That had to be code for something, right? Like, you using this toilet isn't somehow using up baby s
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (on the
toilet) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some kind of luminiferous æther in the open bowl.

The luminiferous æther is glowing slightly, bathing the stall in a panalopy of alien colors that have no terrestrial equivalents.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To
Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign.

You can see a pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire) (smelling faintly of mildew)) here.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
You unlock the closet with the keys
You unlock the janitor's closet.
You open it
You open the janitor's closet, revealing a fur coat and a candle shaped like a human foot.
You examine the coat
A thigh-length belted calfskin coat, clean as if it's never been outside.
You look at the foot candle
You're starting to worry that the candlers who are supplying this restroom are running out of PG bodyparts.
You get all from the closet
fur coat: Taken.

candle shaped like a human foot: Taken.
You put the keys in the kp
These are the keys to the Janitor's closet in the meatpacking restroom, and if you want to take them, you gotta take Ed's whole coveralls, because they are not coming off.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
You put the coveralls in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit Ed's coveralls, then zip the key pocket back up again.
Light foot
You flick the rad wizard lighter (smelling faintly of mildew) a few times over the foot shaped candle. It takes a couple tries but you manage to get a toe to light, finally. One of the candle's toes I mean, not your toes, just like when it was the hand candle and arrrgh you know what I mean. The stupid foot candle is lit. Anyway, the lights in the bathroom flicker again, but the cackling sounds more like guffaws this time, and it turns out the foot candle is beach scented instead of lavender.
You examine foot
You're starting to worry that the candlers who are supplying this restroom are running out of PG bodyparts. One of the toes is on fire. That's okay though, you did that on purpose. Looks like this one doesn't melt when exposed to heat either. Freaking weird body-part-shaped not-wax candles...
Look around
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (on the
toilet) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some kind of luminiferous æther in the open bowl.

The luminiferous æther is glowing slightly, bathing the stall in a panalopy of alien colors that have no terrestrial equivalents.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To
Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign.

You can see a pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire) (smelling faintly of mildew)) here.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
Examine bar
(the rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew))
The remains of the broken leg is light and sturdy and long enough to stretch from your hand to your elbow.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
You examine the grab bar
One of those metal grab bars for people who have difficulties walking or standing, set into the wall next to the toilet.
You put foot in the pentagram
You try to put the foot-candle on the pentagram but some magical force emanating from the pentagram pushes back against you. I guess you can only have one body part shaped candle on a pentagram at a time? Maybe take the hand candle first?
You get Hand
Taken. The weird ghostly blue flame on the pentagram goes out. Aw. Also it looks like the luminiferous æther in the toilet just went back to being normal water.
You put foot in the pentagram
You put the lit  candle shaped like a human foot on top of the pentagram. That doesn't seem like any worse of any idea than the hand-shaped one was, I guess.

The pentagram suddenly blazes alight with ghostly flame! Just like with the hand-shaped candle, except this time the flames are green! And also the toilet water appears to have been replaced with a mass of Higgs boson particles that are now swarming around the toilet bowl.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
You look at Hand
You see nothing special about the candle shaped like a human hand.

...what? It's just a weirdly shaped candle. Lots of bathrooms have candles, to freshen the air after using the facilities. That's all this is. It even smells like lavender! Totally normal bathroom!

The index finger is lit, but weirdly enough the candle isn't melting. Huh. Maybe it's not wax? What kind of a candle isn't made of wax?

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
Flush toilet
You flush the toilet. The Higgs bosons start to swirl around the bowl. You think. You're thinking about them being in the bowl so they might not actually be there. Stop thinking about them. Anyway everything starts to swirl and run just like that time a few minutes ago when you flushed yourself to the space bathroom.
Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl...
You are hurtling bum-first through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines again, only this time they're sort of greenish instead of sort of blueish. The crazy homeless lady didn't mention the color when she was telling you about how you would be flying butt-first through space-time, but so far still accurate (less so her assertions that the Sasquatches controlling the World Bank would eventually reveal the truth about the Beatles. That lady had Opinions.). You look over your shoulder and see an exit from the wormhole, but this time it's sunny....
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era  (Chris
Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch)
Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front), Konstantin's keys and a half-full can of Dew. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean.

And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom.

You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here.
You get all
Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front): Taken.

Konstantin's keys: Taken.

half-full can of Dew: Taken.
You get the trilobite
That's hardly portable.
You look at the trilobite
There's a huge giant herd of trilobites on the beach here, which is fairly normal for the Cambrian but weird for you personally. One of them is nuzzling your foot".
Go north
Fuck no, that moss forest is probably crawling with moss-dwelling tardigrades. Just chock full of 'em. Have you ever *seen* a tardigrade? Go google it, I'll wait.
Yeah I didn't think so.
Go south
You sort of sidle over to the trilobite-filled steaming ocean. Then something that looks like a mantis shrimp the size of a bull moose briefly breaches the water and shrieks at you. So you nope on back to the toilet region, just like this: Nope nope nope. The Cambrian Epoch sure does suck.
You go to the east
There's nothing but more beach that way. Beach and trilobites.
You look at the table
It's a small table chilling on the beach.
You examine Forest
There's a moss forest, which is kind of like a forest except there's no trees in proto-Vermont here. Just a huge growth of moss. There's also an ocean here, which is steaming and filled with ancient and terrifying shellfish.
You read the Ed 's journal
It's not really a journal so much as a small note pad, and it's only got one entry. But Ed called it a journal, so:

but the horse is scary and that Translocation spell is hard. So yeah I think I'm just gonna chill on this weird beach I opened a portal to. It has these weird crabs but that's probably okay. I'm gonna go back to the Yuggoth bathroom to get Konstantin's journal though. He told me not to read it but I'm sure there's some juicy magic in there. I just gotta be careful with the toilet: came out of the can too fast last time, nearly shot right out into space! That was close! But I should be okay this time. Wish I could bring Konstantin's car-familiar with me to the beach, that thing is sweeeeeet.
Sincerely,
Edw[mustard stain]

Oh, Ed.
You examine the Dew
It's half-full can of Mountain Dew. Presumably Ed was drinking it, before space killed him several million years and miles from now and here respectively.
You unlock blue Journal with konstantin's keys
You unlock the journal.
You read the blue journal
You read:
The black death ravages Vienna. Nearly a thousand have died in the last week alone; their bodies bloating in the open-air pits surrounding the city. The citizens hide in their houses as the plague walks the city, and the streets belong to the dogs, the flies and the rats now. By day, at least. By night, murderers both human and inhuman stalk the byways, the beleagured city guard spread too thin to effectively stop every burglar and nightgaunt.

I am rapturous with joy. The coven practices openly now, with no fear that our Sabbath orgies will be interrupted by foolish investigators. Children can simply be lifted from the street and carried away if needed, with the handful of passerby too weak or scared to protest. On this alone I have saved so many silver reichsthalers that I would have spent on sacrifices, previously. And yesterday I openly mocked a Brother of the Holy Trinity in his own church hospital, displaying to him an upside-down cross and also my penis, telling him secret names of Great Old Ones that will burn in his ears and dreams despite his prayers. He cried and tried to throw holy water at me with palsied fingers, but I laughed and rode away on my devilhorse. Life is good!

But I know that this joy cannot last. Just as before, the plague will pass and the city will return to normal. And Karl Denube (that dog of the Habsburgs, curse him) was getting close to discovering our identities at any rate after his raid on our botched summoning. I fear Petra's carelessness in seducing the constabulary have already given us away. So I must plan an escape before the plague abates fully, but shall enjoy every moment till then.

-Konstantin T. Cragne, Vienna, August 4, 1679, Sun in the house of Cancer

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Damnation and hellfire! The plague isn't even passed its rounds and the guards have begun to hound our coven again. Perhaps it was the child-thefts, or perhaps I should not have shown my penis to that priest.

No matter. Petra should have half of the Habsburgs" guardsmen ensorcelled by now, which should buy time to move the coven operations to Innsbruck, or Liechtenstein, or Prague, or join with the Paris warlocks. Or even move to London or far-flung Amsterdam.

Anywhere except Bavaria, really. I hate Bavarians so.

-Konstantin T. Cragne, Vienna, September 14th, 1679,  Moon in Gemini

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We are truly in the kraut, now. Petra's overzealousness in seducing guardsmen has tipped off the Imperial witchfinders. I warned her that if she kept up we would reach critical mass of love-besotted guardsmen wandering about and pining for her suspiciously, their loins and nostrils enflamed by witch-pheremones. But she did not listen and here we are! Damn Petra, her ample bosom, AND her unquenchable thirst for male validation all three!

The Imperials mean business this time. Denube has arrested half his own police force in the middle of a plague outbreak just because they were mildly ensorcelled with forbidden sex magicks. Clearly he worries more about us than the rioters and nightgaunts, which seems insane at first blush. Although to be fair, we ARE secretly responsible for the rioters and the nightgaunts. And the missing children. And the finger-collecting phantasms that look like men but bark like dogs. And the tentacled wreck that haunts the northern cistern. And the arrival of the plague itself. I suppose I cannot fault Denube's priorities.

-Konstantin T., Vienna, September 27 1679, Jupiter Ascending thru Libra

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Our plans to flee are complicated by the plague curfew, as well as the early snow that is coming (of which I have been informed by the souls of the damned that ride the winds eternally. They are never wrong about incoming Alpine weather, though they will lie right to your face about whether your cravat suits you, the miserable undead shits).

However! I have a plan. A powerful enough translocation spell could move most of the coven and their things, and the spell components are easily sourcable. Most of them. The live stoat may be difficult at this time of year with the countryside inaccessible and everyone dying of the plague, but Jens assures me that a stuffed one will suffice. No matter, even the results of a miscast spell is still better than death by torture at the hands of Witchfinders or that complete ass Karl Denube. Unless the spell turns us inside out, I suppose.

-Konstantin T. Cragne, Vienna, October 9, 1679, Saturn in the House of Sagittarius

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The translocation spell was miscast, and half the coven was turned inside out. That was awful. The stuffed stoat didn't suffice as a spell component at all. I wanted to scream at Jens, except Jens had his ears on the inside of his head and his brains on the outside and couldn't have heard me anyway. Also I was being flung through space by hideous unknowable forces.

On a happier note, the miscast spell also turned several guardsmen inside out as they were coming to arrest us. After they captured Petra it was only a matter of time before she gave up the hidden orgy room in the charcuterie basement. A dozen city guardsmen and a pair of Imperial Witchfinders broke in right as Jens was waggling that stupid stuffed stoat over the pentagram, and they stood there gawking like provincial idiots at a carnival barker as he botched the incantation.

And then the magical wave it hit them. It was beautiful. I swear, I'll never forget the stupid look on Karl Denube's inside-out face as his lungs came shooting out of his backwards mouth and hung there against his chest like a hissing ballsack. Then he tried to flee but just ran straight into a pillar because his eyeballs were facing the wrong way! Ha! What a fool. I'd go back and shit on him, if I had any idea where I was in relation to Vienna.

It's meadow-y here, and warmer than normal for Austria at this time of year. I don't recognize any of the mountains. The same moon at least, so I'm not on Aldebaran or Carcosa. In any case, despite not having my grimoires or my devilhorse or my orgies, it is pleasant enough here except for the wolves that are following me.

I remain hopeful.

-Konstantin Cragne At Large, Location unknown, Date unknown

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I would give Jens such a beating, if he had not been dead for over a hundred years and also turned inside out. The stupid translocation spell flung me not just through space but through time! I was deposited a league outside of Bratislava, and when I arrived I was informed by the beet-obsessed peasants whom infest the dirt-hovels outside the city that it was the year-of-their-lord 1809. 1809!

My grimoires will all have been seized and burned by long-dead men, or more likely stuffed into Habsburg vaults under the palace in care of some blind and deaf eunuch who navigates the moldy stacks of forbidden books by touch. I hate those eunuchs so. And my poor devilhorse has almost certainly dissolved into astral soup, and I have neither the gold nor the souls to create a new familiar.

The coven may have survived in Vienna (assuming some of them turned right-side-back-in after I left), but I wouldn't know any of them in this age. And the nearest Cragne stronghold is in Krakow, but who knows if the vaults are still intact or if the secrets were hauled off to some Ottoman shithole after the last Turkish incursion.

My best bet, I think, is to make my way through Brno and on through the Nuremburg road to Brussels, assuming that I can stomach the smells and sights of Bavaria for that long. I dare not try another translocation spell without a familiar or the correct components, and I don't know the word for "stoat" in the dialect of the local beet-fondlers anyway. They've informed me that the road may be blocked by the army of some French commoner who is rampaging across the countryside, but I have never let a Frenchman stop me from doing anything and I'll be damned if I start now.

-Konstantin T. Cragne, Bratislava, Spring 1809

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Tried the spell on a horse as a test. The horse ended up fused with the wall of a milk house two blocks over. I do not think the milk maid will ever stop screaming, which is loud if hilarious. The horse might not ever stop screaming either, which is loud AND hilarious. I joined them briefly, sauntering into the milk house and screaming in time with them without giving the maid any context until she fled. Will tweak the spell parameters and try again on the morrow, suspect that the problem was that the hemi-virgin I sacrificed to power the spell was far more sexually experienced than they claimed.

I must admit that despite the challenges and the noise, Napoleon throws an enjoyable siege. Watching people run screaming from the gunfire in the morning as I cook my coffee over the flames of a burning cottage never fails to put a smile on my face, even if I can barely get anything done in the chaos. I hope his men are in turn enjoying the excitement of the shuffling horrors that I send over the walls and into their tents every night to feed on their screams and genitals.

-Konstantin T. Cragne, Bratislava, May 24 1809

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It took a few hops with the Translocation spell, and another century past, but I managed to escape Napoleon's repeat attempts to rub his tiny French nutsack all over the continent. In fact, I believe that I've found a home here in the Balkans, at least temporarily. It's no Vienna but this is certainly better than dodging cannonballs daily. And I am beginning to reform my coven by recruiting from the disaffected youths of the city! Despite the barrier in language and custom I get along splendly with the local occult groups as long as I don't talk about Austria too much in a positive way.

I've reformed my familiar in the shape of a large owl with a human ass for a head and moose-deer antlers sprouting from the left and right butt-cheeks. That may sound ribald but I can make assurances that such a thing is fucking terrifying to see swooping down on you in the dark of an alley at midnight, especially when it starts hooting out of its anus.

Starting to feel hopeful again about the future. Strangely grateful to briefly be in a peaceful time where I can rebuild without chaos, which isn't like me at all, but I'm just very tired of using that damned Translocation spell to run from wars.

-Konstantin T. Cragne, Sarajevo, 25 June 1914

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There is no damned way that they make this shitty little asshead the chancellor. No way. Who would do that.

-Konstantin T. Cragne, Berlin, January 29 1933

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On a steam-ship from London. Bored with Europe, and hoping there are fewer explosions in America. Explosions and wars bore me now.

Crossing the channel from France to England was pure joy, however. It had been forever since I had felt the Faceless Lords of the Night lift me airborn on a broomstick like that; much more pleasant than the Translocation spell. I didn't even bother to hide from the ships passing underneath, and I even stopped to take a truly epic shit down the open hatch of a surfaced U-boat after stopping for a very greasy plate of spaetzle in occupied France. Wish I could have seen the faces of the soldiers inside as THAT torpedo was delivered.

Corresponded with family in New York via long-range psychic screams, in-between hiding in subway tunnels in London during the bombings. The New York Cragnes speak well of the New Country. Apparently you can just out and SAY you're a witch these days, and nobody will give a single shit! They just keep drinking. I am excited to experience this brave new world and bilk the gullible drunken fools who inhabit it.

-Konstantin T. Cragne, Mid-Atlantic, June 1944

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By the great green balls of Satan's Fraternal Star-Twin, I am BORED. New York is BORING.

They THINK they're cosmopolitan, they THINK they're the best of the world here, but NO ONE who had seen Vienna in full splendor (before Napoleon burned it down, like the great French tit that he was) would think of this as ANYTHING but a provincial backwater compared to the jewel of the Empire.

Oooo, you have tall buildings. A pox on your tall buildings! I have seen the living spires of Carcosa! I have seen the non-Euclidean bones of Sleeping R'yleh rising from the Marianas Trench by dawn! I am unimpressed by tall things, New York! I have seen taller things while pawing through owl shit for bone-omens!

You can't even make a proper sausage. And when you DO produce one of your shitty sausages for inspection, New York,  you immediately cover it with tomato leavings like you're some kind of simple cretin from Tuscany who couldn't find real food with both roughly callused hands and a map. Tomato leavings! On a sausage! For shame.

My family is boring me as well. The New York branch is feuding with the Vermont and Boston branches, while the Texarkana branch eats popcorn from the sidelines and sells djinn wishes and leprechaun drugs to whoever's currently on the outs to keep the feud going. I've seen all this before, in the old country. The one interesting thing I have to report is that H promised me a seat on the Varigated Council and enough spell resources to create a new familiar if I were to betray New York and kill L. I'd have to move to Vermont, though. Thinking about it.

Bored. Bored bored boring boredom. Bored.

-K. T., New Ybored, June Whatever, 19meh

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I never thought I'd come to like it here, but I must finally admit that Vermont is very pretty during the fall. Reminds me of Vienna, and also the orange-and-gold innards of those humanoid creatures from Saturn, the ones that squawk like pelicans when you summon them. They are also very pretty in the fall, although they make a smell like the last hours of a Saxon orgy when you cut them open to get at the colorful innards I mentioned. And it releases an obscene amount of helium in the process. Voice is funny for weeks and your hands are stained saffron for twice as long. I digress.

Vermont. Pretty. Fall. Family. This is my fourth year as the Mazarine Alderman on the Council and I'm still angry about it. I pointed out to H and Z that I helped found the second new council after the fall of the Roman Empire, for fuck's sake. A Cragne of my skill and stature deserved *at least* Coquelicot, if not Sarcoline. And it's not like I asked for Murex right off the bat. So I patiently explained that Mazarine was the Alderman position for fresh-faced toddlers and/or the Irish. When that failed to move them I threatened, and then I begged.

But no, I am Mazarine Alderman in the end, as if I was some assfaced Burgomeister out of Munich with two wooden legs and no dick, and not one of the most accomplished Cragnes of the last five hundred years. I am livid, still.-Konstantin Teufelheim Cragne, Mazarine-bloody-Alderman, Vermont, September 30 1967

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I think a Sicilian clown was Mazarine Alderman once. Hell, I've heard of Incan mummies who got buried with their gonads in their mouths and make ball-sounds when they speak that have ended up with better positions on the council than I've got. I met a fucking *crow* once that was a more important Alderman than Mazarine. A *crow*. It wasn't even part of the family, it was *adopted*.

No matter. I have more important things to deal with for now, like finding a source of civilian funds to help create my familiar. The **vi* still refuses to front me cash, just keeps shaking his head when I summon him before pointing at my crotch and my chin, the uppity fuck.

-Konstantin, Still Mazarine, Vermont, October 12 1968

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The familiar-crafting has taken longer than expected. This is due to having to be Bob.

I had no social security information or work history when I came to Vermont, and I've been told in no uncertain terms not to ensnare the locals with witch-eyes or addictive bodily secretions if I can help it. Or bludgeon too many of them to death for their wallets. Or the tourists either. "Don't shit where you eat" and all that. The Council has said nothing about skin-wearing though.

Regarding skin-wearing: if you can coil yourself up tightly and flatly enough, you can fit your whole adult humanself into the layer of viscera between the skin and the skeletal muscle of a different human. There's a sort of bag made out of ligament that you can wrap yourself around, and then you can manipulate the other body by undulating your rolled-up self against it. Conceptually similar to that branch of yoga where your yoga mat is alive and fights you between asanas. Any rate, I needed human money so I captured a man named Bob and started wearing him like a pantsuit. He's a local boss at the meat-packing plant, but I haven't been able to work there yet since I had to wait a few weeks for Bob to stop continually screaming into the part of my leg that's wrapped around his mouth-muscles because it's distracting. He finally tired, though. I am excited for my first day of work as Bob.

-Konstantin Cragne/Bob, Vermont, May 15 1972

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I was initially very excited to work at the meat-packing plant because I heard they made Viennese sausages. Imagine my rage when I found out what "Vienna Sausages" actually were. No self-respecting Austrian would be caught dead with one of these mixed-meat cigarettes between their lips. I almost burned the whole plant down with conjured hellfire on the spot, but I'm too close to getting my familiar, and if I'm honest I find my bumpkin coworkers conceptually interesting if not intellectually stimulating.

-Konstantin T./Bob, Vermont, May 15 1972

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Using the same bathroom as the plebian meatsmiths who wallow back and forth in this factory of lies and sausage failure has become tiresome, so I have fashioned my own lavatory from raw cometary atoms at the farthest reaches of the solar system. There is a fantastic view there of the nemesis rock of Yuggoth which will one day impact and devour the Earth! And a padded seat and a phonograph on which I can listen to my old wax recordings! Also, I added some air so that I can actually listen to music, and so that Bob can breathe.

Afterwards, I made the new restroom translocationally accessible from the meatpacking restroom, and then restricted worker access to the toilet on the Earth side of the portal. This prevents potentially hazardous dimensional leakage, but more importantly keeps the unwashed masses from using my restroom. There have been some complaints from the workers about having to make other toilet arrangements. The complaints did not cease when I pointed out that, historically speaking, shitting into buckets behind one's place of work used to be considered a luxury. The people of this era are spoiled.

In other news, I have begun work on my new familiar. The pentagram is inscribed, although I suspect that I am a few years out from the other requirements. - K Cragne, Vermont, December 22 1974

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You read:
Curse all the gods and the frozen gargantuan mollusc-things in the black gulfs between stars that pretend to be gods! There must be a way to make this work.

The familiar spell is complex, and admittedly I am trying something that has not been done before to my knowledge, but it still should work. All this version of the spell requires (aside from the gold and complex spell-matrices and a few other odds and ends) is at least one being with a soul that will serve as the template for the familiar.

And who among us would believe, even for a moment, that my 1976 cherry red Pontiac Firebird Trans Am does not contain a soul? Who among us could slide gently atop those black leather seats, naked as a newborn babe and twice as hungry, wrap our trembling hands around the wheel and feel the engine turn over and hear the throaty rumble as we rev the gas, and honestly believe that this beautiful machine is soulless?

I knew as soon as I saw it at the dealership. It was those curves. That power. The noise. The feeling you get deep in your genitals when you throw the e-brake while sqeauling the tires doing doughnuts in the crowded parking lot of the Alpha Beta, as the salesman riding shotgun screams like a neutered cat and begs to be freed from the spinning death cage. This is clearly a machine designed by Satan for His Own People. Even Bob loves it, and all Bob does anymore is scream endlessly in his own head for the sweet release of death. I had to procure one of these cars.

More than that. I had to make one my familiar. But I cannot get the thrice-damned spell to work on my car.

-Konstantin/Bob, Vermont, June 12 1975

The journal continues... read again to read more...
Keep going
You read:
It was simple, in the end. If my 1976 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am did not have a suitable soul, then I would give it one. All it required was a modification to the old Translocation spell and a suitable partner, which at first proved more difficult than expected.

I thought about using Bob, but his soul is far too soft to reside in my Trans Am. And I thought about Bob's boss, Mr. Gambretti, but I've grown to like the man and respect him as a superior, at least as regards packaging sausages. Who knew that I would ever believe a Genoese could be trusted with machinery more complex than a ball and cup game? American egalitarianism must be seeping into my bones.

A perfect answer for the soul problem walked right onto the factory floor. A bad-tempered racehorse that had been a contender in the Kentucky Derby was sold to us for the purposes of gelatin, and I was given the rendering job. The name of this equine beast was Rowdy Tumnus, and he was in his own way as gorgeous and spirited as my Pontiac. He had murdered his previous owner with a series of kicks to the head, abdomen and groin before being sent to us, and tried to bite the dick off of everyone we passed on the way to the slaughter room. Then he broke free from the restraints twice before we could use the pneumatic gun on him, and in-between the dick biting during one escape he went out of his way to put a hoof through Gambretti's office window. A horse that would destroy property out of spite! Rowdy Tumnus was perfect.

I performed the spells right in the lavatory (the plebian lavatory, I have no wish to get horse guts on my private fixtures orbiting Yuggoth), which was somewhat private and also had a drain in case the spell went wrong. It went off with only a single minor hitch, and the vicious soul of Rowdy Tumnus was transfered to my Firebird which was parked outside. In turn, the vicious soul of my Firebird was transferred to the body of Rowdy Tumnus. Success! I haven't been this excited since I let those zombies loose in the brothels of Prague!

-K.T./Bob, Vermont, June 23 1975

The journal continues... read again to read more...
Keep going
You read:
That one hitch I mentioned: during the soul-swap, both the skeleton of Rowdy Tumnus and the transmission of my Pontiac were vaporized for some reason. So I was left with the immortal and still-living fleshy bits of a killer horse flopping about on the floor of the factory's garderobe, and a muscle-car familiar that is stuck in first gear until I can find a mechanic who can peer into the Astral plane.

Frustrating, but we work with what we have. I spent an hour stuffing the sack-like remains of Rowdy Tumnus down the shower drain, along with the pulped body of a coworker who stumbled upon that grim tableau before being attacked and suffocated by the aforementioned murderous half-horse. Then I drove my familiar home. - Konstantin, Vermont, June 24 1975

The journal continues... read again to read more...
Keep going
You read:
Despite my best efforts, I've been unable to coax the boneless Rowdy Tumnus back out of the plant's plumbing for long enough to lead him out of the plant or banish him. Part of this is difficulty securing effective bait; he appears to prefer human flesh to apples or sugar cubes now, which isn't something that I can just purchase at the local market. At least not the public one.

That being the case, I've decided to bind him to guard my private bathroom and sorcerous implements. He seems happy enough in the pipes, and as I have an errand on a parallel timeline in space that requires my attention, I'd prefer that none of the local mullet-wearing peasantry lay hams to my commode while I'm out sorcering. I suspect that Tumnus will end up killing at least a few of them who try, despite my warnings to the plant management. Ah well. I've supplied Edward with a Tanslocation Incantation to banish Tumnus somewhere, should the need arise. He'll have to source most of the spell components himself, but Edward is.. well Edward is my apprentice and I'm sure he'll manage the horse. -Konstantin T. Cragne, October 10 1975

Last page.. read again to start from beginning...
Milk trilobite
Try milking the trilobite into something. Maybe something else you need for the potion
Milk trilobite into Dew
You kneel down towards the trilobite that keeps nuzzling your foot. As you're searching for teats on an ancient non-mamalian proto-crab that is extinct in your space-time so that you can milk it into a Mountain Dew can that belongs to a dead wizard's apprentice floating in space in the future, you think back to your marriage ceremony to Peter. You think about the kind of life you expected to have together. And you think about how things have been since you arrived in Vermont. And you think about that for a few minutes, as you gently milk the trilobite into the soda can.
You examine Pepto
A bottle of pink bismuth-subsalicylate. It's for drinking when your poops are sick.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You pour the Pepto into the Dew
You pour some of the pepto out, into the can of Dew. This one's for the homies. The homies with diarrhea.
Then you swish the concoction around for a moment, and it begins to glow! And smell. It smells real bad. If someone told you this was a Potion of Glowing and Smelling, and not Fortitude like the scroll said, you would not fight them.
Look around
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era  (Chris
Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch)
Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with nothing. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean.

And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom.

You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here.
Flush toilet
You flush the toilet. The Higgs bosons start to swirl around the bowl. You think. You're thinking about them being in the bowl so they might not actually be there. Stop thinking about them. Anyway everything starts to swirl and run just like that time a few minutes ago when you flushed yourself to the Cambrian era, and a few minutes before that when you flushed yourself back to Vermont from space...
Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl, just like all the times before...
You are hurtling bum-first through a hyperspace (I guess hyper-TIME?) wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, backwards in time from the Cambrian. Wait, if you're moving backwards through a wormhole to the past that would mean you're actually moving forward in
spacetime becau
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (on the
toilet) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with a mass of Higgs boson particles in the open bowl.

(At least you think the glowing mass of Higgs boson particles is in the toilet; they should as long as you're not looking at them but they're not if you are. Goddamn particle physics.)

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To
Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign.

You can see a pentagram edge (covered in green flames) on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a foot (of which a toe is on fire)) here.
You get foot
Taken. The weird ghostly green flame on the pentagram goes and the Higgs bosons in the toilet go back to being normal water.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
You put Hand in the pentagram
You put the lit candle shaped like a human hand on top of the pentagram. That doesn't seem like a good idea but okay.

The pentagram suddenly blazes alight with ghostly blue flame! And also something starts glowing in the toilet bowl, in the stall. Weird.
Flush toilet
You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl under your bum, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls of the stall (and probably also along the bottom of your bum, but you can't see that so it's just a guess). Then the walls start spinning. Actually spinning. The meatpacking plant bathroom spinning around you starts to run like an oil painting left out in the sun too long, everything melting and flowing downwards. Downwards and inwards towards the toilet you're sitting on. Reality itself begins to swirl around you, like æther in a toilet bowl...
Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl...
You are hurtling bum-first at sub-light-speed through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, just like that homeless fortune-teller told you would happen one day after she read your palm (and right before she shouted at you about how chemtrails were retroactively changing the spelling of "Campbells Soup"). What a weird coincidence. Anyway, you look over your shoulder and see that you are rapidly approaching a star-filled exit from the wormhole. Before you can react, you are ejected out into a... bathroom stall?
Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the
toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space"))
This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL.

Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which:

There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is nothing), Ed's bare-assed frozen space corpse, and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space.

And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space.

You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here.
You examine Firebird
A 70's Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am. Cherry red. Floating in space for some reason. It's too far away from the bathroom stall to do anything to, though. Wait, is it... is it making soft horse noises? What the fuck.
You examine the phonograph
An old-timey phonograph, the kind where the sound comes out a brass bell. You'll have to crank it if you want it to play music, since that's how these really old phonographs work.

There's an antique wax cylinder loaded on the phonograph; the old kind from before the days where records were vinyl.
You crank it
You rub your hands together excitedly and lean towards the old-timey-phonograph. Who knows what this antique wax record on it holds? A rare Bach recording? A violin concerto from the turn of the century? Nikola Tesla talking mad shit about Edison and Marconi?? It could be anything! Hands trembling, you grasp the phonograph crank and give it a turn as you listen in anticipation:

♫♫ How? Why? Who would do this?
You examine the hearth
A stone hearth jutting out from the front of the fireplace. Traditionally you'd put things that you wanted to heat up on top of the hearth here, which warms up when the fireplace is lit so that you don't have to reach in and out of the fireplace with your (relatively flammable) hands. It's an unexpected but welcome bit of old-worldy charm, here in the terrifying void of alien space.
You examine the cylinder
This is how the VERY early phonograph records looked: round wax cylinders about foot tall. Normally with ones this old, they have classical recordings on them, although someone appears to have etched a sonic abomination into this one for some reason.
You put the cylinder on the hearth
You put the wax cylinder on the hearth.
You examine fireplace
A cozy little brick fireplace with some space logs in it. It's unlit. Jutting out the front is a part of the fireplace called a stone hearth, which is like a brick of stone that you would set things on to warm them up using the fireplace, without sustaining horrible and disfiguring burns to your extremities by reaching in and out of the fire. Nice feature, that.

In the cozy fireplace are some space logs.
You look at the logs
They're logs. In space. Well technically they're in the fireplace but the fireplace is in space, so...
Light logs with lighter
You try lighting the space logs with the rad wizard lighter (smelling faintly of mildew) for a while but this tiny little lighter flame won't get these big ol' logs a-burnin'. You need to light a larger amount of kindling and toss it in there.
Light juggs with lighter
You hold the rad wizard lighter (smelling faintly of mildew) up to the vintage issue of Juggs Magazine and flick the little metal wheel, but it won't light at the moment. These gas station lighters are unreliable pieces of crap.
You light the ed's journal with lighter
You hold the rad wizard lighter (smelling faintly of mildew) up to Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front) and flick the little metal wheel. Success! Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front) is on fire.
You put the Ed 's journal inthe fireplacee
You put Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front)(it's on fire) into the fireplace. After a moment, the space logs catch and flare up into a glorious flame! The hearth begins to warm up as well. Hopefully this isn't consuming all the oxygen in this space bathroom...

The wax cylinder rapidly melts into a lump of wax.
Awesome. Space is finally safe from the twisted revenant of the band formerly known as Jefferson Starship.
Shape wax
What do you want to shape the lump of wax into?
Horse
You work on the wax lump for a little bit, and manage to sculpt a pretty good likeness of the boneless, lumpy gross horse that's rampaging around the bathroom. Granted you were trying to make a horse that actually looked like a horse, but it all came right in the end.
You get the wax
[Hey! Listen! You can try to sculpt the lump of wax into something with "> sculpt wax lump into *something*" It may not always work depending on what you're trying to sculpt, since Naomi is a pretty shitty scultptor. Actually, her abysmal lack of sculpting talent is directly responsible in a roundabout way for her marriage to Peter, but as interesting as that story is (and it is VERY interesting), it's too long for this tooltip.]
You examine the wax
It used to be a very expensive and rare phonograph record. Now it is a melted lump of wax that looks like a horse, sort of.

[You can try to sculpt the lump of wax into something with ">
sculpt wax lump into *something*" It may not always work depending on what you're trying to sculpt, since Naomi is a pretty shitty sculptor. Actually, her abysmal lack of sculpting talent is directly responsible in a roundabout way for her marriage to Peter, but as interesting as that story is (and it is VERY interesting), it's too long for this tooltip.]
Inventory
You are carrying:
a lump of wax shaped like a horse
a candle shaped like a foot (of which a toe is on fire)
a Potion of Fortitude and Glowing and Smelling Bad
Konstantin's keys (smelling faintly of mildew)
a fur coat
a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mysterious scroll
a book of Unfortunate Baby Names (smelling faintly of mildew)
a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage
issue of Juggs Magazine (smelling faintly of mildew)
a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine
a bloodstained witch-knife (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rad wizard lighter (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (being worn)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You look at the fur coat
The tag says it's genuine ermine (which you're pretty sure is a kind of stoat). This is pretty baller for a meatpacking plant janitor.
You examine coat
Which do you mean, the fur coat, the calfskin coat or the pockets of the calfskin coat?
You look at the juggs
It's the Virgin Alewives of the Midwest issue, according to the cover. "Oh hey dere I've never had a man but I'd sure like to doncha know!" proclaims the woman on the front in big red 80's font, as she stands there with two strategically-placed giant beer steins and not nearly enough clothing for a Midwest winter.

Ooo, it says there's an article on cornhole strategy, too!
Flush toilet
You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl under your bum, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls of the stall, just like it did back in the terrestrial bathroom. Then the walls start spinning. Then space starts spinning, the stars turning to long streaks of color like a timelapse photo of the night sky. Reality itself begins to swirl around you, like æther in a toilet bowl...
Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl, just like before...
You are hurtling bum-first through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, just in the opposite direction this time. Damn, that homeless woman was on point. Maybe it WAS spelled "Cambells" all along. Anyway, this return trip through the worm-hole takes a little longer, giving you some time to ponder things. Things like... hey, wait, didn't that handwritten note say these trips through the portal were powered by baby souls? That had to be code for something, right? Like, you using this toilet isn't somehow using up baby s
Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones) (on the
toilet) (in the stall)
You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some kind of luminiferous æther in the open bowl.

The luminiferous æther is glowing slightly, bathing the stall in a panalopy of alien colors that have no terrestrial equivalents.

Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things
are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To
Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign.

You can see a pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire) (smelling faintly of mildew)) here.
You put the wax on the pentagram
You put the lump of wax shaped like a horse on the pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall.
Drink potion
You take a sip of the glowing, foul-smelling Fortitude potion and quickly realize that drinking it slowly is the wrong way to do this. So you chug the whole can, only to discover that drinking this at all was the real mistake. It's sort of lumpy, slick and wriggling under its own power as it goes down. Your stomach instantly rejects the gooey acidic mass, warning you with cramps and reflux that it is having none of this. You argue and then plead with your stomach, pointing out that it is going to be just as bad on the way back up. You also point out that it's got pepto in it so your stomach should quit whining. Eventually your stomach grimly accepts the task ahead of it and gets to work, which is when you notice that your skin is glowing faintly now.
Wave fur coat
You wave the fur stoat-coat. Magical energies swirl around and about the coat. They might not be magical energies. They might be trails of thrift store dust. Anyway, there's swirling that happens.

The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now.
You put the Juggs in the pentagram
You put the vintage issue of Juggs Magazine (smelling faintly of mildew) on the pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall.
Cut juggs with athame
"Sorry about this, Glinda" you say, stabbing downward with the witch-knife into the magazine on the pentagram. The ghost-flames flare brightly and suddenly become fiery arms, twisting and turning around the vintage issue of Juggs and then pulling it down forcefully into the surface of the pentagram. It vanishes, and the magic flames return to (locally relative) normal. Well at least they've got some "articles" to "read" to in Hell now.
You shout outerica
You shout the magic translocation word OUTERICA! The pentagram flares. The walls of the stall explode outwards with a burst of magical force from the toilet, which begins to emit a howling nightmare hurricane wind. You're forced backwards against the wall near the grab bar. The boneless sack of horse does not move, but its flesh pulls back and starts flapping as if it was hanging itself out a moving car window. Gross.
The æther in the commode glow brightly of a sudden, and the gale wind stops howling forth from the toilet. Then it begins again, except pulling air from the room INTO the toilet.
The walls of the stall are wrenched from the floor by the devil wind and land on the open toilet, and then suddenly collapse into the toilet. The sink and the shower fixtures begin to make groaning noises as they pull at their wall screws. You grab the grab bar on the wall protectively as things begin to fly from the room into the toilet.
The urinal goes first, clonging off the back of the boneless horse before tumbling into the toiletbowl. Then the sink. Then the showerhead. Loose items start to fly out of your pockets and into the raging toilet-portal: the athame, the mysterious scroll. The lighter. Aw dammit, that thing was rad.
Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones)
There is nothing left but you and the horse, a toilet and some wreckage.

You can see a pentagram edge (covered in  flames) on the floor just outside the stall here.

You're unable to move from the grab bar, and the horse is so damned heavy that the devil-winds are merely pulling it into a teardrop shape as it slowly works its way towards you. There is murder in its rolling horse eyes and it is still making engine revving noises. "Br-RNN-NN-NN!!"

And then the intensity of the wind increases. You grab on with both hands. The horse flails and then is suddenly lifted into the air sideways, its great rump landing square on the toilet. With a horrible schlorping noise, the horse's rump slides into the can. Then a bit more. The boneless horse is being pulled into the toilet... halfway in... The toilet makes a sound like a balloon deflating, and then the wind stops... And the horse is still there, half out of the commode! Its beady little eyes roll in its boneless head. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!!" It starts flailing at you again with hooves the size of quart-jars!

The stupid fat-ass boneless horse is stuck in the magic shitter, and it's still trying to kick you to death! What do you do?
Flush toilet
You lock eyes with the horse. "Rot in hell" you say, yanking on the shower knob  you juryrigged earlier. The toilet flushes. The evil boneless horse begins to blare and scream exactly like a car alarm: "wee-OO we-OO we-OO!! Bwaaaaaaaa!" And then, with a sound like God farting, the monster is pulled down and down into the toilet. And is gone. The blaring car alarm grows distant and then is silent.

The wind stops. The toilet ejects a small amount of space detritus, then turns itself inside out and is gone. The pentagram glow fades.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a row of trees. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Look around
Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones)
This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There is a metal grab bar on the wall where the stall used to be. There is bare floor where the toilet used to be. There are empty spaces on the wall where the fixtures like the sink used to be. There is a horse-shaped hole in one wall.

Perfectly. Normal. Bathroom.
You look at Hole
The spot where the horse burst out of the wall from the pipes, exposing the wall innards.
You look in Hole
It's just an exposed mass of moldy insulation, sparking wires and severed pipes that are now spurting water, back there. Best to leave that to the janitor or somebody. Somebody who isn't floating dead in
You enter Hole
space, probably.

It's just an exposed mass of moldy insulation, sparking wires and severed pipes that are now spurting water, back there. Best to leave that to the janitor or somebody. Somebody who isn't floating dead in space, probably.
You get the bar
(the rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew))
You already have that.
You get grab the bar
That's hardly portable.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (being worn)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You look in the kp
You unzip the key pocket just enough to take a peek inside. It contains Ed's coveralls, a jar of old keys, a sinister iron key, a sturdy key, a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew), a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew), a small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew), a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew), a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), a small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew), an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) and an aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew).
Go east
You head on out of the meatpacking plant bathroom. What a fuckin' day...

[Hit any key:

Meanwhile... somewhere else:

The little fungus man astronomer looked over his instruments. He and the other scientists had been watching the comings and goings on the strange satellite above his home planetoid for years, hoping to make contact with the beings that came through the portal

Such strange lifeforms. They died so rapidly that the fungus people had never been able to get a probe up to the satellite in time. And they could never determine what any of the strange technology of these bizarre humanoids was for, despite the best efforts of their science corps.

This time, a visitor had managed to survive the icy void of space, but the fungus people had not managed to make contact in time before it disappeared back through the portal.

But now something else was coming through the portal, a life form that the astronomer had never seen before! It had been ejected with such force that it had broken orbit and was hurtling towards the planetoid. It was close enough now that the Science Coprs had managed to collect some data:

Mamalian like the others. Four limbs with bilateral symmetry, a body and a head, also like the others. Except this one appeared strangely... noodly, compared to the others. And much larger. And making much stranger noises, as far as their listening devices could tell.

The little fungus man astronomer smiled and watched the creature hurtle towards the giant rescue net his people were hastily constructing over the icy sea of the planetoid's surface. Perhaps now, at last, the gentle fungus people of Yuggoth would make first contact with a species that they could share their peaceful technology and culture with. Finally. The Day of Happy Cultural Exchange had finally come.

The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen)
You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door.
You go west
Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant  (Chris Jones)
This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There is a metal grab bar on the wall where the stall used to be. There is bare floor where the toilet used to be. There are empty spaces on the wall where the fixtures like the sink used to be. There is a horse-shaped hole in one wall.

Perfectly. Normal. Bathroom.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form no discernible pattern. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go up
Dusty office (Matthew Korson)
This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room.

Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust.
About yourself
There is dust in your hair, dust in your eyes, dust in your nose, dust in your mouth. If you stay here much longer, you may turn to dust yourself.
You examine the window
A few small shards of glass remain around the edge of the window; otherwise, the frame is empty.
You look at the Glass
(the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew))
A clear glass jar containing a hideous green insect. It's either dead or doing a very good job of playing dead and you have no desire to find out which. The number of legs and eyes appear to change every time you look at it.

It currently has four legs and four eyes.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the table
The only remarkable thing about it is that it is still standing.
You look at the cabinet
The sides are painted exactly the same color as the dust that covers everything in here.
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a perfect fern, just like in a fancy latte. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look under the table
You rummage through the junk. You find a brass nameplate among all the dust.

Dust swirls into the air.
You examine nameplate
"Charles Cragne, Owner"
You open the kp
You open the key pocket, revealing Ed's coveralls, a jar of old keys, a sinister iron key, a sturdy key, a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew), a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew), a small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew), a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew), a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), a small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew), an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) and an aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew).
You open the kp
You open the key pocket, revealing a jar of old keys, a sinister iron key, a sturdy key, a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew), a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew), a small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew), a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew), a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), a small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew), an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) and an aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew).
You put coveralls in the kp
You put Ed's coveralls into the key pocket.
You examine the jar of the keys
The label on this musty jar indicates that it's meant to store old keys. You'll have to open it up to see what's in there.

In the jar of old keys are a splintery wooden key, an ornate bronze key, a frosty blue key, an intricately folded origami key and a silver and ivory key.
You unlock the cabinet with the ornate
(first taking the ornate bronze key)
That doesn't seem to fit the lock.
You unlock the cabinet with origami
(first taking the intricately folded origami key)
As you attempt to use the origami key, it catches and unfolds; you try to refold it but you just mess it up more, and pretty soon all you have is a hopelessly creased square of paper.
You unlock cabinet with wooden
(first taking the splintery wooden key)
You stick the old wooden key into the lock and try to turn it, but it splinters and falls apart into uselessness. Whatever that would've opened, it's never going to open it now.
You unlock the cabinet with the frosty
(first taking the frosty blue key)
Picking up the frosty key with your unprotected hand, it melts immediately into nothingness. Hopefully you won't need that in the future...
You unlock the cabinet with the silver
Which do you mean, the silver and ivory key, the silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew), the tarnished silver teapot from the Queen Mary (smelling faintly of mildew) or the antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You unlock the cabinet with silver Key
(first taking the silver and ivory key)
You slide the silver and ivory key into the keyhole and try to turn it. It won't budge, but when you try to remove it, you hand starts to burn. You jerk your hand away. In the center of you palm, a grinning black skull has been branded in the flesh. You start to feel dizzy, and then all at once your skull explodes, spraying blasphemous lava in every direction and killing you instantly.
You put the ornate in the jar of the keys
You put the ornate bronze key into the jar of old keys.
You look at the jar
Which do you mean, the jar of old keys, the jar of screws or the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You examine the jar of the keys
The label on this musty jar indicates that it's meant to store old keys. You'll have to open it up to see what's in there.

In the jar of old keys are an ornate bronze key and a silver and ivory key.
You examine creased Paper
This messily creased square of paper used to be an intricately-folded origami key, but you. Kind of messed it up.
Dust
(the piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew))
You rub the piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew).
Dust table
You make a futile attempt to clean the small table. Dust blows into your face.
Dust cabinet
You make a futile attempt to clean the filing cabinet. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin.
Look around
Dusty office (Matthew Korson)
This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room.

You inhale dust with every breath. It fills your nose and throat.
You look at Detritus
Junk is piled up in the corners and around the edges of the room. It is scattered haphazardly, as if someone has ransacked the place. But if so, it was long enough ago that a thick layer of dust has accumulated. Who knows if anything of value is left?
You search it
You rummage through the junk. You find a piece of yellowed newsprint among all the dust.

Dust swirls into the air.
You read the yellowed newsprint
The article seems to be an exposé of poor working conditions and sanitation at Cragne's meatpacking plant. You scan quickly through descriptions of horrific accidents among the workers and nauseating adulterants in the meat. One item catches your eye. In a section describing the vermin infesting the plant, the writer mentions a superstition held by the workers concerning a "Boss Rat". Apparently this rat was three times the size of the usual pests and would direct the other rodents where they may forage. Those that found favor with the Boss Rat were allowed to gorge themselves from the heaps of meat kept in the plant's storerooms for later processing, while those who fell out of favor were forced to run among the workers' legs to snatch scraps falling from the mincers. Many workers believed that anyone who saw the Boss Rat would suffer a fatal accident, and the writer notes that several deaths and disappearances that occurred during his time investigating the plant were attributed to that very cause.
You search Detritus
You rummage through the junk. You find a broken knife handle among all the dust.

The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin.
You look at the knife handle
A broken wooden knife handle. The blade is long gone, but there are dark stains at one end.
You examine the stains
Stains cover large part of the front side, hiding the faces of what looks like a mother and a couple of small siblings. The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, is wearing a white, wedding dress. The kids both have on a kind of work overalls, over a white blouse. The boy on the right is not stained, still... he seems to have no face, as if time has worn out his features.

On the reverse side of the picture is something written, in a trembling hand-writing:

Put its gift over daan
And you'll soon end your search.

Below this, a different and more forceful hand has written "Don't forget to say ahe'hee!".

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You search Detritus
You rummage through the junk. You find a diagram scratched into the floor among all the dust.

Dust swirls into the air.
You examine diagram
Circles and lines scratched into the floorboards. It almost seems like it should mean something, but you can't quite grasp it.
You search Detritus
You rummage through the junk. You find an enormous dessicated rat corpse among all the dust.

Dust blows into your face.
You examine the corpse
It's the size of a large cat or a small dog, but it is definitely a rat. It is completely dried and its tail is missing, but it shows no other signs of decay. Dust is matted in what remains of its fur.
You search Detritus
You rummage through the junk. You find a thin steel key among all the dust.

The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin.
You examine it
A thin steel key with a somewhat old-fashioned look.
You unlock the cabinet with it
You unlock the filing cabinet.
You put the thin steel in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the thin steel key, then zip the key pocket back up again.
You read it
Many pages are torn out, and those that remain are mostly smudged or otherwise illegible. One, however, stands out because it appears to have been pasted into the notebook. It looks like a letter.

"September 21, 1908

"...les Cragne, Rufous Alderman,

"I was pleased to hear of your success with ... of the ritual...

"...Sinclair's pamphlet will bring unwanted atte... ...ven to your remote operation. I hope I need not remind you ...tance of ... role ...

"... can get ... blood befo... ...crifice must be complete by the coming full moon... Vaadignephod will...

"Yours in fraternity

"... of the Variegated Court"

"Cattle: 10 gal, 200 / hr, 24000 gal
Hog: 5 gal, 500 / hr, 30000 gal
Man: 10 pt, 1 / day, 10 pt"
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You search Detritus
You rummage through the junk.

The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough.
You go down
You quickly climb down the stairs, eager to get away from all of that dust.

The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen)
You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a biplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go north
There is a wall there. You can leave the room by going out, west or up.
You go outside
Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover)
Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain.

A hole is smashed into its side.

To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form no discernible pattern. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You wait for the blue Line
You lean against the livestock blood, hold out your pass, and wait for the blue line. Within moments, a mistlike trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You go to the east
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

On the cart are The Conservative's Cookbook, The Lives of
the Roman Emperors (smelling faintly of mildew), Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) (smelling faintly of mildew), an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew), a book New England
and the Bavarian Illuminati, De Zeven Testamenten van de
Krijsende Zeeworm, a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum
Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew), Tolerating An Asinine
God (smelling faintly of mildew), The Seven Gaunts, a
pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal
(smelling faintly of mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and the
Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) and a shabby
journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.
You read Dollmaker'S
(first taking The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of
mildew))
Taken.

She is finally done. My finest clockwork creation. So wonderfully lifelike.

The book continues.

You put The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
back on the cart.

As you finish reading the passage, your own hands grow cold, and the book briefly frosts over before fading again, leaving traces behind only in the library insignia.
Continue
(first taking The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of
mildew))
Taken.

I've yet to decide what I should call her.

The book continues.

You put The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
back on the cart.
Keep going
(first taking The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of
mildew))
Taken.

I must have rest. My senses deceive me into thinking she can see
me, hear me.

The book continues.

You put The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
back on the cart.
The librarian looks at you.
You continue
(first taking The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of
mildew))
Taken.

What has she become? Is my child now my gaoler?

The book continues.

You put The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
back on the cart.
The librarian nods at you curtly.
Continue
(first taking The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of
mildew))
Taken.

I think I've managed to lock her safely away. I only hope
tha(the rest of the page is unintelligible)

The book continues.

You put The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
back on the cart.
Continue
(first taking The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of
mildew))
Taken.

(The remaining pages are nothing but a mess of crusted blood.)

You put The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
back on the cart.
Go west
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You wait for the Orange Line
You lean against the town square, hold out your pass, and wait for the orange line. Within moments, a spectral trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form no discernible pattern. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go east
Curiosity Shop (Rachel Spitler)
A mingling of comfortable scents welcomes you to the small shop -- coffee, apples, cedar, soap, peppercorn -- and below it, just a hint of something metallic you can't quite recognize. The large windows behind you cast a dappled sort of light over the rug-strewn floors, the cheerful back counter with its display case underneath, the walls crowded with goods for sale. The courtyard lies back out to the west.

Jessenia is running a carpet-sweeper over the floor.
You sell the silver pendant
(to the cold spot on your collarbone (smelling faintly of mildew)) Jessenia seems nonplussed by your broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew).

Suddenly, Jessenia turns her full attention on you. "Oh! Stupid me -- you want to become a customer, don't you?"
(y/n):
Y.
"Of course! Well, here's how it works. I run my business on a membership model, like a curiosity cooperative, you see? Instead of charging a fee, I ask that new customers bring in a curiosity to sell to me. It helps me keep my eyes open for things I might not notice. I'll pay you, of course!" She grins. "It doesn't need to be special. In fact, most people bring in something that will attract attention but have no real importance. I bet you can find something good! Good luck!"
You look at the coffee
(the smell)
You can't seem to find where the scent is coming from. On the air, you catch a whiff of alcohol.
You look at the styrofoam
The clouds in your cup form a biplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You sell the silver pendant
(to the cold spot on your collarbone (smelling faintly of mildew)) Jessenia nods thoughtfully over your broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew).

"The sort of thing I'm looking for," she says, "is something that will attract attention, but have no real importance. Let me know if you find anything like that!"
You go to the west
Courtyard (Finn Rosenloev)
As you walk cross the square courtyard, you are repeatedly twisting your legs, and you cannot help but wonder how many broken legs these cobblestones have caused over time.

A beautifully decorated well built by blocks of granite dominates the courtyard. Opposite it, to the east, is the entrance to the curiosity store.

To the north, a secret passage is hidden in the niche near the barred gate. Not too far from the well is the way down to the tunnel.

Above you, two guard towers rise majestically on either side of the drawbridge, and a parapet connects them so that soldiers of those days were able to quickly move from one side to the other.

You can't help but feel that the castle is watching you with expressionless eyes through the empty windows.
You go to the north
You maneuver behind the knight and enter the secret passage.

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You wait for purple Line
You sit on the memorial bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, an ethereal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go southwest
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go southeast
If there ever were any exits other than the overgrown archway through which you entered, they are covered by impenetrable roots, but there is a spiral staircase leading up to a walkway.
You wait for black Line
You lean against the mud, hold out your pass, and wait for the black line. Within moments, a mistlike trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you
find yourself transported to

Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
You go to the north
Something tells you that Edwin Cragne really would not want you to take his secrets out of this room and that you really ought to leave the journal in the boiler room.

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.
You go east
Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a pear shape, complete with stem. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the apple
This is an apple made from a beautiful yellow metal. It has the inscription "τῇ καλλίστῃ" subtly engraved into its side. It
is so
shiny you can almost see your reflection in it.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the shelves
Eight stark metal shelves run the length of each wall between the two entrances of this room. They are about a foot deep, and absolutely stacked to the brim with dozens of aluminum cans, jars, jugs, and other containers. They are mostly labeled, or their contents easy enough to determine if you blow away the dust.

They are organized by size, shape, and container material. You might find the peaches mentioned in Edmund's message somewhere in the jar section.
You search the jar section
Soon enough, you stumble across what must be the jar of peaches mentioned in Edmund's message. You pick it up.
You look at the peaches
A squat glass jar of a reddish hue, a bit larger than your hand, with a red metal top. The label has long since faded into unintelligibility, but there is no doubt that the oblong shapes suspended in the golden liquid are peeled and quartered peaches.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You open the peaches
You open the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew), revealing some sort of golden peach liquid.
You look at Liquid
(the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew))
You see nothing special about the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew).

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

There's something about that jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).
You examine the peach liquid
A strange golden-hued liquid, shimmering in the light of the flakes of plant matter.

In the golden peach liquid are some pickled peaches.

You feel drawn to the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).
You get pickled Peach
You'd rather not.

What if you put something in that jar?
You put the pumpkin in the jar
Which do you mean, the dusty glass jars, the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew), the jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew), the jar of screws or the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You describe your surroundings
Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.

You want to stick your face in that peach brine.
You get the pumpkin
(the disgusting rotting pumpkin)
You succeed only in coating your arms in pumpkin goo.
You put the apple in the peaches jar
You put the golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew) into the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).
You put the pumpkin in the peaches jar
(the disgusting rotting pumpkin in the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew))
(first taking the disgusting rotting pumpkin)
You succeed only in coating your arms in pumpkin goo.

You have an irrational urge to climb inside the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).
You enter peaches jar
You stick your head in, and suddenly you find yourself falling down, down, down...

Splash.

You are immersed in peach pickling brine. Everything around you is a brilliant golden hue. You have no idea how exactly you got in here or how you could possibly fit. And even though you have not made a particular habit of failing to breathe underwater, right now it just feels unnecessary.

The looming shapes of the bare light bulb and the rest of the pantry are barely recognizable through the gilded distortions of the brine and intervening glass.

A great many giant orange boulders bob lazily in the brine.

Something white flits past your view.
About yourself
You are now, apparently, a miniscule pickled woman. You're practically a weakling in this form; taking something out of inventory proves impossible. On the bright side, your skin has never looked more radiant.

The tiny light-colored speck darts by once more.
You look at the speck
A small speck of something light-colored. It's hard to get a good look at something so small in this situation. When you try to swim closer to get a better look, it darts away, only to pop up again a second later.

A feeling of intense curiosity floods your mind. The mote does a kind of flip in the brine and then bobs in front of you, waiting.

You feel compelled to say something.
You say something
(to the tiny flitting thing)
You try to greet it, but you don't have much luck forming words, immersed as you are in this liquid.

But the mote seems to understand. It bobs once, and a gentle warmth suffuses your mind.

There is no reply.
You look at the speck
A small speck of something light-colored. It's hard to get a good look at something so small in this situation. When you try to swim closer to get a better look, it darts away, only to pop up again a second later.
You look at the peaches
These are giant things, larger than you, floating suspended in the brine. They must be the pickled peaches.
You eat them
Each one is bigger than you. You don't have all day.
You ask the speck about the speck
It throbs three times, then cuts a quick circle around you.
You ask the speck about the peaches
The spot... shrugs. Somehow.
You ask the speck about Salona
A feeling of confusion fills your mind.
You ask speck about yourself
A feeling of confusion fills your mind.
Apparently this creature has never heard of yourself.
You ask the speck about Edmund
The tiny dot bobs up and down eagerly, then turns blue.

And then, as if you're hearing a recording made many decades ago, tinny and echoing, you hear what must be Edmund's voice once more, this time inside your mind:

"If you will indulge me, I wish to recite this poem I have oft enjoyed..." There is the sound of rustling papers. "Here we are.

'Under the crescent moons,
Beneath the starlit skies,
The bells lament with their songs,
The bells lament with their cries.

A song of copper and iron,
A song of silver and gold,
The bells sing of the One's true sign,
The bells sing of the Ones of old.'"

There is a sharp bang, followed by a wet choking sound, and then silence.

The dot returns to its usual off-white color and makes a lazy figure eight in the brine.

Somehow, you have the feeling that you ought to remember that poem he recited.
Go upwards
You swim up... and up... and break the surface... And suddenly you emerge, wet and dripping, in...

Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (in which is some golden peach liquid (in which are some pickled peaches)) and a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

Something... alive? You feel an urge to put something alive in the jar.
You close jar
Which do you mean, the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew), the dusty glass jars, the jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew), the jar of screws or the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)?
Peaches
You close the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).
You go west
Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.
You go north
Cold Storage Room (Jeremy Freese)
Aunt Mavis used to keep her peaches in a room that didn't look at all like this. On the walls is a message written in blood, composed in an ancient language you know intimately.

There's also the thing Aunt Mavis gave you. You now understand what it is.
You go to the west
You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west Another exit leads east.

You've smashed or removed every bottle of wine, and the rack stands empty before you.

You can see a wine cask here.
You go to the west
Your ears pop and you stumble as you step across the threshold, reeling in a momentary gravitational slippage.

Laboratory (Michael Gentry)
Hard, white light reflected from steel walls pricks painfully at your eyes. Through the glare you can make out the implements of some sort of laboratory, squirming sculptures of metal and glass dripping curdled fluids and spurting foul-smelling puffs of steam. A way out lies east, but otherwise there seem to be no other exits from this place.

The author is here, hunched over and fidgeting intently with a roiling knot of impossible space that floats in the middle of the room.

"Would you just . . ." pleads the author. "Enter the work. It's the solution, the solution to everything . . ."
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a biplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The author leans close and frowns into the depths of the impossible space. "Should probably correct this typo . . ." he says. "But that would ruin the pacing . . ."
Go east
"Come back soon!" the author calls after you.

You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west Another exit leads east.

You've smashed or removed every bottle of wine, and the rack stands empty before you.

You can see a wine cask here.
Go downward
Something tells you that Edwin Cragne really would not want you to take his secrets out of this room and that you really ought to leave the journal in the boiler room.

Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
You wait for purple Line
You lean against the heaving pipes, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, an insubstantial trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go to the north
You climb the steps to the porch.

Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.

You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here.
Go north
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

The sky outside is purple, with a few stars already visible. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a skateboard. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go south
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
Go north
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go west
Court (Ryan Veeder)
Walls paneled with elaborate boiseries curl slowly around this ovular hall. The western vertex of the ellipse is dominated by an enormous window; at the opposite end, a low archway leads east to the foyer. A glass display case is set into the north wall.

In the center of the room, an irregular circle of twelve pedestals surrounds a black monolith.

A white key lies on the floor.
You look at white Key
A finger-length key, its off-white striations indicating it was carved from ivory, or bone.
You get it
Taken.

For a second you hear nothing—then the rain starts again.
Go east
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

Countless stars are appearing in the sky outside. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You unlock the crypt with white Key
You unlock the crypt door.
You examine the crypt door
A crude skeleton, grinning and capering, is incised into the metal. It reminds you of medieval art you saw in college, primitive and alien--but there's something odd about the shape of the skull. A banner above the skeleton reads, worn and barely legible, "Mors ultima linea rerum est."
Go inside
(first opening the crypt door)

Family Crypt (Justin Melvin)
You are in a long-neglected, dusty, and surprisingly cold crypt, about the size of a garage. The walls are covered with a dark mold creeping from the floor, and the whole place smells unsettlingly like cured meat and leather. There are numerous plaques on the floor, and it is difficult to navigate the room without stepping on one of them. Your eyes are drawn to the only other object in the room: a large ornately decorated stone coffin. The only exit is the door you came in through leading back outside.
You examine the coffin
A large, gray stone coffin with a heavy-looking lid. It is carved with an intricate pattern of swirling lines, none of them intersecting at right angles. There is an inscription on the side.
You read the inscription
Which do you mean, the inscription, the inscription on the silver teapot or the watch inscription?
You put the teapot in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the teapot (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You put the watch in the sp.
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You read the inscription
In the dim light, it is difficult to make out the faded lettering, but you can see "HAR?AWELL CRAG?E, Icterine Al?erman of the Va?ieg?ted Cou?t." It's uncle Harvawell! You didn't know him personally very well, but he was a local celebrity - he was a lead newscaster for one of the local TV stations. He passed away about five or six years ago. You aren't sure exactly what he died of, and you missed his funeral. You feel a knot in your stomach. This wasn't really the way you wanted to get close to him.
You open it
For some reason, you feel compelled to open the coffin. Your heart races. Why would you do that? Why do you want to disturb the departed? You don't like this urge and try to ignore it.
You keep going
You feel your hands being drawn to the lid of the coffin. You feel blood pulsing in your neck and ears. Your breathing becomes shallow, and you start to panic. Why are you trying to open this coffin? What kind of a person are you?
You keep going
You are really starting to lose it. This isn't your body anymore. You are losing control of your hands and arms, as you feel yourself hefting the massive lid above the coffin. You feel the ache of your arms and back as you struggle to push it out of the way, all the time feeling like a stranger in your body, watching and feeling someone else's actions. You don't want to look down - you don't want to look down - you look down inside the coffin, sweating. You see a skull, but not the rest of Uncle Harvawell's body, along with a mummified rodent (a weasel, maybe?).
You examine Skull
You don't know why you opened the coffin to find this skull, but here it is. You can see Uncle Harvawell's broad jawline and high cheekbones on the skull - it really does look just like him. You remember him smiling from the 6pm news, and you shudder as you look at him in his terminal location, wondering what questions you would ask him. This scene is his final, interred view.

In Uncle Harvawell's skull is a long wooden key.
Close the coffin
Your arms are too tired to lift the lid again.
You examine wooden
A long wooden key.
Go southwest
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go to the north
You climb the steps to the porch.

Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.

You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here.
You go north
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

Countless stars are appearing in the sky outside. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You go west
Court (Ryan Veeder)
Walls paneled with elaborate boiseries curl slowly around this ovular hall. The western vertex of the ellipse is dominated by an enormous window; at the opposite end, a low archway leads east to the foyer. A glass display case is set into the north wall.

In the center of the room, an irregular circle of twelve pedestals surrounds a black monolith.

Another flash of lightning: In the stained glass, above the dark figure, a jagged shape looms.
Open case
You open the display case.
You look at the case
The case is built into the curved wall, so its glass door has been crafted with a subtle but noticeable curve of its own.

The case contains seventeen figurines: a greyhound, a Venus flytrap, a crow, a Pontiac Firebird, a white antelope, a peregrine falcon, a cat, a duck, an eel, a mole, a sheep, a weasel, a tarantula, a silverfish, a wolverine, a rat and a kraken.
You put wolverine on Niveous
(First taking the figurine of a wolverine)

You place the figurine of a wolverine on the niveous pedestal.
You put the duck on Fulvous
(First taking the figurine of a duck)

You place the figurine of a duck on the fulvous pedestal.
You put the greyhound on the puce
(the trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) on the puce pedestal)
You set the trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) on the puce pedestal.

The trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) begins to move. As if the room were slowly tipping to one side, the trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) slides toward the edge of the pedestal—and then falls to the floor.
You put the greyhound figurine on the puce
(First taking the figurine of a greyhound)

You place the figurine of a greyhound on the puce pedestal.

Thunder rolls overhead, increasing in intensity, going on so long and becoming so loud that it must be a jet engine—it stops.
You put the Cat on Griseous
(First taking the figurine of a cat)

You place the figurine of a cat on the griseous pedestal.

A flash of lightning illuminates the stained glass: You catch a glimpse of a figure wearing a dark cloak.
You put the peregrine on Xanthic
(First taking the figurine of a peregrine falcon)

You place the figurine of a peregrine falcon on the xanthic pedestal.
You put the weasel on the icterine
(First taking the figurine of a weasel)

You place the figurine of a weasel on the icterine pedestal.
You put the silverfish on Cesious
(First taking the figurine of a silverfish)

You place the figurine of a silverfish on the cesious pedestal.
You put the eel on Croceate
(First taking the figurine of an eel)

You place the figurine of an eel on the croceate pedestal.
You put Firebird on Mazarine
(First taking the figurine of a Pontiac Firebird)

You place the figurine of a Pontiac Firebird on the mazarine pedestal.

An explosion of thunder rattles the house.
You put ANTELOPE on fuscous
(First taking the figurine of a white antelope)

You place the figurine of a white antelope on the fuscous pedestal.

A sudden violent gust of wind makes the manor walls shake.
You put kraken on eburnean
(the antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) on the eburnean pedestal)
You set the antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) on the eburnean pedestal.

The antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) begins to move. As if the room were slowly tipping to one side, the antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) slides toward the edge of the pedestal—and then falls to the floor.
You put kraken figurine on eburnean
(First taking the figurine of a kraken)

You place the figurine of a kraken on the eburnean pedestal.

The stained glass lights up again, and you see the figure raising something to its lips.
You put Rat on rufous
(First taking the figurine of a rat)

You place the figurine of a rat on the rufous pedestal.

A clicking noise erupts in the center of the room. You turn to look: The top of the black monolith has opened itself.

Thunder rolls overhead, increasing in intensity, going on so long and becoming so loud that it must be a jet engine—it stops.
You examine Monolith
The facets of the monolith have opened up, revealing a black chamber within.

In the black monolith is a black horn.
You look at the horn
The coiled horn of some massive, ancient beast. Smooth, oily patches on its rugose surface indicate how multitudes of hands have held the instrument; its pointed tip is carved open to serve as a mouthpiece.
You get the horn
Taken.

The wind rises in pitch, and for a long moment it sounds more like a scream.
You look around
Court (Ryan Veeder)
Walls paneled with elaborate boiseries curl slowly around this ovular hall. The western vertex of the ellipse is dominated by an enormous window; at the opposite end, a low archway leads east to the foyer. A glass display case is set into the north wall.

In the center of the room, an irregular circle of twelve pedestals surrounds a black monolith.

On the puce pedestal is a figurine of a greyhound.

On the xanthic pedestal is a figurine of a peregrine falcon.

On the griseous pedestal is a figurine of a cat.

On the mazarine pedestal is a figurine of a Pontiac Firebird.

On the niveous pedestal is a figurine of a wolverine.

On the fulvous pedestal is a figurine of a duck.

On the rufous pedestal is a figurine of a rat.

On the eburnean pedestal is a figurine of a kraken.

On the cesious pedestal is a figurine of a silverfish.

On the fuscous pedestal is a figurine of a white antelope.

On the icterine pedestal is a figurine of a weasel.

On the croceate pedestal is a figurine of an eel.

Rain rattles impatiently against the stained glass.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a black horn
a long wooden key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a white key
a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew)
a creased square of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew)
a jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
an ornate bronze key
a silver and ivory key
a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (being worn)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)

A flash of lightning illuminates the stained glass: You catch a glimpse of a figure wearing a dark cloak.
You put white Key in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the white key, then zip the key pocket back up again.
Go east
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

The night sky is dark and full of stars. One larger star stands out in the center of the fanlight window. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You go north
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

The night sky is dark and full of stars. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
You examine Star
The stars stand out tack-sharp against the night sky. One tiny, cloudlike blur in Andromeda twinkles.
You examine the blur
The cloud resolves itself into a disc. It is a distant spiral galaxy, the Andromeda galaxy, whirling through the void like a scythe. Andromeda is plunging irrevocably toward the Milky Way at hundreds of thousands of miles per hour.

Andromeda is coming. Soon, far too soon, its trillion stars will collide with the Milky Way. Both galaxies will be torn apart in the collision, and for a billion years or more chaos will reign. Some of the stars will be swallowed by the two massive black holes at the center of each galaxy; other stars will collide in titanic explosions of light and death; still others will be ejected into intergalactic space, doomed to wander alone until they burn out into blackness. The final shape of the resulting galaxy will be monstrous and unrecognizable.

It is cold comfort that the Earth will have been burned to a cinder by this time, destroyed by the doomed and greedy sun before another star could snatch its prize.

You hide your eyes from the light of that evil star. You don't want Andromeda to see you.
You look at the window
Two tall, rectangular windows are set into the wall on either side of the front door. They look like they were added later. Maybe the new owner thought the foyer needed more light.

The grounds are totally black. The darkness seems almost like it is moving.
You examine the grounds
Cragne Manor was probably once surrounded by lawns and a formal garden; now the property is overgrown and wild-looking. The grounds are totally black. The darkness seems almost like it is moving.
You wait for the Gold Line
You lean against the gravel path, hold out your pass, and wait for the gold line. Within moments, an insubstantial trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You unlock Door with wooden Key
You unlock the church doors.
You go inside
(first opening the church doors)
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Church Lobby-Space (Hanon Ondricek)
This shallow space extends the width of the church. What do you
call this? The church-lobby? Surely there's a better name for it... Despite the gloominess, it's not that unwelcoming. You'd guess renovations happened mid-1980s--the color scheme is that sponge-painted beigy-peach which goes great with industrial
linoleum floor tiles. They checkerboard underfoot in grayish green and grayish white squares with dark speckles. A stamped powder-blue accent border provides a homey feel for church-lady potlucks.

leads out of the building.

Also good to note: two side by side openings lead in to
restrooms. Now's probably a good time to go--this place is quite a bit tidier than many of the locations you've visited, and who knows when you might next encounter a clean bathroom that isn't filled with skeletons, or making scary noises, or holding a contraption that dispenses a key, or a portal to a pocket dimension full of snakes with baby-faces or something worse...

A collection of framed photos is arranged on one wall, and a woodstained ladder bolted nearby leads up through a square
opening in the ceiling.

You know, you could use a quick restroom break about now.
You look at the photos
Black and white photos of generations of religious folk and church social gatherings. Included are four or five class photos of students in tweed blazers, pressed slacks, and plaid skirts. The newest is inscribed 1978.

A yellowed newspaper article in a more modern frame catches your attention.
You read the yellowed article
From the Backwater Gazette, March 8, 1984. The faded print is hard to read, but the article details the Backwater Historical Society renovation of the narthex of the church after a fire five
years prior. School, library, and gymnasium incinerated to the
dirt foundation in an unexplainable inferno during the 1979 Maple Harvest Dance... 166 students, faculty, and neighbors tragically lost...no remains identifiable... The church itself suffered only minor damage in what surviving parishoners describe as a "divine miracle"...
About yourself
You stop and take stock: yes, you are still Naomi Cragne
despite everything that has happened and who you may or may not have been up to this point. Your husband needs you to help him, and you are bound and determined to do exactly that, no matter what
horrors lie in wait for you going forward.

You are wearing a copper amulet, a battered yellow JogMaster, a calfskin coat, a pair of reading glasses, a pair of stone earplugs, a trolley pass, a Jansport backpack, a gold jacket and a giant milkweed leaf.

You are also lugging around a whole lot of stuff.
You go inside
The women's restroom is tidy as church facilities go. There is only one way out, unless you count the bathroom stall door reflected
in the mirror above the sink.

It appears someone has discarded a tube of lipstick on the sink.
You look at the mirror
It's you, Naomi Cragne, staring back from the mirror. Good-looking as ever, if maybe a bit frazzled from recent events. Right then. You look focused, confident; your lips are a bit pale, but what can you do?
You examine the sink
On the sink is some red lipstick.
You examine the lipstick
The lipstick is practically new and appears to never have been used. Score. The label names it "Saucy Siren"--which of course is a
dark shade of red.
You examine the stall
The flimsy stall partitions afford a modicum of privacy in a public restroom--you can't see over or under them.

In the bathroom stall is no one.
You enter the stall
You enter the restroom stall for a time-out and a well-deserved five minute break to "freshen up" before continuing your adventure.
You wear the lipstick
You meticulously apply the lipstick mph...mpoph... You should
check it out in the mirror to make sure you didn't get any on your teeth.
You examine the mirror
Mmm, luscious red lips--ones that total fox Brandon Cragne
might want to kiss...that is, if she played her cards right. Otherwise, the same mousy brown hair pulled back in clips, the same lame grey tweed school uniform. The same pallid complexion. Heavy sigh.
Describe the surroundings
The girl's restroom by the chapel was Jessica's main respite while at school, being a good detour away the main facility in the school hallway. Often she was able to get several minutes to herself away from the other spazz-girls in her class. There was only one way
out through the door back to the Chapel hallway.
Inventory
She was carrying:
her school uniform (being worn)
some overdue library books
her sister's lipstick
You examine the lipstick
She swiped her sister's new lipstick--just to try out. Of course she was going to give it back.
Go outside
As she turned to leave, the door creaked open. In walked The Plains--the three most devout girls in school.

"Thelma, didn't you tell me that this bathroom usually is deserted around lunchtime?" grumped Dawn.

"Well, it was yesterday. Don't worry, we won't be long,
Jezebel," the biggest Plain sneered.

"Oh, Thelma, don't be so mean to her! Her name is
Jessica. It is Jessica, right?" She could tell Meredith
really didn't care since she was already checking her hair ribbon for right-angle-alignment in the bathroom mirror.

The Plains were worshipped and feared--they were the eyes and ears of the Sisters in every corner of the school and involved themselves in everyone else's business.
You examine Plains
Dawn Whitford, photographic memory, never forgets like an
elephant. Has daily, since kindergarten, sported anywhere from
two to five useless straight, skinny pigtails anchored on her head with those big clear glass beads and tiny gold spectacles like she's the cousin of both Mother Goose and Mrs. Claus. She was Sister Mary Marcia's favorite and thus was able to wield the old nun like an attack dog on call.

Thelma Groffley. Varsity Basketball, color team, volleyball, gymnastics and ROTC. She wore sweats under her skirt every day and one long strawberry-blond braid to her waist tied with a stupid white and gold bow. In eighth grade Thelma won a ten dollar bet that she couldn't pop a kickball by compressing it between her very sturdy thighs.

Meredith Mulroney, the plainest of the Plains. Studious. Put-together. Perfect white ribbon pulling back her straight, perfectly chestnut brown hair. Her blouse extra ruffly at the throat. Her grey-on-grey plaid skirt never less than three inches below her grey-socked knees. This girl was a total flat pan of warm milk.

They were all so going to heaven.
Go outside
grown accustomed to supressing and ignoring what they said. Right now she just needed to be away from people.

> EXIT

Jessica moved to exit, but Thelma wouldn't move away from the bathroom door. "That's some awfully bright red lipstick you have on,
Jezebel. You know red is Jesus's least favorite color."

Meredith turned, "Oh, cut her some slack, Thel. It looks like
someone is trying to learn how to pretty herself up for the
Maple Harvest dance!" she chirped.

Dawn blew her nose with some toilet paper from the stall and tossed it away. "Well, Jessica probably should be aware that the Maple
Harvest dance is a formal occasion and not a Halloween party,
so she ought to dial back on the clown paint."

"Or a Mary Magdalene look-alike contest, neither," added Thelma.

"So," Meredith continued, applying her own lip-shade that was exactly the same color as her lips and had no noticeable effect, "Jessica, does this mean you've found a special someone who will be
accompanying you to the biggest school event of the year?"
Yes
That was none of Meredith Mulroney's beezwax. "No, I
haven't," Jessica replied.

"Oh, that's so sad!" Meredith wailed. "Your senior year, too! Hold on, wait a minute. I know someone who is more than likely free
and isn't going...what about...Brandon Cragne?"

"Brandon Cragne? He plays Dungeons and Dragons," Dawn
slurped, articulating through her retainer. "You know, Satan's boardgame?"

The two demi-Plains parted at the clacking of orthopedic shoes in the hallway, and suddenly the door was blockaded with Sister Mary Marcia's imposing frame. "What in blazes is going on in here? This restroom is too small for all four of you at once."

"Good morning, Sister Mary Marcia," Dawn wheedled. "We were
just pointing out to our classmate here that the vividness of her cosmetic selections violate the parameters of standard school dress code policy."

The nun sucked a breath between her teeth, "Jessica. You are too young to be wearing makeup, much less that shade of red. That lipstick is for protestant girls!" Sister Marcia held out her hand. "Are
you trying to give the boys the wrong idea? If not, you'd
better hand over that lipstick."
You go outside
"This Sister says give me that lipstick," insisted Sister Mary Marcia.
Go outside
"Hand it over," snapped the nun.
Wait
BUT, SISTER MARY MARCIA...

"I don't want to hear any backsass, girl," replied Sister, growing seemingly more impatient.
Wait
"You can have it back at the end of the year," replied Sister Mary Marcia.
Wait
"This Sister says give me that lipstick," snapped the nun.
You say no
Whom do you want to say that to?
You give the lipstick to Marcia
Jessica relinquished the forbidden devil's paint. Sister Mary Marcia plucked a rough brown paper towel from the dispenser and licked it. "You've still got some on your mouth. That will have to come off. Hold still..." the nun grabbed her face and began scrubbing, much to the amusement of the Plains.
Aaaaaaghh! Stop it! STOP IT!
> TAKE OFF LIPSTICK

You wipe all the red off of your lips, expecting your hands to come away covered in it--but there is no trace of the lipstick on your hands. You check the mirror--none on your face either.
You look at your surroundings
The women's restroom is tidy as church facilities go. There is only one way out, unless you count the bathroom stall door reflected
in the mirror above the sink.

From this angle in the mirror, you spy a pair of red shoes under the stall door.
You examine the shoes
There are definitely some shoes in the bathroom stall, right where they would be if someone were sitting on the--but you don't
hear anyone...breathing...or otherwise...
You examine the heels
These are some vintage kicks--but red leather pumps never go out of style. Someone must be bummed about forgetting these.
You wear the heels
(first taking the red high heel shoes)
You slip off your sensible running shoes and insert your toes into the shiny pumps. They are a little tight and your heel won't go in...unless you exert some force. Thunk. Thunk. Woo! They fit perfectly.

She pulled the pin from her hair and let it tumble loosely around her shoulders, shaking it out to complete the glamorous tall-model look.
About you
If only she could be someone else for a while!
You examine the heels
Jessica had "borrowed" her sister's treasured "Wizard of Oz" formal heels so shiny bright red! to try them out. They fit
perfectly.
Inventory
She was carrying:
some red high heel shoes (being worn)
her school uniform (being worn)
some overdue library books
Examine books
Books from the school library. The stamped cards in the folders glued inside the cover said they were due on 1979 03 16 FRI, so  she needed to return them ASAP. Mrs. Bowler, the librarian, usually didn't mind letting her slide a couple of days, but... The covers both had stickers on them identifying them as school property.
Describe the surroundings
The girl's restroom by the chapel was Jessica's main respite while at school, being a good detour away the main facility in the school hallway. Often she was able to get several minutes to herself away from the other spazz-girls in her class. There was only one way
out through the door back to the Chapel hallway.
Go outside
Of course, the door banged open and Dawn Whitford peered around it, "Está ocupado, Meredith!" Dawn flapped the rest of the way in
with a clipboard, "Jessica, I took the initiative to add your name to the Harvest Dance cleanup crew, since you more than likely aren't going to be attending with all the normal people." Meredith flitted to the mirror, and Thelma skulked in behind her, guarding the door like usual. "...That way, you can at least come in the last half hour and hear some of the music and see everyone's dresses."

"Oh, you still haven't found someone to accompany you to the
dance yet?" Meredith read her face and wrinkled her nose. "That's such a shame! Well, it's a good thing you'll be there at the end at least. I can't wait for you to see this luscious floor-length
all-white chiffon number I found! Since it's senior year, I decided to throw caution to the wind and go sleeveless!"

The other two girls went "oooooOOOOOOooo" on cue like
third-graders witnessing people kiss in a movie.

"I'll be there with my dancin' shoes on!" Meredith squealed, briefly performing the most geriatric Charleston step Jessica could imagine before turning gleefully to the mirror to make sure her hair was still, in fact, completely straight.

"Speaking of footwear," Thelma approached twirling her braid, "check out the snazzy kicks on Jezebel here! Your shoes aren't going to  get you closer to heaven, honey!"

"Red is Satan's favorite color," Dawn reminded. "And I don't have my ruler, but I'm quite sure the heel height on those don't fit the official school dress code."

"Oh, nonsense," Meredith muttered into the mirror. "I think they're pretty. You know every little bit helps when you start at a disadvantage!"

Thelma sauntered past, "Jus' remember: the higher you climb, the farther you fall."

The shove wasn't hard, but it was deliberate, and Jessica was doing okay balancing but had no traction and her feet skidded out from under her as she flailed awkwardly. WHAM her tailbone contacted the tile and every limb went shockingly numb for a moment.
You stand
no voices in my head you don't control me stop laughing!
Wait
stop arguing i cant think stop laughing!
You wait for a while
thats not what i want to do oh god oh god stop laughing!
You wait
stop laughing!
You wait
oh god oh god stop laughing!
Go outside
The bland checkerboard-floored antechamber (though the nuns always called it the narthex) that connected the chapel to the main
school hallway proudly displayed a decade's worth of framed photographs of historical Catholic figures and famous nuns, posters for school activities, and important mimeographed lists of extra-curricular activity rosters taped to the walls.

Bellowed hosannas from choir rehearsal taking place behind the closed chapel doors to the west competed with the roar of the school
hallway to the east.

The ladder to the bell tower rose against the wall in its usual place. A sign mounted at face-height read "STAFF ONLY. NO STUDENTS!"
Go up
Jessica didn't have any reason to climb to the bell tower. The Quasimodo story the seniors always told incoming underclassmen had been demonstrably proven false.
Go west
Jessica had been banished from choir for two weeks for her "creative" scat-jazz interpretations of some of the warmup exercises. She probably didn't need to show her face in there for a while.
You go east
cafeteria and back west to the Chapel. The Gymnasium yawned its familiar oppressive woodsmell to the north below a paper banner
in direct opposition to the school Library, which was an oasis of quiet solitude to the south.

omigodohmygod...Brandon Cragne was leaning on the locker next
to hers talking to his friend whatshisname...

> TALK TO BRANDON

Noooo! Hush up voices in my head!
You talk to Brandon
"Oh, hi, Brandon isn't it? I'm Jessica. Nice to meet you
finally!" is what she wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat and wouldn't come out. She was going to do it. She was going to do something. She was going to walk right up to him--no, she was going to introduce herself--no, just walk by him like it's no big deal, just say "Oh, hi, Brandon" and toss her hair and--

At that moment her balance on the high heels failed her, and she pitched forward right into Brandon Cragne who caught her and
kept her from hitting the floor...his arms around her he smells
like he didn't have time to shower after mowing the lawn this morning sharp bitter green cut clippings and grape bubble gum--

"Are you okay?" he said, setting her back upright.

"I'm fine! Sorry, I--"

"You're Jessica, right?"

"Yeah, you got me," she said, trying to stand up straight in the awkward shoes. How does he know my name?

He smoothed his hair with one hand. Pointlessly, because it fell right back into place. He dismissed his friend with a subtle jerk of his head and Whatshisname scurried off. "Jessica, I wanted to ask you a question..."

"Sure, Brandon!"

He inhaled, hesitating, "Are you going...I mean...are you...would you..."

"Yes, Brandon?"
"Yes, Brandon?""Are you...going into the library right now?"

"Um...yeah. I am...actually. I need to return these books."

Brandon blinked, "Great! Wonderful! Here's the thing..." He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a scrap of paper. "I need a book to do some research before Friday and Sister Mary Marshmallow took away my library privileges. I can't even go in there to read."

"That's weird," Jessica said, taking the card which had a Dewey Decimal number on it. "What did you do to Sister Marcia?"

"Long story." The hallway was clearing out as lunch was ending, and clacking heels echoed down the hallway. "Speak of the Devil," he said, glancing down at the nun who was in the process of confiscating cigarettes from a student. "I need that book."

"Sure, I'll go get it right now--"

"Thank you!" he said, putting his warm hands on Jessica's shoulders for a brief, wonderful moment. "I need to stay out of the Marshmallow's sight, but I'll meet you back out here in a few minutes."

And he disappeared into the dispersing late lunch crowd.
You go south
Jessica let herself be submerged in the peace and quiet and smell of old paper that filled the library. The check out counter with its own set of shelves and private card catalog inaccessible to students took up the entryway, then the maze of library stacks spread away in every other direction besides north, which returned to the mundane
world of school.

Jessica slid her books through the slot hoping Mrs. Bowler would overlook that they were two days overdue.

Her eye was drawn to an ominous greenish-leather tome sitting by itself on the sorting shelves behind the counter.
You examine Tome
She couldn't tear her gaze from the thick, ancient volume on the shelf by itself--like the other books didn't want to be near it. The cover was rough-tooled moss-green leather stitched from uneven scraps, and the spine had a flat eye-shaped oval right above the title, which was unreadable at this distance.
You get tome
Jessica reached for the book. There was no way her arm would stretch that far, but she tried, shoulder dislocating, elbow popping
fingers tingle numb ears crackle thoughts scrambled--Y'
ahor ymg' ah, gof'n, ph'nglui yar... The lidded eye on the spine opened, staring balefully at her, bloodshot, blinking--
"Jessica, are you okay?" Mrs. Bowler was right there.

"I'm fine," she replied finally, shaking the static out of her head. "I'm looking for this book." She pushed the scrap forward on the counter and the librarian peered at it curiously. "Give me a second." Mrs. Bowler flipped effortlessly through the drawers of the private staff card catalog, then moved to an enormous paper ledger off to the side, licking her fingers and flipping bible-thin leaves. Jessica scuffed her toe, hoping Brandon wouldn't give up and leave before she returned...
returned...She was lost in her thoughts when Mrs. Bowler appeared again, displaying a lavender paperback copy of Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret, "Have you ever read this one? It's a really heartwarming story about a girl just like you!"

"Yeah, I think so. Probably in fifth grade."

"Oh, well, good!" Mrs. Bowler stashed the book under the counter. "We don't shelve the book you asked about, but the city library does."

"Really?" Jessica groaned. "I need it."

"Well, I can put in a request to transfer it here and you'll have it by next week. Or if your parents have a Backwater Public Library card you could go get it yourself--wait a second..." She turned to the sorting shelves behind her.
"What was I thinking, here it is!" She grabbed a slim volume from the shelf, stamped a due date on the slip inside the cover, and placed it into Jessica's hands. "I thought it sounded familiar. I guess someone asked for it to be transferred last week and never showed up to check it out!" The office phone blurbled and she moved toward it. "Lucky for you!"
Examine book
(a slim hardback manual)
It was the library book Brandon wanted. A stamp in indigo ink inside the cover declared it ON LOAN from The Backwater Public
Library above their weird but kind of cool official library
insignia: double eclipsing moons joined by an all-seeing eye reading an open book--in Backwater, Vermont.
You go to the north
cafeteria and back west to the Chapel. The Gymnasium yawned its familiar oppressive woodsmell to the north below a paper banner
in direct opposition to the school Library, which was an oasis of quiet solitude to the south.

Brandon was leaning against her locker pushing buttons on his digital watch.
You give Book to Brandon
"Hey! Brandon. We lucked out! The book was on loan from--"

"Amazing! You're really a groovy chick, you know, Jessica?" he grinned and she felt her neck flush as she held out the book for him.

"One other thing. Don't hand it to me here," he said, looking over his shoulder. "I can't even be seen with a library book. It's a
secret. What I need you to do is hide it for me. You know where the black tile is? On the floor in the Narthex?"
No
"If you look right at the base of the ladder to the steeple--in the Narthex--there's one black tile in the floor and it's loose. There's enough room under it to hide the book. Put it under there for me, and...can I ask you one more question?"

"Sure, Brandon."

"I know it's short notice, but is someone... I mean, do you um... Do you have plans for Friday night?"

"Friday, um. Well--" Jessica checked her wrist for a watch that wasn't there, "that's the night of the Maple Harvest Dance, isn't it?"

"It is. And I...I hate social functions, but I get the feeling you do too. But I was wondering...if you weren't going with anyone, would you want to come with me Friday night? We can be anti-social together.

"Well...
Yes
"Yes, yes! I'd love to go to the dance with you, Brandon!"
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, his lips gentle on
her brow. "Thank you, Jessica. I know it's hard to make your mark in this school, but I promise you after Friday, everyone in Backwater will know who Jessica and Brandon are. I gotta get to Trig. I'll talk to you after school!"

Brandon slipped away into the crowd, and Jessica felt as though she were floating three feet off the floor--until she remembered it was the heels.
You go west
Jessica gasped as a clawed hand squeezed her shoulder, whirling her around. Sister Mary Marcia stepped in close, pinning her against the lockers. "Those shoes are not appropriate for school wear. You are
out of dress-code, Missy."

"I'm sorry Sister Mary Marcia, I didn't--"

"I don't have time for this. Just give me the shoes," she demanded.

Jessica tried her best to keep control, "But, please, Sister, these belong to my sister--my own sister--and she will kill me if I don't give them back..."

"Well, she can have them back at the end of the school year like everything else. Take them off this instant."
No
(addressing Sister Mary Marcia)
The nun's grip tightened on her wrist.

"Did you hear me, young lady? Or do we need to march over to the Mother Superior's office?"

> PUSH SISTER MARY MARCIA
You go west
The bland checkerboard-floored antechamber (though the nuns always called it the narthex) that connected the chapel to the main
school hallway proudly displayed a decade's worth of framed photographs of historical Catholic figures and famous nuns, posters for school activities, and important mimeographed lists of extra-curricular activity rosters taped to the walls.

Bellowed hosannas from choir rehearsal taking place behind the closed chapel doors to the west competed with the roar of the school
hallway to the east.

The ladder to the bell tower rose against the wall in its usual place. A sign mounted at face-height read "STAFF ONLY. NO STUDENTS!"
You get the tile
The black tile opened like a lid, revealing a dark space underneath.
You put Book in Space
There. Jessica replaced the black tile with a sense of
satisfaction. Nobody would ever find it unless they knew
where to look...

It was Jessica and Brandon's secret...
You go outside
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Narthex (Hanon Ondricek)
The narthex extends the width of the church. Despite the
gloominess, it's not that unwelcoming except for the eye-watering pattern of industrial linoleum floor tiles. They checkerboard underfoot in grayish green and grayish white squares with dark speckles, stopping only at the margin marked by a wall border at waist level.

leads out of the building.

Two side by side openings lead in to restrooms.

A collection of framed photos is arranged on one wall, and a woodstained ladder bolted nearby leads up through a square
opening in the ceiling.
You examine the tiles
The floor expands underneath; a bewildering checkerboard of pale green and white linoleum tiles.
You examine the ladder
opening in the ceiling, you would presume to the steeple--if the whipping wind and ominous creaking from above is any indication. A plastic sign at face-height indicates "STAFF ONLY Please! Thank
you!"
You look at the black tile
One odd black tile near the foot of the ladder. They must have run out of green and white during a repair.
You open it
The black tile opens like a lid, revealing a dark space underneath.

Low on the horizon, the mercurial sliver of moon doubles, passing mirrored through itself to illuminate the fiendish scribble the eye gazes down to comprehend.
Black thoughts in an inky square, revealed by colored moonlight glinting through the church window glass.
You look at Space
You have moved aside one odd black tile near the foot of the ladder. They must have run out of green and white during a repair. There are a small hollow in the floor under the tile.

In the the space under the tile are a vintage Black Sabbath tee shirt and a slim hardback manual.
You look at the tee
The printing is legit metal--crackledy and faded.
You examine the manual
It's a thin but colorful hardback manual, To Have, and To Have
Knots: An Illustrated Guide by Melvyn Camber. A stamp in dark
purple ink on the inside of the front cover reads ON LOAN from The Backwater Public Library above the official library insignia:
it's supposed to be two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book, but it's hard not to see it as a scuttling four-legged eye-creature preparing to leap onto the pages below. A loosely-gummed paper slip is pasted to the frontspiece of the book.
You look at the slip
(the slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew))
It says "Inspected by Number 8."

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the gummed slip
A yellowed slip of paper on the frontspiece of the illustrated knot book has a series of stamped due dates. The last one is 1979 MAR 30 FRI
You read it
The book falls naturally open to a picture of a noose.

The common noose looks great as a scary yard decoration during Halloween or to improve your fishing or boating experience. The noose is a secure and easy-tightening loop that holds it shape for tossing over a boat mooring. But kids, listen to Uncle Melvyn: DO NOT WEAR A NOOSE around your neck or tie one around anyone else's neck under any circumstances, even as a joke...

As you finish reading the passage, your own hands grow cold, and the book briefly frosts over before fading again, leaving traces behind only in the library insignia.
Continue
The book falls naturally open to a picture of a noose.

The common noose looks great as a scary yard decoration during Halloween or to improve your fishing or boating experience. The noose is a secure and easy-tightening loop that holds it shape for tossing over a boat mooring. But kids, listen to Uncle Melvyn: DO NOT WEAR A NOOSE around your neck or tie one around anyone else's neck under any circumstances, even as a joke...
You wear the tee
You pull the shirt on over your head... Yes, you can still
fit a medium...though it's a bit snug in the chest. As the shirt settles, you detect a faint whiff of a freshly-mown lawn in the spring.
You stifle a scream as a clawed hand squeezes your
shoulder--"Brandon Cragne!"--you whirl face-to-face with a
moon-faced nun in a black habit. She releases you and steps back. "Oh. I'm sorry. You're not the person I thought you were!"

"No, I'm Naomi Cragne," you say, unsure whether you're supposed to offer a handshake to a nun or curtsy or--"I'm sorry. I didn't
realize anyone was in here," you respond, oddly disappointed to still be yourself--"I don't mean to intrude, Sister."

"It's all right. All are welcome, dear." She peers sagely into your eyes, placing her hands on your shoulders. "May the Lord bless you and keep you safe. Be careful around here."

A dull roaring rose behind her, fluttering her habit. She leaned back and shook her head sadly.

"You want to hear some irony? I became a nun because I figured that way I'd never feel what it was like to burn."
way I'd never feel what it was like to burn."The picture wall behind her exploded into a vortex of orange and gold flames whirling with leaves which flamed out of existence screaming.

The nun turned--her habit blazed a column of fire to the ceiling.
"I'm coming!" she called, and ran directly into the flames to save
as many of her students as she could, merging with the inferno.
as many of her students as she could, merging with the
inferno.Three plain angels slammed the doors to the school
hallway--

!!!kerblam!!!

--hard enough to rumble the entire church and hurl every picture from the walls down to the tile floor in a thunderous crash of sparkling glass and wood.
You look around
Narthex (Hanon Ondricek)
The narthex extends the width of the church. Despite the
gloominess, it's not that unwelcoming except for the eye-watering pattern of industrial linoleum floor tiles. They checkerboard underfoot in grayish green and grayish white squares with dark speckles, stopping only at the margin marked by a wall border at waist level.

leads out of the building.

Two side by side openings lead in to restrooms.

Shattered glass and broken pieces of picture frames cover the floor of the narthex around the edges near the walls.

A noose of thick nylon boat-rope hangs down through the opening in the ceiling in front of the ladder.
You look at the noose
That's--a noose. That--wasn't there before, was it?
You get the NOOSE
This noose doesn't belong here. It wasn't here before. Someone is playing a trick on you, surely. You climb three rungs up the ladder for a closer look.

> WEAR NOOSE
The noose slips easily over your head and tightens around your neck before you can--your feet slip from the rungs...
before you can--your feet slip from the rungs...He had been waiting a really long time. Maybe she chickened out... And who could
blame her? Brandon had been hearing the voices for weeks now, she'd only just started. The rope itched and he'd suffered through a total of fourteen horrible church-friendly music selections by DJ
Deacon JesusLove echoing from the gymasium already. I should just
do it. Get the process started... But he hadn't explained the
part about the glyph! He would have to trust she'd follow through with the plan and he hadn't thought to--

There she was! Jessica emerged from the men's restroom resplendent in her glittery black dress, looking like a new and completely different beautiful person. Brandon knew not to let his thoughts idle long, lest one of them take control and speak for him...

> EXAMINE JESSICA

"Oh, my God, you look amazing, Jessica!" The dress was too
short--just above the knee--for the Maple Harvest Dance in a Catholic school and they wouldn't have let her in, so they had to sneak here through the secret way from the chapel. Her hair glowed autumn orange and gold and it billowed in freshly-cut waves around her face, tied with beads adorned with small scarlet maple leaves.

The music from the gym changed from a vigorous polka to a slow song. Finally. Soothing electric piano--a BeeGees tune. She
approached the ladder and gazed up where he sat perched with his back to the fifth rung.

"Um, I might say the same thing about you look amazing,
Mister Brandon Cragne with-your-shirt-off!" she smirked, placing her hands on the sides of the ladder.

"It gets better," he raised an eyebrow. "Do you still have that lipstick with you?"

"Sure do," she said, holding it up and smacking her red lips in air-kisses.
About you
"Can you copy this? I need you to write this glyph on my chest."

Jessica peered at the college-ruled drawing torn from his spiral notebook. "I can. But... how big do you want it? Neck to belly-button--?"

You're the artist. I trust you," She intently started gliding the red pigment across his skin. "It just needs to be accurate, not huge--yeah, just like that, that's perfect."

"Hey," she said, touching up where the lines were thin, "I don't suppose there's any chance we could put this off? Just for tonight? Let's go in and dance and get kicked out. We can leave this town, run away, change our names, go up to Canada..."

Brandon grinned. "Why on earth would you--oh God that tickles! Ha!--Why would anyone want to go all the way up to
Canada?"

"Dunno! I've never been! I've heard it's a cool place and it's gonna be all the rage someday!"
Yes
"Yeah, it's a cool place with really long winters. And maple
syrup and hockey--I know. That would be fun. But the Harvest Dance doesn't happen every night of the year. We won't get this chance ever again."

"Well, then," Jessica climbed far enough up the ladder so they were almost face-to-face. "I guess I'm gonna have to do this right now."

Their lips touched--but she started giggling, then so was he. "I'm serious!"

The tips of their noses touched. "So serious!" He leaned down and kissed and it was much much better.

how deep is your howlove deepisyourlove how deep is your love? i really need to learn...

She pulled back, but their eyes never left each other, "Thank you for inviting me to the dance, Brandon Cragne."

"Thank you for accepting my invitation, Jessica Santos."

> KISS JESSICA

They kissed as long as they could, smiling the whole time. When it was time, she retreated down the ladder and stepped back, sparkling in her outfit and heels.

"Give'm hell, Jessica."

"That's what I'm planning," she said, throwing her tiny purse over her shoulder and striding through the double doors to the east toward the gymnasium.

> WAIT

The fire doors between the narthex and the school hallway clicked closed. Brandon waited as long as he could. He didn't want to chance that she would have to see him or hear what was about to happen.
And at that moment his resolve faltered. There was no reason for
this. He had free will! He didn't have to listen to the voices! He could take this noose right off...

> JUMP

He stepped off the ladder and thrashed as the rope tightened.
There was no longer a hole in his head through which he could
inhale or exhale--red and black flashes big red and black flashes multiplying and expanding and a vast rushing in his ears heartbeat black darkness try to breathe nope he was tumbling down into a black space of nowhere

on the sides those are my eye veins glowing hot pissing my pants how embarrassing red flashes and black flashes and bright black flashes and black--

> AH, DEAR NAOMI. AS MUCH AS WE DO ENJOY YOUR COMPANY, THERE'S HARDLY ROOM FOR EVEN ONE EXTRA IN YOUNG MASTER CRAGNE'S CORPOREAL FORM. WE HADN'T PLANNED FOR YOUR EXPEDITIOUS ARRIVAL SO EARLY! LET ME FIRST ASSURE YOU THAT THIS ISN'T HOW YOU DIE. THERE'S SO MUCH MORE YOU NEED TO ACCOMPLISH FIRST. GOODNESS! YOU'RE TURNING QUITE AN AMUSING SHADE OF PURPLE NOW, SO HOW ABOUT WE SUSPEND THIS EXCHANGE TEMPORARILY? WE'LL SEE YOU BACK IN, OH, SAY, FIFTEEN OR SIXTEEN YEARS? WE LOOK FORWARD TO MEETING YOU AGAIN--BOTH YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS HUSBAND.

You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.The noose melts out of existence--GASP--and you tumble to the floor,
cold green beautiful oxygen tearing painfully into your lungs. Gasping and wheezing. Then just laying with your cheek on the cool tile breathing and enjoying breathing for a good long time.

You're still alive, Naomi.
You look around
Narthex (Hanon Ondricek)
The narthex extends the width of the church. Despite the
gloominess, it's not that unwelcoming except for the eye-watering pattern of industrial linoleum floor tiles. They checkerboard underfoot in grayish green and grayish white squares with dark speckles, stopping only at the margin marked by a wall border at waist level.

leads out of the building.

Two side by side openings lead in to restrooms.

Shattered glass and broken pieces of picture frames cover the floor of the narthex around the edges near the walls.
You examine the Glass
(the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew))
A clear glass jar containing a hideous green insect. It's either dead or doing a very good job of playing dead and you have no desire to find out which. The number of legs and eyes appear to change every time you look at it.

It currently has five legs and two eyes.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the frames
Every single photo lies destroyed in pieces near the baseboards.
You go to the west
Chapel (s. hammack)
You are in the main worship area of the church. Whom or what this chapel is used to worship is not immediately apparent. The accommodations are fairly modest: several rows of pews face toward the west end of the room, where a pulpit stands in front of an altar. In the corner of the room is a cheap-looking electric organ. The one lavish decoration is an elaborate stained glass window taking up most of the wall behind the altar.

The vestibule is to the east. On the southern wall is a wooden door, which is closed.

On the altar are a collection plate (in which are some assorted teeth), a lockbox (closed), a box of Nilla Wafers (in which are some Nilla wafers) and a wine bottle (empty).
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go to the south
(first opening the nondescript door)

Church Office (Llew Mason)
The church office is a tiny windowless room. Stark whitewashed brick walls close in on all sides beneath a low vaulted ceiling. There is something fundamentally wrong with the architecture in here. Lines that should be parallel or perpendicular seem ever so slightly off, making you feel distinctly uneasy.

An enormous desk overflowing with stacked papers takes up most of one side of the room. Stairs lead down, and the church itself is accessible through the door at the north end of the room.
Go upward
Church Office (Llew Mason)
The church office is a tiny windowless room. Stark whitewashed brick walls close in on all sides beneath a low vaulted ceiling. There is something fundamentally wrong with the architecture in here. Lines that should be parallel or perpendicular seem ever so slightly off, making you feel distinctly uneasy.

An enormous desk overflowing with stacked papers takes up most of one side of the room. Stairs lead down, and the church itself is accessible through the door at the north end of the room.
You go north
Chapel (s. hammack)
You are in the main worship area of the church. Whom or what this chapel is used to worship is not immediately apparent. The accommodations are fairly modest: several rows of pews face toward the west end of the room, where a pulpit stands in front of an altar. In the corner of the room is a cheap-looking electric organ. The one lavish decoration is an elaborate stained glass window taking up most of the wall behind the altar.

The vestibule is to the east. On the southern wall is a wooden door, which is open.

On the altar are a collection plate (in which are some assorted teeth), a lockbox (closed), a box of Nilla Wafers (in which are some Nilla wafers) and a wine bottle (empty).
You put wooden Key in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the long wooden key (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.
You look at the pews
Simply constructed wooden pews built to support the posteriors of the church's parishioners. The back of each pew has a space to hold books, hymns, etc., in which you can see a small pencil.
You look at the pencil
A stubby number 2 pencil, presumably used for doodling in holy texts.
You get it
Taken.
You look at the pulpit
A pulpit constructed of dark mahogany.

On the pulpit is Limerickus Dirtius.
You read it
(first taking Limerickus Dirtius)
As you pick up the book, you feel power coursing through your veins.

"There once was a rabbi named Keith"...

The rest is too filthy to reprint here.
You examine the altar
The altar initially appears to be a simple long table with a tablecloth over it, but on closer inspection, you can see that underneath the tablecloth it's actually closed in on all sides.

On the altar are a collection plate (in which are some assorted teeth), a lockbox (closed), a box of Nilla Wafers (in which are some Nilla wafers) and a wine bottle (empty).
You get the tablecloth
You find yourself unable to remove the tablecloth from the altar. Rather than the cloth simply being draped over the altar as it initially appeared, it seems that the collection plate and the lockbox are in fact connected to the altar through holes in the tablecloth.
You look at the plate
(the brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew))
"Charles Cragne, Owner"

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the collection plate
A shiny silver plate for taking the parishioners' money. Taped to it is a note reading "CASH ONLY! (please no more teeth)"

In the collection plate are some assorted teeth.
You examine the teeth
In the collection plate are a small assortment of teeth, some of which appear to be human in origin. Some look as though they came from small mammals, reptiles, and even sharks; the rest, you can't even hazard a guess.
You examine the lockbox
A wooden box about a foot long. The lid has a drawing engraved on it depicting several cloaked figures kneeling in front of a dollar sign. Underneath the engraving is a caption. A few of the letters have worn away, but it appers to read: "The Al-ighty -ollar."
You examine Wafers
Small, crispy, light brown, round biscuits.
You put the wad on collection plate
You put the wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew) into the collection plate.
You get the teeth
You hear a click from the direction of the lockbox.
You open lockbox
You open the lockbox, revealing a crooked dagger.
You look at the dagger
The dagger has a glossy black blade made of a material you can't identify, with a serrated edge. The blade curves upward, but in a strangely non-uniform way that suggests the equation used to described the curve would be quite complicated. You can see your own face reflected in it, distorted by the blade's odd shape, but you can't make out your eyes; you see only dark emptiness where they should be.

Also, you have no nose -- not even holes.
You get the dagger
As you pick up the dagger, you suddenly find yourself on a hilltop surrounded by open countryside for miles around. There is no sign of civilization. It is late afternoon and the sky looks as though a hurricane is brewing, though there is no rain.

Standing before you on the hilltop is a single dead tree, with something unidentifiable wrapped in cloth hanging from its branches by a noose. It looks like a vaguely humanoid shape, but something about the way it squirms as it dangles makes you less than certain that a human could move that way.

Before you know what's happening, you find yourself instinctively taking the dagger and plunging it into the squirming shape. You hear an unearthly shriek as you stab it over and over again, but the shriek isn't coming from the shape; it seems to come from all around you. There is no blood, but through the holes you put in the cloth, you see a strange yellow light.

As quickly as it started, your vision ends, and you're back in the chapel, holding the dagger.
You examine the organ
A modest substitute for a proper pipe organ. The design of this instrument is straight out of the '70s, with beige casing and lots of chunky rainbow-colored buttons to adjust the sound.
You play the organ
You play a few bars of "In-a-Gadda-da-Vida."
You play the organ
You play a few bars of "Fur Elise."
You play the organ
You play a few bars of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."
You play the organ
You play a few bars of "Locomotive Breath."
You examine the window
The window is made up of hundreds of small shards of glass, stained with an impressive variety of colors. Although the effect is striking, though it's difficult to tell exactly what is the image that's meant to be depicted here -- whenever you look away and back, it seems as though the colors have changed to produce different shapes. At the moment, it most resembles a fractal of the Mandelbrot set.
You get all
wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

box of Nilla Wafers: Taken.

Nilla wafers: Taken.

wine bottle: Taken.
You go upwards
You mount the ladder, making sure your feet catch each rung, and climb to the ceiling don't look down! through the square opening...

Steeple (Michael D. Hilborn)
(First-time players should type ABOUT!)

Disjointed and decaying pillars of wood form the arches that make up the walls of the church's steeple. The arches, open to the sky, tower over you, ending in a webwork of thick rafters which support the belfry above and ultimately the church's spire. A series of ropes slither down from those rafters, centered over a square hole in the floor that leads down into the bowels of the church.

Teetering on the edge of the hole is a nasty-looking key.

A misshapen mass slumps in one corner of the steeple.
About yourself
A lady of stature, at least in this neck of the woods. Thanks to your marriage to Peter, you're part of the eminent Cragne family now.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You get Key
(the nasty-looking key)
You gingerly pluck the key from the edge of the hole.
You look at the mass
As you approach the misshapen mass, your gut wrenches as you realize it is, of course, a corpse. . . a hideously deformed corpse.

So misshapen is this poor figure that it's difficult to tell where its head ends and its torso begins. Its back is horrendously humped, its face an amorphous mass of tumors with sunken holes for eyes. What appears to be its mouth is open in a silent scream.

Hard to say how long the corpse has been here in the steeple, but it seems ancient, skin and clothes desiccated and thin like parchment, somehow mummified. It's slouched--or sitting?--on the floor in one corner of the steeple.

On the corpse's lap rests an open tome. Another book lies near the corpse: A worn, leather-bound journal.

Hanging around the corpse's oversized neck is a leather cord and pendant.
You look at the ropes
Four ropes slither down from the shadows of the rafters. One rope is woven of copper strands, another silver, and yet another gold. The fourth: a weave of solid iron.
You look at Journal
Which do you mean, the worn, leather-bound journal, the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein
Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew) or the
Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You examine worn Journal
About the size of your hand. The binding is cracked and torn, the pages yellow with age.
You get it
As you lift the journal, a moan emits from the vicinity of the corpse--or the corpse itself?--and a wind rises, upon which you hear a sinister whisper. The journal burns red hot and you quickly drop it back from where it came. The wind settles and although the corpse does not move, it seems to settle as well.
You read it
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the first page that has legible handwriting in it:

"To be hidden here, by my Ma and Da, in this steeple, in this special place, under the two moons. To be safe here, they say, in this strange land, safe from the others, who do not understand. To think I am special, my Ma and Da do, but the others, they say, do not. To name me grotesque, to call me hideous, to say I am a monster! To chase me with pitchforks and torches!"

There are more pages to read.
Keep going
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the next page that has legible handwriting in it:

"To visit me, my Ma and Da do, to bring me food and water, to talk with me, to wash me, to bring new robes to wear, to bring books. To say I should never leave the steeple. To not go down the stairs. To danger they lead. To the others who wait in the village below.

"And to not ring the bells. To summon things, the bells do, evil things."

There are more pages to read.
Continue
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the next page that has legible handwriting in it:

"To watch the moons. To count and study the stars. To write in this journal. To read books. To wonder about the shadows in the clouds. To not ring the bells. To be all that I do, hour after hour, day after day, if time mean anything here. To always be the moons and the stars and the clouds, and sometimes the wind. To never see a sun. To not remember the sun very well.

"To be lonely. . ."

There are more pages to read.
Keep going
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the next page that has legible handwriting in it:

"To want to go down the stairs. To want to leave this place, to explore what used to be home, to see my village, to be with people. But Ma and Da scold me. To warn me of the others.

To entertain me, they tell stories of our family, the Cragne's, of their Aunt and her teachings. To speak of the two moons, their Aunt did, and this strange place, a realm of the Old Ones. To be the one who discovered a way to this place. To share her secret only with Ma and Da, her favorite niece and nephew."

There are more pages to read.
Continue
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the next page that has legible handwriting in it:

"To be visited by a strange, elderly woman, but not know where she came from. To name herself Esther and to be kind to me. To say I can one day go down the stairs if I listen to her, but to not to speak of this to anyone, not even Ma and Da. To agree, I say, but what must I do?

"To ring the bells for me, she says, for I do not have the strength. But bells bring evil, I say. To be safe from the evil with this, she says, and gives me a pendant. Now, ring the bells.

"To ring the bells, I do, in the way she teaches me. To like to hear them sing. To bring the winds, they do, but not to bring evil. To be soothing."

There are more pages to read.
Keep going
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the next page that has legible handwriting in it:

"To see Ma and Da. To look older, they do, much older than when I first come here. To ask if I look older. No, they say, to look the same age as always.

"To be visited by Esther when Ma and Da not around. To ask when I can go down the stairs. To be soon, she says, soon. Ring the bells, she says."

There are more pages to read.
Continue
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the next page that has legible handwriting in it:

"To hear things on the wind now when I ring the bells. Names. Horrid names. Ialdabaoloth. Vaadignephod. To not speak them out loud. To be fearful. But to continue to ring the bells. To do as Esther says: To want to leave this place; to go back home."

There are more pages to read.
You continue
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the next page that has legible handwriting in it:

"Must ring the bells. . . ring the bells. . . Ialdabaoloth. Vaadignephod. To want to go home to the village. To leave!"

There are more pages to read.
You examine the pendant
(the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew))
It's a tarnished silver pendant, about the size of your thumb, on a leather cord. The pendant is shaped like an open hand. It's been damaged - a deep groove, like a chisel mark, cuts across the palm, nearly breaking the pendant in half.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You put the pendant in the sp
(the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew) in the side pocket)
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You examine the pendant
A leather cord hangs around the corpse's oversized neck, its ends held together by a triangular pendant. Etched in the pendant is an eye.
You examine Eye
Which do you mean, the leather cord and pendant, the runic script or the library insignia?
Script
> SCRIPTAttempt to begin transcript failed.
You get the pendant
You carefully remove the leather cord and pendant from the corpse.
You wear it
You put on the leather cord and pendant.
You look at the arches
Six arches, separated by six pillars of decaying wood, loom over you, supporting the rafters above. Although forming a perfect hexagonal enclosure, the arches and pillars seem to lean in disjointed directions. Through them, you can see the sky and surrounding landscape. . . neither of which are familiar to you.
You look at Sky
Wherever this steeple resides, it's not beneath the celestial dome with which you are familiar. . .

There are stars up there, but like the two moons, they are completely unfamiliar to you. And the light of those heavenly bodies--a pale green--is dull, lifeless, as if you view everything through a murky veil.
You examine the landscape
The steeple must rise higher than you think, for it penetrates a cloud bank that stretches to the horizon, and most likely beyond. As calm as the sea on a breezeless day, the clouds ripple with a hazy, pale green glow. Occasionally, part of the surface erupts in a silent flash of light.

Not far from the church, the hump of. . . something. . . briefly breaks the surface, then submerges.
You look at Belfry
Hard to discern how many bells hang up there in the shadows of the belfry, but they are large, very large, and you're not certain, but something. . . else. . . is up there. . . a lot of something else. . . It takes your eyes a moment to adjust: shadowy forms cling to the ceiling. As you stare, one of the forms moves, briefly spreading a pair of wings.
You examine the forms
There must be dozens--hundreds?--up there, clinging to the ceiling of the belfry. Probably bats though their forms are mostly indistinguishable from the shadows. Whatever they are, they're quiet, save for an occasional chirp or flutter of wings.
You examine the spire
You can't see the spire from here; it rests atop the steeple.
You examine the rafters
A web of shadowy beams criss-crossing at random angles. At one time, they must have supported the floor of the belfry, but those floorboards seem to have broken away: high above the rafters hang the shapes of several bells.
You examine Hole
Cut into the middle of the floor, the hole opens upon a set of rickety stairs which lead down into the bowels of the church.
You look at Sky
There are stars up there, but like the two moons, they are completely unfamiliar to you. And the light of those heavenly bodies--a pale green--is dull, lifeless, as if you view everything through a murky veil.
You look at moons
(the two moons)
Two crescents, one waning, one waxing--if earthly phases of the moon have any meaning here--and grotesquely large.
You examine the pattern
Filtered by both the perforations in the ceiling and the disjointed rafters, the light from the stars and moons streams down into the steeple in an unusual pattern:

*  *  *
*
*
*        *
You pull the silver
Which do you mean, the rope of silver strands, the silver and ivory key, the silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) or the antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You look at the pattern
Filtered by both the perforations in the ceiling and the disjointed rafters, the light from the stars and moons streams down into the steeple in an unusual pattern:

*        *
*
*  *
*     *
Look around
Steeple (Michael D. Hilborn)
Disjointed and decaying pillars of wood form the arches that make up the walls of the church's steeple. The arches, open to the sky, tower over you, ending in a webwork of thick rafters which support the belfry above and ultimately the church's spire. A series of ropes slither down from those rafters, centered over a square hole in the floor that leads down into the bowels of the church.

A misshapen mass slumps in one corner of the steeple.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a stochastic pattern resembling television static. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go upwards
The only viable exit from the steeple is to brave the rickety stairs that lead into the bowels of the church.
You look at Sky
There are stars up there, but like the two moons, they are completely unfamiliar to you. And the light of those heavenly bodies--a pale green--is dull, lifeless, as if you view everything through a murky veil.
You look at the landscape
The steeple must rise higher than you think, for it penetrates a cloud bank that stretches to the horizon, and most likely beyond. As calm as the sea on a breezeless day, the clouds ripple with a hazy, pale green glow. Occasionally, part of the surface erupts in a silent flash of light.
You look at the pattern
Filtered by both the perforations in the ceiling and the disjointed rafters, the light from the stars and moons streams down into the steeple in an unusual pattern:

*        *
*
*  *
*     *
Look around
Steeple (Michael D. Hilborn)
Disjointed and decaying pillars of wood form the arches that make up the walls of the church's steeple. The arches, open to the sky, tower over you, ending in a webwork of thick rafters which support the belfry above and ultimately the church's spire. A series of ropes slither down from those rafters, centered over a square hole in the floor that leads down into the bowels of the church.

A misshapen mass slumps in one corner of the steeple.
You look at mass
So misshapen is this poor figure that it's difficult to tell where its head ends and its torso begins. Its back is horrendously humped, its face an amorphous mass of tumors with sunken holes for eyes. What appears to be its mouth is open in a silent scream.

Hard to say how long the corpse has been here in the steeple, but it seems ancient, skin and clothes desiccated and thin like parchment, somehow mummified. It's slouched--or sitting?--on the floor in one corner of the steeple.

On the corpse's lap rests an open tome. Another book lies near the corpse: A worn, leather-bound journal.
You read tome
(a slim hardback manual (smelling faintly of mildew))
The book falls naturally open to a picture of a noose.

The common noose looks great as a scary yard decoration during Halloween or to improve your fishing or boating experience. The noose is a secure and easy-tightening loop that holds it shape for tossing over a boat mooring. But kids, listen to Uncle Melvyn: DO NOT WEAR A NOOSE around your neck or tie one around anyone else's neck under any circumstances, even as a joke...
You put the hardback manual in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit a slim hardback manual (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You look at Tome
Cradled in the corpse's lap, the humungous tome lies open as if the corpse still studies the pages. It's clearly ancient, the pages withered and yellow, like the skin of the corpse itself, its leather bonding cracked.
You read tome
You dare not flip the pages of the ancient book; to touch the pages might be to destroy them. . . or disturb the corpse who holds the tome. But the pages that are open reveal dozens of star charts and associated astrological signs. Oddly, the corpse who holds the tome seems to be pointing to one drawing in particular:

*        *
*
*  *
*     *

Underneath, in elegant handwriting, is written:

(The astrological sign is the Hook in stasis above the Key.)
You look at the pattern
Filtered by both the perforations in the ceiling and the disjointed rafters, the light from the stars and moons streams down into the steeple in an unusual pattern:

*        *
*
*  *
*     *
You descend
Narthex (Hanon Ondricek)
The narthex extends the width of the church. Despite the
gloominess, it's not that unwelcoming except for the eye-watering pattern of industrial linoleum floor tiles. They checkerboard underfoot in grayish green and grayish white squares with dark speckles, stopping only at the margin marked by a wall border at waist level.

leads out of the building.

Two side by side openings lead in to restrooms.

Shattered glass and broken pieces of picture frames cover the floor of the narthex around the edges near the walls.
Go outside
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You put the Wafers in the sphere
The imaginary sphere rotates suddenly, spinning the slot away from the Nilla wafers (smelling faintly of mildew).
You put the vial in the sphere
The imaginary sphere rotates suddenly, spinning the slot away from the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew).
Examine slot
(the battered yellow JogMaster)
A portable audio player with an attached lanyard so you can Wear It While You Jog! It's little more than a yellow brick of plastic with a power switch and a slot in which to insert cassette tapes. Damage to the unit includes a jammed battery cover, a missing lever to eject the current cassette, and a crimped headphone jack. A small speaker permits playback even without headphones.Someone carved the name "Carolyn" along one side.

The battered yellow JogMaster is currently switched off.
You put the wad in the sphere
The imaginary sphere rotates suddenly, spinning the slot away from the wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew).
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a leather cord and pendant (being worn)
a nasty-looking key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wine bottle (smelling faintly of mildew)
some Nilla wafers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a box of Nilla Wafers
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a crooked dagger (smelling faintly of mildew)
some assorted teeth (smelling faintly of mildew)
Limerickus Dirtius (smelling faintly of mildew)
a stubby pencil
a vintage Black Sabbath tee shirt (being worn)
a black horn (smelling faintly of mildew)
a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew)
a creased square of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew)
a jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
an ornate bronze key
a silver and ivory key
a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (being worn)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
An earworm is lodged deeply in your head.
You put the teeth in the sphere
Which do you mean, the nasty-looking key (smelling faintly of mildew) or the assorted teeth (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You put the assorted teeth in the sphere
The imaginary sphere rotates suddenly, spinning the slot away from the assorted teeth (smelling faintly of mildew).
You put the silver ivory key in the sphere
(first taking the silver and ivory key)
That can't contain things.
You put the silver ivory key in the key jar
You put the silver and ivory key into the jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew).
You stand
You get off the stone altar.

It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)
You go north
To the north is the vast windowless bulk of the train station. Perhaps that is unsurprising, given the rest of the town. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine.
Go north
The surroundings are as dim and dingy as ever. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the green door are to the east. The restroom door is to the west. You are unsure what you should do.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a skateboard. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go south
To the north is the massive windowless bulk of the train station. Perhaps that is unsurprising, given the rest of the town. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine.
You go to the south
You pass over the bridge. The ravine has become a white river, teeming with creatures: you see a fin, a gill, a plaintive upturned face, before each is swept away.

It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)
You lie on the altar
You get onto the stone altar.

You lie down, settling your body into the impression and your face into the cavity at the end. The milkweed leaf mask protects your face from the strands of orange slime that you belatedly notice fill the cavity. Is it even you doing this? It feels like the most natural action in the world.

As you press your face deeper into the cavity, your vision warps. The world seems to fold and buckle: what was convex becomes concave and what was concave becomes convex.

The altar wobbles and inverts, giving you the bizarre sensation of lying atop a smooth green hole that floats in midair. Deeper within the hole is a shelf of green stone with something resting (how?) on it.
You put the earworm in the sphere
The earworm is seemingly resistant to all forms of interaction, and simply acknowledging it gives it strength:

Nyar sings the songs that phleh phleh iä the izh nfah / hla cto
the songs fgl gneh him of gla'cb leng times! Apparently
Chumbawamba is still stuck in your head.
You look at nasty Key
A large key, nearly the length of your hand, its teeth. . . well, a row of rotted, human teeth. Etched beneath the teeth, upon the shaft of the key, is a runic script.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You read nasty Key
Harsh, jagged lines form a disturbing script which seems to shift and waver, straining your sight. At the end of the script is a hieroglyph: Two crescents, back to back, centered above an eye, and below the eye, an icon resembling a keyhole.

Harsh, jagged lines form a disturbing script which seems to shift and waver, straining your sight. At the end of the script is a hieroglyph: Two crescents, back to back, centered above an eye, and below the eye, an icon resembling a keyhole.
Go south
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You wait for the black Line
You lean against the stained glass windows, hold out your pass, and wait for the black line. Within moments, an insubstantial trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you find yourself transported to

Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
You go southwest
This tunnel bends to the northeast. The walls shimmer slightly, gently undulating in the spectral darkness. To the west, set into the wall, almost invisible in the mortal dimness, is an antediluvian door. Daylight and a slight breeze wafts down some non-euclidean steps that lead up.
You unlock Door with nasty Key
You unlock the antediluvian door.
You put nasty Key in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the nasty-looking key (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.
You open Door
You open the antediluvian door.
I beg your pardon?
Go west
A smell like a used kitchen sponge assaults your nose as you pass through the door. You can feel your breath rattle in your lungs. There's something wrong with the air.

You find yourself in a dark, narrow space between two stone walls. Moisture condenses from the ceiling and drips down the stone bricks to the floor. Doors are east and west.

A foul sarcophagus occupies almost all of the space, leaving you cramped against the walls.
About you
The subject under observation is taciturn, reserved. The face is lost in the shadows. A glint in the eye--madness? Genius? Or a dim reflection from a glassy stare?
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a turducken. Images of strange hybrids mean that some challenges in your current environment can be defeated with what you already possess, while others will require outside assistance.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the sarcophagus
A stone coffin of ancient and exquisite craftsmanship that has somehow gone terribly wrong. The coffin is seamed with cracks and rifts, out of which ooze foul-smelling black slime. The floor around the coffin is crusted with years worth of dried slime.

The sarcophagus contains a single dark keyhole in its center.
You examine Door
Which do you mean, the east door or the west door?
You open the kp
You open the key pocket, revealing a nasty-looking key (smelling faintly of mildew), a long wooden key (smelling faintly of mildew), a white key, a thin steel key, Ed's coveralls, a sinister iron key, a sturdy key, a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew), a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew), a small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew), a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew), a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), a small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew), an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) and an aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew).
You unlock the west door with nasty Key
You unlock the west door.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a Viking longboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go to the west
(first opening the west door)

Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins. The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey! Come closer! Hellooooo?"
You put nasty Key in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the nasty-looking key (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.

"Psst! Hey you! This way! You're not deaf, are you?"
You wait for the blue Line
You lean against the September sun, hold out your pass, and wait for the blue line. Within moments, a phantom trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
Go east
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

On the cart are The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of
mildew), The Conservative's Cookbook, The Lives of the
Roman Emperors (smelling faintly of mildew), Backwater
Personalities (1915-1925 edition) (smelling faintly of mildew), an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew), a book New England
and the Bavarian Illuminati, De Zeven Testamenten van de
Krijsende Zeeworm, a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum
Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew), Tolerating An Asinine
God (smelling faintly of mildew), The Seven Gaunts, a
pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and
the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) and a shabby journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.
You look at the book list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

Life Beneath Nightmares

The librarian fusses about behind the counter.
You examine the case
In the display case are a plaque and De Vermibus Laceris.

The librarian catches your eye and points at the bookshelves.
You read it
The grimoire in open on a page describing peeling open the way to someone lost, whether they be in this world or not. You gather from the prelimaries that the ritual involves the horn of a black goat and a cyst from a god, as well as the lost one's true star sign and their most treasured memento. How the ritual is actually performed is further in the book on the pages you currently cannot see.

The librarian stamps something.
Go west
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You wait for Lavender Line
You lean against the community events schedule, hold out your pass, and wait for the lavender line. Within moments, a noncorporeal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you find yourself transported to

Balcony (Reina Adair)
The balcony has definitely seen better days. Once it was more than likely a fine place to sit and look out over the skyline or whatever one desired to do out here. However, its charm has been lost with the passage of time. The wood, once more than likely shiny and well polished, is now rotten and peeling in various spots. Somehow, despite the way the architecture has aged, the railing at the end of the balcony itself is still somewhat sturdy. All around, the view of the scenery is breathtaking, albeit somewhat unsettling for some reason. Occasionally, a slight breeze blows past you, but you can't tell if its supposed to be warm or cool. The only exit from here is to the north.

A statue with a very strange appearance to it is standing here, almost as if it is watching the area.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Lavender Line -- Cragne Manor Balcony.
Go north
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.
You go to the east
The floorboards groan against your footsteps as you enter the dusty sitting room. Light struggles to penetrate the grimy bay window, hinting at the space around you. Various pieces of furniture are covered by moldy, moth-bitten sheets. The remains of a portrait hang above the fireplace. Leaning against a wall is a large mirror.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go downwards
Carefully, you descend the creaking steps.

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.
You examine the dagger
The dagger has a glossy black blade made of a material you can't identify, with a serrated edge. The blade curves upward, but in a strangely non-uniform way that suggests the equation used to described the curve would be quite complicated. You can see your own face reflected in it, distorted by the blade's odd shape, but you can't make out your eyes; you see only dark emptiness where they should be.

Also, you have no nose -- not even holes.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go to the west
You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west Another exit leads east.

You've smashed or removed every bottle of wine, and the rack stands empty before you.

You can see a wine cask here.
You go west
Your ears pop and you stumble as you step across the threshold, reeling in a momentary gravitational slippage.

Laboratory (Michael Gentry)
Hard, white light reflected from steel walls pricks painfully at your eyes. Through the glare you can make out the implements of some sort of laboratory, squirming sculptures of metal and glass dripping curdled fluids and spurting foul-smelling puffs of steam. A way out lies east, but otherwise there seem to be no other exits from this place.

The author is here, hunched over and fidgeting intently with a roiling knot of impossible space that floats in the middle of the room.

Distracted, the author stares into the depths of the impossible space, stroking his forehead. "Just, uh, need to clue this puzzle better . . ." he says. "But that would, uh, make this scene more difficult . . ."
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a pair of dandelions. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The impossible space's surface momentarily reflects, by means of some strange convolution that you cannot quite visually process, itself.
You kill the author
(wielding the crooked dagger (smelling faintly of mildew))
Without hesitation, you bury the crooked dagger (smelling faintly of mildew) in the author's chest, all the way to the hilt. He coughs once, spraying dark blood. He looks more disappointed than surprised, but still manages to croak out, "Why, uh, why did you . . ."

You see no reason to tell him, however.

The blood-slick hilt of the dagger slips from your hand as the author staggers backwards and falls into the impossible space. In an instant his body is pulled in through itself, spaghettifying into an infinitely long tubule that somehow flares out and back around to enclose the entire universe before fading away. The impossible space itself churns and spins with increasing fury, until with a sound like an unbelievably massive tarp being pulled through a mail slot by a hypersonic jet, it twists away into nothing.

*** You have achieved the death of the author ***

. . . though perhaps the game is better for it.

A silver mirror lies on the floor.
You look at the mirror
A heavy silver mirror, tarnished and clearly old. When you glance into it the reflections of the house seem to resolve, the inhuman angles and dizzying design resolving into a more sensible pattern.
You go east
This large closet, illuminated only by the light coming through the door, is so filled with a jumble of clothes that your head spins as you contemplate the mess. In fact, it's so untidy that it's difficult to look at the disorder directly. Squinting through the chaos, you see shelves leading up to the ceiling on one side and a cabinet on the other.
You look at the mirror
A heavy silver mirror, tarnished and clearly old. When you glance into it the reflections of the house seem to resolve, the inhuman angles and dizzying design resolving into a more sensible pattern.
You look through mirror
You somehow look calmer in the mirror, and the horrible world behind you seems a little less chaotic—a little easier to deal with.
You examine the cabinet
Your eye can't quite resolve the angles of the cabinet, but the three (three?) drawers it contains are plain to see. There is an empty frame on the top that might have held a mirror once, but whatever was inside it has been removed.
You put the mirror in the frame
The mirror fits perfectly in the old frame.
You look at the mirror
The reflected pile of clothes miraculously resolves itself into a kind of sense, allowing you to differentiate clothes from within the mass. Space folds in upon itself, and then all the shirts, pants, and underwear fold themselves as well, filling the cabinet drawers—and leaving the shelves empty.
You look at the shelves
The shelves are, thanks to your heroic efforts, bare. On the ceiling above the shelves you see a trapdoor.
You examine the trapdoor
The trapdoor leads up into darkness.
Go upwards
You emerge from the rickety staircase into Cragne Manor's attic, a cavernous black womb.

Far below, the ground shakes, and the Manor sways around you.

From this corner of the attic, paths lead south and west, or you can head back down the rickety staircase. A damp wind flows through a gash in the exterior wall.

You can see a walkie-talkie and a desiccated sausage here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Eggplant Line -- Cragne Manor Attic.
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a diamond engagement ring. Objects of desire either mean that you are surrounded by great treasures and opportunities or that you need to be more careful with your physical belongings. Possibly both.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the walkie
This bulky device may or may not be a proper walkie-talkie. It might be old military equipment, or a kid's toy made up to look like military equipment. It has a large speaker, a long antenna, and a single button.
You look at the sausage
A desiccated sausage as big as your finger, far past its sell-by date. Years past.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go west
Branching Corridor (Zachary Hodgens)
A trace amount of sunlight filters in impossibly through imperceivable cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the barren wooden walls and floorboards of this narrow passageway. A short distance away you find yourself in a crossroads of sorts. Corridors leading elsewhere go off toward the northwest, west, and east. Another corridor to the southeast dead-ends suddenly, blocked by a pair of large potted cacti.

You can see a gold cactus and a fuzzy cactus here.

The trace rays of sunlight beaming down from above get in your eyes.
About yourself
You've been through a lot, but there's more to go.

The sunlight shining down is still in your eyes, no matter where you turn your head. A bead of sweat slides down your face.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The sun will not let up. Was it even sunny outside before you entered the mansion? How long have you been in here? You're beginning to distrust your recollection of events so far.
You examine the gold cactus
On the left side of the hallway is a gold cactus. This cactus is lacking a center trunk, and instead is a mass of many mid-length stems branching out of the soil. Every inch of this cactus is covered in sharp-looking spikes. The light filtering in from above gives the cactus a golden hue.

The sun continues to assault your senses. Your eyes are beginning to lose focus and you are sweating profusely. The air is so dry in here, it's unbearable.
You examine fuzzy
On the right side of the hallway is a fuzzy cactus. A single trunk comes up from the soil and branches out in to a multitude of branches in all directions. The branches are covered in tiny spikes that give the cactus an overall fuzzy appearance.

The sun is unyielding. You have lost the context of even the idea of "cold". Heat is your new reality.
You get the gold cactus
It's far too large and heavy to pick up, but you could probably move it around with some force.

Four and a half billion years ago, a swirling mass of hydrogen and helium became a shinging beacon of light in an endless universe of darkness. It brought together a collection of space debris that over the aeons became a set of planets all its own. Its light allowed life to flourish on one of these planets: your planet. The sun has spent billions of years of effort all to arrive at this moment: the moment where it finally gets to meet you!

The sun is here now. At long last you feel your body evaporating in its absolute light. All at once you are rejoined with your divine creator and you are no more.
You take back
Your fatal mistake wasn't that long ago! Try UNDO instead.

Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)?
You go east
From this corner of the attic, paths lead south and west, or you can head back down the rickety staircase. A damp wind flows through a gash in the exterior wall.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Eggplant Line -- Cragne Manor Attic.
Go west
Branching Corridor (Zachary Hodgens)
A trace amount of sunlight filters in impossibly through imperceivable cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the barren wooden walls and floorboards of this narrow passageway. A short distance away you find yourself in a crossroads of sorts. Corridors leading elsewhere go off toward the northwest, west, and east. The corridor to the southeast is still impeded, now by a second pair of large potted cacti.

You can see a flowering cactus and a tall cactus here.

The trace rays of sunlight beaming down from above get in your eyes.
You look at the flowering
On the right side of the hallway is a flowering cactus. This is the kind of cactus that is made up of a whole bunch of teardrop-shaped paddles that tessellate out from its base. In the light you can see that flowers have started to bloom at its tips.

The sunlight shining down is still in your eyes, no matter where you turn your head. A bead of sweat slides down your face.
You examine tall
On the left side of the hallway is a tall cactus. Now this is a very traditional-looking cactus. It has a tall green center trunk and two large branches bent at right angles, as if the cactus was flexing its arms at you.

The sun will not let up. Was it even sunny outside before you entered the mansion? How long have you been in here? You're beginning to distrust your recollection of events so far.
You pull the flowering
You pull the flowering cactus back several feet, giving you enough room to get by and access a safer side of the tall cactus.

Despite everything you know, things continue to get even hotter. It is as if the sun itself is being drawn closer to the surface of the Earth, closer to you.
You pull tall
You've got a mess of cacti behind you already, it's probably better to push this out of the way instead.

The sun is almost here now. You can feel its radiance burning in every cell of your body. You can see its imperishable light beaming in through every crack and seam of the room.
You go to the east
From this corner of the attic, paths lead south and west, or you can head back down the rickety staircase. A damp wind flows through a gash in the exterior wall.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Eggplant Line -- Cragne Manor Attic.
Go west
Branching Corridor (Zachary Hodgens)
A trace amount of sunlight filters in impossibly through imperceivable cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the barren wooden walls and floorboards of this narrow passageway. A short distance away you find yourself in a crossroads of sorts. Corridors leading elsewhere go off toward the northwest, west, and east. The corridor to the southeast is still impeded, now by a second pair of large potted cacti.

You can see a tall cactus here.

The trace rays of sunlight beaming down from above get in your eyes.
You go to the south-east
You make your way into the observatory. Your head pounds with the incoherent horror of the day, but here among the stars there is calm.

You carefully sidestep through the maze of cacti you have built.

The Observatory (Joey Jones)
The observatory is a cramped domed room cluttered with all manner of mechanical contrivance. The way out is northwest.

At the top of the dome is a large telescope. Immediately beneath it is a huge device of brass and gears and dozens of multifaceted lenses.

To one side of the dome is a worn wooden lectern, set before a large chalk circle.

The device is projecting a star sign upon the walls of the dome.
About yourself
As you walk through the observatory, stars twinkle across your skin.
You look at the coffee
The contents of your coffee cup startle you so much that you almost drop it. Instead of organic liquid curves and swirls, the cream forms a weblike pattern of jagged geometric lines that radiate out from the center at irregular intervals like bolts of lightning.

According to the book you read, images like this occur when your fate depends on so many separate actions and courses of destiny that it can no longer be adequately divined by a leftover cup of now-cold muck water.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the telescope
The telescope is huge and it juts out of the dome into the night sky. Rather than having an eyepiece, a series of mirrors reflects the output into the device beneath it.
You examine the device
(the walkie-talkie (smelling faintly of mildew))
This bulky device may or may not be a proper walkie-talkie. It might be old military equipment, or a kid's toy made up to look like military equipment. It has a large speaker, a long antenna, and a single button.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine brass
(the brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew))
"Charles Cragne, Owner"

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the gears
The device appears to be a planetarium projector. It reflects the stars from the telescope onto a series of mirrors that bounce them through an internal orrery which links them up into star signs to project onto the dark walls of the dome.

Sticking out prominently from the device are a crank and a dial for turning, a toggle for pushing, and a lever and a pulley for pulling.
You examine the crank
The crank is crooked and appears to only turn in one direction.
You put the nameplate in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You look at the dial
The dial is rugose and appears to only turn in one direction.
You look at the toggle
The toggle is red and is of the sort that returns to its initial position once pushed.
You examine the lever
The lever is lopesided and is of the sort that returns to its initial position once pulled.
You look at the pulley
The pulley is squamous and is of the sort that returns to its initial position once pulled.
You look at the lectern
The wooden lectern is worn smooth at the top. Evidently in the long history of the Manor, many books have been placed upon it.
You examine the circle
A chalk circle spreads out on the floor below the lectern, perfectly round. The chalk is accreted upon layer-upon-layer of earlier circles.
You examine the star sign
Lines light up novel connections between the stars, making an uncanny new star signs that spread across the walls of the observatory.

The Adept is ascending opposing the Noose.
You turn the crank
You turn the crank one step, revealing upon the wall the sign of the Despair.
Keep going
You turn the crank one step, revealing upon the wall the sign of the Watcher.
You turn the dial
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Tome.
You turn the dial
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Stranger.
You look at Sign
You decipher the star signs lining the walls: the Watcher is ascending opposing the Stranger.
You turn crank
You turn the crank one step, revealing upon the wall the sign of the Hook.
You turn the dial
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Phylactery.
You continue
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Vial.
Continue
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Eyes.
Keep going
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Gate.
Continue
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Chain.
Continue
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Mask.
Continue
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Fortune Teller.
You keep going
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Nemesis.
Keep going
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Pyre.
Keep going
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Baleful Hound.
You continue
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Crown.
Keep going
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Abyss.
You continue
You turn the dial one step, unveiling the sign of the Key.
You pull the lever
You pull the lever and the projector adjusts its focus: now the Hook is above the Key.
You pull the pulley
You pull the pulley and the projector turns 45 degrees: now the Hook is in motion.
You pull the pulley
You pull the pulley and the projector turns 45 degrees: now the Hook is descending.
You pull the pulley
You pull the pulley and the projector turns 45 degrees: now the Hook is in stasis.
You examine the star sign
You decipher the star signs lining the walls: the Hook is in stasis above the Key.
You go northwest
Branching Corridor (Zachary Hodgens)
A trace amount of sunlight filters in impossibly through imperceivable cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the barren wooden walls and floorboards of this narrow passageway. A short distance away you find yourself in a crossroads of sorts. Corridors leading elsewhere go off toward the northwest, west, east, and southeast. Several large potted cacti line the walls of the passageways.

The trace rays of sunlight beaming down from above get in your eyes.
You examine the tall cactus
On the left side of the hallway is a tall cactus. Now this is a very traditional-looking cactus. It has a tall green center trunk and two large branches bent at right angles, as if the cactus was flexing its arms at you.

The sunlight shining down is still in your eyes, no matter where you turn your head. A bead of sweat slides down your face.
You go to the northwest
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Invasive Library (Justin de Vesine)
Once a study or a small sitting room, a particularly invasive species of library has taken over this space. Walls obscured by stacks of books. Ceiling hidden by stacks of books. The floor might as well be tiled with books. There's a path of sorts from a small doorway to the south to a desk amidst the overgrown collection, and to the southeast, a bookshelf has been shoved aside to reveal a passage through the wall.

A sussuration of paper rustling fills the still air.
You examine coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blooming rose. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You listen
This sort of overgrown library is usually very quiet, but there's a soft, persistent rustling here, as though the books object to something's presence.
You look at the desk
Dark oak. Simple lines and sturdy construction. No drawers for things to get lost in. You would be proud to have it in your office.
You search it
It is covered in index cards.

The rustling seems to be centered around a small water-damaged green book.
You examine the index cards
Mountains of index cards. Some stacked, some scattered, all bearing the same neat handwriting.
You search them
The index cards all appear to be card catalog entries for the same book, Life Beneath Nightmares.
You listen
This sort of overgrown library is usually very quiet, but there's a soft, persistent rustling here.

book.
You examine green Book
A thin book, inexpertly bound, with "Life Beneath Nightmares"
embossed on the sickly green cover in quite astoundingly tacky gold foil. As a small mercy, the author's name is obscured by the insignia of the Backwater Public Library.
You read it
for baroque and impenetrable language, even by comparison to much of the more self-indulgent class of literature. Searching this book for meaning, despite the relatively small number of pages, might take weeks and involve more notebooks, coffee, and after-session wine than you are prepared to invest, and it would almost certainly end with your brain leaking out your ears. A quick skim, however, suggests you can save all that time by assuming it is mostly complaining about modern youth corrupting the moral fabric of society, the impertinence of women daring to have opinions, and the get-rich-quick scheme of the hour; any subtle nuance of worth that could be dragged out of it just isn't worth the trouble.

It bears the insignia of the Backwater Public Library.

As you finish reading the passage, your own hands grow cold, and the book briefly frosts over before fading again, leaving traces behind only in the library insignia.
You examine book list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

Life Beneath Nightmares
You read the Nightmares
for baroque and impenetrable language, even by comparison to much of the more self-indulgent class of literature. Searching this book for meaning, despite the relatively small number of pages, might take weeks and involve more notebooks, coffee, and after-session wine than you are prepared to invest, and it would almost certainly end with your brain leaking out your ears. A quick skim, however, suggests you can save all that time by assuming it is mostly complaining about modern youth corrupting the moral fabric of society, the impertinence of women daring to have opinions, and the get-rich-quick scheme of the hour; any subtle nuance of worth that could be dragged out of it just isn't worth the trouble.

It bears the insignia of the Backwater Public Library.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form -- weird, they've entirely dissipated. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go south
Abandoned Nursery (Harrison Gerard)
An octagonal room. Dust coats the walls. In one corner, a crib. In the other, a dollhouse. Exits lead northwest, north, and northeast.

You can see a "Gossipin' Gertie" doll and a vacuum cleaner here.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a bactrian camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the crib
An antique. It's rotting.
You examine the dollhouse
A large wooden dollhouse. Its exterior is a nearly perfect match for Cragne Manor, but there's something odd about the interior.
You examine the interior
The interior rooms of of the miniature manor are all mixed up. Staring at the jumble for too long gives you a headache, however the most noticable feature is a large and frenzied spiderweb coating the inside.
You examine gertie
The doll is an antique. It wears a little smock, now nearly rags; and its face peers up at you.
You look at the vacuum
A big old antique vacuum cleaner. It seems to be missing a component.

The vacuum cleaner is currently switched off.
Go northeast
Science Tower (Riff Conner)
This round, tall room must be a tower. I don't know if you were given a description of the manor from the outside, or if it mentioned a tower if you were, but if you were and it did, this is probably that tower. At a guess it's around fifty feet tall, although it's very shadowy up at the top so it's difficult to estimate it accurately.

It appears to be some kind of science lab, although you would expect a science lab to have more stuff in it; perhaps all the stuff that was easily moveable has already been taken away. There's a large table in the center of the room, and everything else is up against the walls: a complex-looking control console, a large chalkboard, a metal cabinet, an old iron ashtray stand, and a wooden barstool with a hamster cage on top of it.

The whole place has a thick smell of science throughout it (assuming science smells like chalk dust, hamster, cigarettes, and electricity), and rain is pounding at the windows. There are exits to the east and southwest.

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.
You look at the leather bracelet
It's a brown leather strap a quarter-inch wide, wrapped twice around your wrist and fastened with a simple metal snap. It has an embossed pattern of knotwork vines and leaves. It is non-interactive.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine table
The large table in the middle of the room appears to be some kind of operating table, or at least that's what you surmise from all the strange equipment connected to it. Thick electrical cables run all around the perimeter of the surface, which is metal engraved with complex patterns of lines and symbols reminiscent of an old nautical chart. Rather than having legs, the table rests on a rectangular central pillar made of steel planks and machinery. All in all, it seems pretty important.

Thunder booms loudly outside, rattling the windows.
You look at the console
This big metal console is covered with blinking lights and glowing vacuum tubes (do vacuum tubes glow? Well these ones do anyway) and two of those big zappy Jacob's Ladder things, and even a lava lamp for some reason. The front panel has a huge array of dials and switches and gauges, none of which are labelled in a way that makes sense to you. That is, apart from three large central buttons: a blue one, a green one, and a yellow one, labelled "SKYLIGHT", "LIFT", and "ANTENNA", respectively.
You look at the blue button
It's a blue push-button labelled "SKYLIGHT". Presumably it operates the skylight up above. That is probably the safest guess of any you'll make tonight.
You examine the green button
It's a green push-button labelled "LIFT". I can't really tell you any more about it than that.

A bright flash of lightning illuminates the windows, as presaged by the thunder a moment ago. ...Wait a minute, that isn't how lightning works.

Must be some weird eldritch thing, I guess.
You look at the yellow button
It's a yellow push-button labelled "ANTENNA". You don't know what it does. ...Yet.
You look at the chalkboard
(the chalkboard)
One of those big old slate chalkboards set in a wooden frame with a pivot so you can flip it over and use the other side. It also has little wheels so you can move it around, but I'm going to tell you right now that it's perfectly fine where it is.

It has a long and elaborate mathematical equation written on it (in chalk, naturally).

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.
You read it
One of those big old slate chalkboards set in a wooden frame with a pivot so you can flip it over and use the other side. It also has little wheels so you can move it around, but I'm going to tell you right now that it's perfectly fine where it is.

It has a long and elaborate mathematical equation written on it (in chalk, naturally).

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.
You look athe sticky-note
This faded yellow sticky-note is hanging onto the chalkboard with its last sticky breath. The handwriting on it is tough to read, but it appears to say "For the love of [unreadable] don't forget to open the skylight before raising the table this time."
You turn the chalkboard
(the chalkboard)
It is fixed in place.
You flip it
You flip the chalkboard over and find that the squiggly symbols in the equation have somehow bled through the slate to the other side. That's odd.

You flip the chalkboard back over to make it easier to not think about that.
You look at the cabinet
It's a plain gray metal cabinet, such as might store tools and cleaning supplies in a boiler room, or pens and stationery in the office space attached to a warehouse. If this manor doesn't have an elevator, the movers did a lot of cursing.

Thunder booms loudly outside, rattling the windows.
You open it
Fortunately, it isn't locked. What a hassle that would be, am I right? Unfortunately, it doesn't contain anything very exciting, like weird fetal monsters pickled in formaldehyde, or unlabelled jars of chemicals. Just a pen, a paper bag, and an old key.
You examine the pen
(the black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew))
A black fountain pen. It looks like the ink is long dried up.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You put the fountain pen in the sp.
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.

A bright flash of lightning illuminates the windows, as presaged by the thunder a moment ago.
You look at the pen
On closer inspection, it isn't a pen at all -- it's one of those telescoping pointer things that lecturers use to... point at things. Back before lasers stopped being expensive and magical. It's currently retracted, but you could EXTEND it.
You examine Key
Which do you mean, the old iron key, the silver and ivory key or the ornate bronze key?
You look at the old iron key
This heavy old black iron key probably unlocks something pretty important, if you had to guess.
You get it
Taken.

Thunder booms loudly outside, rattling the windows.
You examine the ornate bronze
This old, slightly tarnished bronze key is covered in fine, lacy designs.
You look in the cabinet
The gray metal cabinet is empty.

A bright flash of lightning illuminates the windows, as presaged by the thunder a moment ago.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
an ornate bronze key
an old iron key
a bag of peanuts (closed)
a pointer thingy (retracted)
Life Beneath Nightmares (smelling faintly of mildew)
a desiccated sausage
a walkie-talkie (smelling faintly of mildew)
a leather cord and pendant (being worn)
a wine bottle (smelling faintly of mildew)
some Nilla wafers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a box of Nilla Wafers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
some assorted teeth (smelling faintly of mildew)
Limerickus Dirtius (smelling faintly of mildew)
a stubby pencil (smelling faintly of mildew)
a vintage Black Sabbath tee shirt (being worn)
a black horn (smelling faintly of mildew)
a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew)
a creased square of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a silver and ivory key
a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (being worn)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a pair of reading glasses (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew)
the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a jar of screws (open but empty)
a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a Jansport backpack (being worn and open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (closed)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (closed)
a gold jacket (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (being worn as a mask)
You put the rug in sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You put the insect in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You put the grimy rock in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You put the yellowed newspapers in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You put the shard in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit the shard (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You put the features guide in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.

Thunder booms loudly outside, rattling the windows.
You put the porcelain plates in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You put the porcelain cups in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You put the police report in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.

A bright flash of lightning illuminates the windows, as presaged by the thunder a moment ago.
You put the trophy in the sp.
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the side pocket back up again.
You put the black box in the tp
You unzip the trash pocket, deposit the black box (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the trash pocket back up again.
You open the bag
You open the paper bag, and discover a single lonely peanut inside it.
You examine the peanut
(the bag of peanut)
It's a small paper bag with a cartoon peanut stenciled on the front with the "word" PNUTS below it.

In the bag of peanut is a single peanut.
You examine single peanut
A single peanut in the shell. Or rather, a single peanut shell, which has two peanuts inside it, but we call it a peanut anyway instead of "a peanuts". It's probably linguistically related to "a pair of pants".
You look around
Science Tower (Riff Conner)
This round, tall room must be a tower. I don't know if you were given a description of the manor from the outside, or if it mentioned a tower if you were, but if you were and it did, this is probably that tower. At a guess it's around fifty feet tall, although it's very shadowy up at the top so it's difficult to estimate it accurately.

It appears to be some kind of science lab, although you would expect a science lab to have more stuff in it; perhaps all the stuff that was easily moveable has already been taken away. There's a large table in the center of the room, and everything else is up against the walls: a complex-looking control console, a large chalkboard, a metal cabinet, an old iron ashtray stand, and a wooden barstool with a hamster cage on top of it.

The whole place has a thick smell of science throughout it (assuming science smells like chalk dust, hamster, cigarettes, and electricity), and rain is pounding at the windows. There are exits to the east and southwest.

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.

Thunder booms loudly outside, rattling the windows.
You eat the single peanut
someone else.
You examine the ashtray stand
An old-fashioned and incredibly sturdy wrought-iron ashtray stand, about two and a half feet tall. The actual ashtray is missing; presumably someone took it away to empty it. Judging from the smell in here this required at least two trained professionals with hazmat suits.
You examine the barstool
It's an old wooden barstool, and is not important except for having a hamster cage on top of it.

A bright flash of lightning illuminates the windows, as presaged by the thunder a moment ago.
You examine Cage
A largish wire hamster cage is perched on an old barstool. The traditional wheel has been replaced with a tiny chalkboard, and a nameplate on the corner of the cage reads "Dr. Peanut".

There's a little white hamster lying motionless next to the chalkboard. Oh no... poor Dr. Peanut. ;_;
You look at the dr peanut
Poor little guy. It looks like he got so caught up in his work that he starved to death. ...Probably the fact that nobody's been around to feed him didn't help.
You examine the tiny chalkboard
This appears to be a little hamster-sized duplicate of the other chalkboard. In fact, it even has the same equation written on it -- except instead of the question marks after the equals sign, it has a couple more symbols and then a trailing-off line that must be where Dr. Peanut... when he... awwww ;_;
You look at the console
This big metal console is covered with blinking lights and glowing vacuum tubes (do vacuum tubes glow? Well these ones do anyway) and two of those big zappy Jacob's Ladder things, and even a lava lamp for some reason. The front panel has a huge array of dials and switches and gauges, none of which are labelled in a way that makes sense to you. That is, apart from three large central buttons: a blue one, a green one, and a yellow one, labelled "SKYLIGHT", "LIFT", and "ANTENNA", respectively.
You examine the skylight
(the skylight)
Far above you, if you squint, you can make out the tower skylight. It's covered with a heavy wooden shutter. Seems like there are some bats flapping around up there too, maybe? It's hard to tell, it's real shadowy up there.
You examine the pointer
It's a telescoping lecturer pointing thingy. I don't know if those have a real name. It's currently retracted, but you could EXTEND it.
You extend it
You extend the pointer thingy to its full four-foot length. Very satisfying.
You look at the table
The large table in the middle of the room appears to be some kind of operating table, or at least that's what you surmise from all the strange equipment connected to it. Thick electrical cables run all around the perimeter of the surface, which is metal engraved with complex patterns of lines and symbols reminiscent of an old nautical chart. Rather than having legs, the table rests on a rectangular central pillar made of steel planks and machinery. All in all, it seems pretty important.
I beg your pardon?
You enter the table
You clamber up onto the operating table, careful not to accidentally kick any of the important-looking gizmos attached to it.

Science Tower (Riff Conner) (on the operating table)
This round, tall room must be a tower. I don't know if you were given a description of the manor from the outside, or if it mentioned a tower if you were, but if you were and it did, this is probably that tower. At a guess it's around fifty feet tall, although it's very shadowy up at the top so it's difficult to estimate it accurately.

It appears to be some kind of science lab, although you would expect a science lab to have more stuff in it; perhaps all the stuff that was easily moveable has already been taken away. There's a large table in the center of the room, and everything else is up against the walls: a complex-looking control console, a large chalkboard, a metal cabinet, an old iron ashtray stand, and a wooden barstool with a hamster cage on top of it.

The whole place has a thick smell of science throughout it (assuming science smells like chalk dust, hamster, cigarettes, and electricity), and rain is pounding at the windows. There are exits to the east and southwest.

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.
You get the ashtray stand
You manage to wrestle the ashtray stand up onto the table without dislocating your arms, somehow. Then you stand it up so it won't roll off.

Thunder booms loudly outside, rattling the windows.
You get the egg
Taken.

A bright flash of lightning illuminates the windows, as presaged by the thunder a moment ago.
Open latch
You pull on the wooden latch but it's so rotted that it just disintegrates. The effect is the same regardless: the skylight is now unlocked. Presumably.
You look at the nest
Just like a bird next except upside down and for bats.

With a loud hiss of pneumatics, the operating table slowly lowers itself to the ground.
Science Tower (Riff Conner) (on the operating table)
This round, tall room must be a tower. I don't know if you were given a description of the manor from the outside, or if it mentioned a tower if you were, but if you were and it did, this is probably that tower. At a guess it's around fifty feet tall, although it's very shadowy up at the top so it's difficult to estimate it accurately.

It appears to be some kind of science lab, although you would expect a science lab to have more stuff in it; perhaps all the stuff that was easily moveable has already been taken away. There's a large table in the center of the room, and everything else is up against the walls: a complex-looking control console, a large chalkboard, a metal cabinet, an old iron ashtray stand (on the table), and a wooden barstool with a hamster cage on top of it.

The whole place has a thick smell of science throughout it (assuming science smells like chalk dust, hamster, cigarettes, and electricity), and rain is pounding at the windows. There are exits to the east and southwest.

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.
You stand
You get off the operating table.

Science Tower (Riff Conner)
This round, tall room must be a tower. I don't know if you were given a description of the manor from the outside, or if it mentioned a tower if you were, but if you were and it did, this is probably that tower. At a guess it's around fifty feet tall, although it's very shadowy up at the top so it's difficult to estimate it accurately.

It appears to be some kind of science lab, although you would expect a science lab to have more stuff in it; perhaps all the stuff that was easily moveable has already been taken away. There's a large table in the center of the room, and everything else is up against the walls: a complex-looking control console, a large chalkboard, a metal cabinet, an old iron ashtray stand (on the table), and a wooden barstool with a hamster cage on top of it.

The whole place has a thick smell of science throughout it (assuming science smells like chalk dust, hamster, cigarettes, and electricity), and rain is pounding at the windows. There are exits to the east and southwest.

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.
You get stand
After a struggle, you manage to get the ashtray stand off the table and onto the floor, without the intervening step of crushing your toes.
You open Cage
You open the hamster cage.
Peanut
Taken.

Poor little guy.
You put him on the table
You carefully lay the little dead hamster in the middle of the strange operating table.

Thunder booms loudly outside, rattling the windows.
You examine the Doctor
This adorable little fuzzy white hamster is gesturing at his cage with a serious look on his little face. It looks like he wants to get back to work.

Dr. Peanut makes an impatient squeaky noise.

With a tiny motorized whine, the operating table's antenna retracts.
You put the dr peanut in Cage
(first taking Dr. Peanut)
Taken.

Dr. Peanut squeaks at you and gestures at his cage.

Dr. Peanut waddles over to his little chalkboard, eager to resume his work.
You ask the dr peanut about the equations
Dr. Peanut is alternating between scribbling furiously on his tiny chalkboard, and tapping his little chin in deep concentration. Better leave him alone while he's working, it looks like he's about to make a breakthrough.

Dr. Peanut scans the writing on his little chalkboard, re-familiarizing himself with the work at hand.
Wait
Time passes.

Dr. Peanut erases the trailing line at the end of the equation, and taps his little chin contemplatively with the chalk.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

Dr. Peanut writes some more symbols on the tiny chalkboard, then shakes his fuzzy little head and erases them.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

Dr. Peanut suddenly makes a squeaky 'Eureka!'-type noise and starts scribbling furiously on the little chalkboard.

Thunder booms loudly outside, rattling the windows.
You examine tiny chalkboard
Dr. Peanut is hard at work, trying to solve the weird equation on his little chalkboard.

Dr. Peanut finishes his writing, takes a step back to check his work, and gives a satisfied little nod. Then he turns around and waves at you excitedly.
You examine the tiny chalkboard
Dr. Peanut's little chalkboard features a complex mathematical (and probably also occult) equation that you can't make heads or tails of, but which Dr. Peanut seemed quite satisfied with. Trying to figure it out gives you the tiniest, most adorable little shooting pains right behind your eyes.
You ask the dr peanut about the equations
Doctor Peanut shakes his head and gestures at his little chalkboard. He seems to be expecting some specific recognition of his accomplishment.

Dr. Peanut squeaks and waves at you, trying to get your attention.

A bright flash of lightning illuminates the windows, as presaged by the thunder a moment ago.
You give single Peanut to Peanut
(Dr. Peanut)
(first taking the single peanut)
Dr. Peanut accepts the peanut happily and graciously. Instead of cramming it into his cheeks the way you would expect a hamster to do, he cradles it in his arms as though it were a major award for excellence in science. Which, in a sense, it is.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

Dr. Peanut basks in the glory of scientific discovery, and gives his peanut a satisfied pat.
You look at the chalkboard
(the chalkboard)
One of those big old slate chalkboards set in a wooden frame with a pivot so you can flip it over and use the other side. It also has little wheels so you can move it around, but I'm going to tell you right now that it's perfectly fine where it is.

It has a long and elaborate mathematical equation written on it (in chalk, naturally).

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.
Go southwest
Dr. Peanut squeaks queryingly as you leave.

Abandoned Nursery (Harrison Gerard)
An octagonal room. Dust coats the walls. In one corner, a crib. In the other, a dollhouse. Exits lead northwest, north, and northeast.

You can see a "Gossipin' Gertie" doll and a vacuum cleaner here.
Go northwest
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there's a library book you--or Emmett, perhaps--hasn't read yet from this location.

Disheveled Studio (Katherine Morayati)
Even in half-light, you can tell the studio must have been abandoned in a hurry. The bookshelves are ransacked, the easel in pieces on the floor, bulbs torn out of two of the ceiling lights. The only thing undisturbed is a table, solid like a slab, precisely in the center of the room. Several layers of heavy curtain block off crawlspaces to the north and southeast.

The very existence of this room puzzles you. Peter had never expressed an interest in painting, or any arts really. It was hard enough just convincing him that the bedroom needed more than bare walls. But the room unmistakably smells like him. Specifically, it smells like the cologne he'd bought you on your 18-month anniversary, the kind he'd douse you in every night before bed, every morning after your shower, and really every time he saw you, regular and often enough that you associate it with him, not you. It used to be a comforting presence.

A half-finished canvas slumps like a torso across the table.
About yourself
You felt a sense of unease the moment you let the curtain fall behind you.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a pear shape, complete with stem. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You examine the bookshelves
The wood is cracked and full of splinters, and each book looks as it something's torn into it: spines warped, covers in tatters, dripping out ripped pages. There must have been dozens of books at one point, you'd guess. Surely some must be readable.
You search the bookshelves
On further examination, one book has survived the assault. You pick it up.
You examine it
There's nothing else salvageable on the shelves.

You hear a faint cracking noise, and realize that the bat egg you've been carrying around is hatching! The shell cracks and crumbles away, revealing a small red fish. Amazing! You had heard stories of the red herring, which lays its eggs in other animals' nests in a similar fashion to the cuckoo, but you never expected to actually see one!
You look at red Herring
You hatched this red herring from a bat egg. Well, I guess it was a red herring egg, actually. It blinks at you with big round eyes, wondering if you're its mother.
Examine book
Which do you mean, the ruined books, A Rudimentary Taxonomy of
Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions, Life Beneath
Nightmares (smelling faintly of mildew), Limerickus
Dirtius (smelling faintly of mildew) or the small blue journal
(which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal"
on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You look at Taxonomy
The book is old -- by the design, you'd guess centuries -- but compared to the rest of the shelves, curiously unhandled. The title is flaking off and partially obscured by inky fingerprints, but you make it out after a few seconds: "A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions, by Artemis Cragne."

A sticker on the spine bears the insignia of the Backwater Public Library.
You read it
You flip through the pages. Whoever was in here last, it's easy to tell where they left off: the pages are translucent with grease.

Unnatural scent is prohibited in most God-fearing communities of this region, particularly in women, for whom it is seen as licentious adornment. This admonition is rarely heeded, and most community members can be identified by their characteristic stink. The scent becomes essentially bound to that individual, enough for divination purposes -- conveniently, as when one stinks in this way, one has already transgressed against community norms, so divination can hardly increase one's amounted sins. (A footnote cites several theologians you are unfamiliar with.)

Scent is our closest link to the unknown, particularly when applied to other means of divination. When a scent is bound to an individual, and applied to a sympathetic object, it is known to have a sympathetic effect upon that individual. Several common substances are also known to have sympathetic effects:

Cedar: Enhances visions.
Frankincense: Induces holiness.
Tuberose: Inflames passions.
Petrichor: Promotes rot.
Animalic musk (castoreum, civet): Promotes depravity.
Blood: Binds an object to the one who bled.

Through my study I have discovered certain compounds with grotesque properties.

Savior's breath: A by-product of holy water. Colorless and curiously insubstantial, apparitional even. Used for purification.
Peat venom: Extracted from cadavers, submerged in deep river mud, as close as possible to the ninth month of rot. (Two diagrams accompany the entry, one a map with hash markings, one a calendar, both covered in crude equations.) Opens one up to forces beyond this earth. Dispulsichor: Extracted from the air just after a sound has ended, or a scent has dispersed; takes on the appearance of the sky. Undoes the effect of past scent-based divination.

You notice some loose papers stapled to the end of the book, yellowed from age, and are compelled to read on. (Type SCENTS at any point
to recall the list of scents.)

A sigh echoes in your head. "That's all of them," a voice breathes. "And that's about all I can do. I wish you luck. Find your husband, even though he's another Cragne. And beware the Vaadigniphod." With that, the voice fades away. After a second or two, you realize that your shoulder has warmed up again. You rub the spot absently, almost missing the cold.
You read it
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, tearing a few:

Sympathetic objects are traditionally keepsakes, though most trinkets are too small and insufficiently porous for scent-based divination. What seems to work best is a combination of blood and some physical likeness, usually an image of the face. A large, detailed image and close resemblance seem ideal.

I presume an object or image only functions as a sympathetic object if it is activated; otherwise, our world would be composed entirely of conjurers and fainters. My studies suggest the key is intimacy. Looking at a sympathetic object produces little but unease. Touching it begins to produce results, more if by hand than by paintbrush. The strongest sympathetic effect comes from kissing. (The vulgar forms of physical intimacy do not seem to produce a meaningful sympathetic effect. I asked one of the local village boys to try with my image. All I felt was a remote disgust and a phantom mashing by my waist; all he said was it itched for a week.) I must continue.

The pages go on.
Keep going
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, giving yourself a paper cut:

It is said that malevolent spirits can operate through people, if those spirits are made aware of the person's existence, and if those individuals are of sufficient moral laxity. All of the accounts only say "moral laxity." They do not specify further; perhaps it depends on the traditional customs. The literature is tentative on such spirits being cast out.

What is clear across the literature is that a priest cannot determine moral laxity. Nor can it be discerned from prayer or conversation. Yet the constant task of all men is to scour the bodies and images around them for signs of moral leakage, to cast out or drink in. I specify men deliberately. The constant task of woman is to conceal that which she may never know.

There's yet more to read.
You keep going
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, tearing a few:

There are more malevolent spirits than the literature suggests, I am sure of it. Nor are they, as theologians say, all manifestations of Satan. Nor am I quite convinced they are even malevolent.

This village appears to be a kind of locus. There is a great entity at work, I am sure of it. But in the day to day, I am less concerned with this entity than his deliverer. The literature says this deliverer may be summoned via divination, but only takes notice of those of the right moral substance. He, because I am convinced the deliverer is a male entity.

You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.

The wound on your finger has stopped bleeding now.
Keep going
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, giving yourself a paper cut:

I have tested these scents upon my image every night for a fortnight. I'm sure I've kept it a secret, yet people shun me. Even that damn Consecration William steers clear. So I work alone now, into the night, half in delirium. I anoint my image with oils and try to inflame whatever it is within my breast that will prove myself worthy to the one who chooses. I have only used my own image; I dare not inflict this upon another, who may prove worthier.

You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.
Continue
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, giving yourself a paper cut:

He knows who I am. He knows who I am. He knows who I am.

You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.
Keep going
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, tearing a few:

Vaadignephod.

You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.

The wound on your finger has stopped bleeding now.
Continue
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, giving yourself a paper cut:

Sympathetic objects are traditionally keepsakes, though most trinkets are too small and insufficiently porous for scent-based divination. What seems to work best is a combination of blood and some physical likeness, usually an image of the face. A large, detailed image and close resemblance seem ideal.

I presume an object or image only functions as a sympathetic object if it is activated; otherwise, our world would be composed entirely of conjurers and fainters. My studies suggest the key is intimacy. Looking at a sympathetic object produces little but unease. Touching it begins to produce results, more if by hand than by paintbrush. The strongest sympathetic effect comes from kissing. (The vulgar forms of physical intimacy do not seem to produce a meaningful sympathetic effect. I asked one of the local village boys to try with my image. All I felt was a remote disgust and a phantom mashing by my waist; all he said was it itched for a week.) I must continue.

You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.
Scents
Cedar: Enhances visions.
Frankincense: Purifies sins.
Tuberose: Inflames passions.
Petrichor: Promotes rot.
Animalic musk (castoreum, civet): Promotes depravity.
Blood: Binds an object to the one who bled.

Savior's breath: Colorless and curiously insubstantial. Used for purification.
Peat venom: Extracted from cadavers in river mud. Opens one up to forces beyond this earth.
Dispulsichor: Undoes the effect of past divination.

The wound on your finger has stopped bleeding now.
Look around
Disheveled Studio (Katherine Morayati)
The studio must have been abandoned in a hurry. The bookshelves are ransacked, the easel in pieces on the floor, bulbs torn out of two of the ceiling lights. The only thing undisturbed is a table, solid like a slab, precisely in the center of the room. Several layers of heavy curtain block off crawlspaces to the north and southeast.

The room smells distractingly of Peter's cologne.

A half-finished canvas slumps like a torso across the table.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a maple leaf. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Smell
What's clear is that someone was here.
You examine the easel
A pile of wood that comes up to your knees. It's unnaturally neat, as if someone stacked it.
You search it
You claw through the wreckage, pricking your finger. At the bottom of the pile is a crumpled, oily ball of paper, from which you peel off what seems like dozens of sketches and photos, every last one of you.
You look at the lights
Even the remaining lights aren't completely right -- one bulb is cracked, another dangles halfway out of its fixture. There's enough light for you to see, but only just.
You look at the table
A stone slab in the center of the room, just barely larger than the canvas. You pick up some knickknacks from the table's edge: a piece of charcoal and a box of colored vials.
You look at the photos
You don't remember Peter ever photographing you, and yet these photos encompass, it seems, every moment of your life. None of them seem surreptitious. The framing is so perfect that if you didn't know better, you'd swear you posed for an hour. In each, your face is visible; in each, thick pencil marks contour your face.

You flip through. At your old house you contracted pneumonia so bad you spent a month in bed, barely conscious. You wanted to go to the hospital, but Peter insisted on staying home to take care of you himself: cooking you meals, tucking you in, wiping your face clean every time you woke up -- and, it's clear, photographing you as well.

The wound on your finger has stopped bleeding now.
You look at the charcoal
Charcoal, of the kind you'd make sketches with.
You look at box
Which do you mean, the box of vials, the box of Nilla Wafers (smelling faintly of mildew) or the pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You examine the box vials
A box of glass vials, in all different colors. The sides are greasy and stained with a dark substance.

In the box of vials are a vial of cedarwood extract, a vial of frankincense, a vial of tuberose extract, a vial of geosmin, a vial of musk, a vial of rose extract, a spray decant vial, a vial of vanilla extract, an unmarked clear vial, an unmarked teal vial and an unmarked pale blue vial.
Scents
Cedar: Enhances visions.
Frankincense: Purifies sins.
Tuberose: Inflames passions.
Petrichor: Promotes rot.
Animalic musk (castoreum, civet): Promotes depravity.
Blood: Binds an object to the one who bled.

Savior's breath: Colorless and curiously insubstantial. Used for purification.
Peat venom: Extracted from cadavers in river mud. Opens one up to forces beyond this earth.
Dispulsichor: Undoes the effect of past divination.
Smell photos
What's clear is that someone was here.
You examine the pale Blue
A vial of liquid, made of thick, slippery glass and smudged around the edges, like a gangrenous thumb. An over-bulbous dropper dispenses liquid.
This vial is a pale blue, that of the sky after a rainstorm.
You examine Vial
(the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew))
You see nothing special about the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew).

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the cedar
A small vial of liquid, the size and feel of a damp thumb. A small dropper dispenses liquid.
This vial is sepia and labeled "blood cedar".
You look at the dropper
You'll have to specify which one you mean.
You drop the cedar on the photos
(first taking the vial of cedarwood extract)
Putting things on photos of you would achieve nothing.
Search lights
They're too far away.
Look around
Disheveled Studio (Katherine Morayati)
The studio must have been abandoned in a hurry. The bookshelves are ransacked, the easel in pieces on the floor, bulbs torn out of two of the ceiling lights. The only thing undisturbed is a table, solid like a slab, precisely in the center of the room. Several layers of heavy curtain block off crawlspaces to the north and southeast.

The room smells distractingly of Peter's cologne.

A half-finished canvas slumps like a torso across the table.
You look at the canvas
The painting is clearly of a woman, though only her face, and only the outline. In the background is some cursory sketchwork, but the face on the canvas is completely blank. Still, as you trace the contours, you realize it's shaped like yours.
Sketch Face
(the pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew))
You doodle aimlessly on it.
Sketch canvas
You sketch as faithful a rendition of your face on the canvas as possible in the dark. Strange how little you remember of how you look when forced to draw it. But it seems accurate enough -- almost. The expression you've given yourself is contorted and inhuman. The charcoal runs out as you're sketching your mouth, leaving a jagged hole in the center of your bottom lip. Other than that, it's as good a likeness as you'll get.
You put the cedar on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, you have a sudden vision of a presence looming and your drawn face buckling.
Scents
Cedar: Enhances visions.
Frankincense: Purifies sins.
Tuberose: Inflames passions.
Petrichor: Promotes rot.
Animalic musk (castoreum, civet): Promotes depravity.
Blood: Binds an object to the one who bled.

Savior's breath: Colorless and curiously insubstantial. Used for purification.
Peat venom: Extracted from cadavers in river mud. Opens one up to forces beyond this earth.
Dispulsichor: Undoes the effect of past divination.
You look at the box vials
A box of glass vials, in all different colors. The sides are greasy and stained with a dark substance.

In the box of vials are a vial of frankincense, a vial of tuberose extract, a vial of geosmin, a vial of musk, a vial of rose extract, a spray decant vial, a vial of vanilla extract, an unmarked clear vial, an unmarked teal vial and an unmarked pale blue vial.
You put pale blue on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas, smelling of cedar. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
You look at the rose
A small vial of liquid, the size and feel of a damp thumb. A small dropper dispenses liquid.
This vial is dark mauve and labeled "rose".
You read the scent
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, tearing a few:

It is said that malevolent spirits can operate through people, if those spirits are made aware of the person's existence, and if those individuals are of sufficient moral laxity. All of the accounts only say "moral laxity." They do not specify further; perhaps it depends on the traditional customs. The literature is tentative on such spirits being cast out.

What is clear across the literature is that a priest cannot determine moral laxity. Nor can it be discerned from prayer or conversation. Yet the constant task of all men is to scour the bodies and images around them for signs of moral leakage, to cast out or drink in. I specify men deliberately. The constant task of woman is to conceal that which she may never know.

You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.
Keep going
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, tearing a few:

There are more malevolent spirits than the literature suggests, I am sure of it. Nor are they, as theologians say, all manifestations of Satan. Nor am I quite convinced they are even malevolent.

This village appears to be a kind of locus. There is a great entity at work, I am sure of it. But in the day to day, I am less concerned with this entity than his deliverer. The literature says this deliverer may be summoned via divination, but only takes notice of those of the right moral substance. He, because I am convinced the deliverer is a male entity.

You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.
Keep going
(Type SCENTS at any point to recall the list of scents.)

You flip through the pages, giving yourself a paper cut:

I have tested these scents upon my image every night for a fortnight. I'm sure I've kept it a secret, yet people shun me. Even that damn Consecration William steers clear. So I work alone now, into the night, half in delirium. I anoint my image with oils and try to inflame whatever it is within my breast that will prove myself worthy to the one who chooses. I have only used my own image; I dare not inflict this upon another, who may prove worthier.

You cannot bring yourself to stop reading.
You put Blood on the canvas
(blood on the painting)
You squeeze some blood onto the painting, closing your eyes with every drop -- you never could stand to watch. You were aiming at your mouth but hit your eyes; they ripple uneasily on the canvas as the blood spreads. On instinct, you blink.

The wound on your finger has stopped bleeding now.
You examine the canvas
Your drawn expression is agonized and smeared in blood.
You put clear on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A sudden heat envelops your body, and you are seized by visions of Peter grabbing you by the nape of the neck as you fall forward. Even as you look away, the vision seems imprinted upon everything in the room. The visions are so transfixing you don't realize that your skin has been disintegrating until it's too late.
You put the teal on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A guttural voice shakes the room's foundations. "HER?" You can't find the source of the sound. "WHAT ABOUT HER PAST MAKES YOU THINK I HAVE ANY USE FOR HER?" A claw in your back thrusts you into the floorboards and starts to shake you apart from the spine. You try to concentrate on anything else but the pain; what you pick up is Peter's voice, quavering and not quite seeming real. "How did she get in here?" "YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS PREPARED." "Look, I was in a rush, OK?" Your
sight goes; you'd lost your ability to move what seems like ages ago. "EVERY ONE OF THEM HAS DONE THIS." Your feeling goes; you
should be able to feel your skin rotting and sinking into the
bones "If you'd just give me another day, please. Or an hour. Or look, can you at least leave the skin--" Then your hearing goes, but the scent of your rotting body remains.
Smell canvas
The cologne's definitely coming from the canvas, along with a vague fetid smell, like rotting teeth.
You kiss it
Your lips go numb and you're seized by a sudden vision of something rumbling beneath the earth.
You put the tuberose on canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, deep claw marks appear in the painting; you feel each one in the corresponding part of your face. Something casts a shadow over half the face, except for the pupils, which dilate and glow red.
Kiss canvas
Your lips go numb and you're seized by a sudden vision of Peter kissing you with an unnatural intensity.
You put the rose on the canvas
You squeeze a few drops of rose oil onto the painting. Nothing remarkable happens, but at least it smells like flowers now!
You put the frankincense on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, your painted face flushes and claw marks appear by the cupid's bow. Your own face flushes as well. The room around you seems to be jolted, every scent sharper and every sound louder. Everything in the room -- knotholes in the wood, dents in the floor -- starts to look like eyes, all trained on you.
You put pale blue on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas, smelling of cedar, tuberose and incense. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
You put the peat on the canvas
You can't find any vial with that label. It must be one of the unmarked ones.
You look at the vials
A box of glass vials, in all different colors. The sides are greasy and stained with a dark substance.

In the box of vials are a vial of frankincense, a vial of tuberose extract, a vial of geosmin, a vial of musk, a vial of rose extract, a spray decant vial, a vial of vanilla extract, an unmarked clear vial, an unmarked teal vial and an unmarked pale blue vial.
You put the teal on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A guttural voice shakes the room's foundations. "HER?" You can't find the source of the sound. "WHAT ABOUT HER PAST MAKES YOU THINK I HAVE ANY USE FOR HER?" A claw in your back thrusts you into the floorboards and starts to shake you apart from the spine. You try to concentrate on anything else but the pain; what you pick up is Peter's voice, quavering and not quite seeming real. "How did she get in here?" "YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS PREPARED." "Look, I was in a rush, OK?" Your
sight goes; you'd lost your ability to move what seems like ages ago. "EVERY ONE OF THEM HAS DONE THIS." Your feeling goes; you
should be able to feel your skin rotting and sinking into the
bones "If you'd just give me another day, please. Or an hour. Or look, can you at least leave the skin--" Then your hearing goes, but the scent of your rotting body remains.
You examine the geosmin
A small vial of liquid, the size and feel of a damp thumb. A small dropper dispenses liquid.
This vial is dark brown, almost black, and labeled "geosmin (petrichor)".
You put the geosmin on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, your painted skin bubbles over with sweat, and an undefinable, foul substance oozes up from the drop. You begin to sweat too, around the eyelids.
Kiss canvas
Your lips go numb and you're seized by a sudden vision of your skin rotting to the bone.
You put pale blue on canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas, smelling of cedar and damp earth. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
You put the frankincense on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, the room around you seems to be jolted, every scent sharper and every sound louder. Everything in the room -- knotholes in the wood, dents in the floor -- starts to look like eyes, all trained on you.
Kiss canvas
Your lips go numb and you're seized by a sudden vision of your spirit leaving your body.
You put the musk on the canvas
You squeeze the oil onto the painting -- you think, since it feels like nothing -- and then rub the canvas a bit. If you expected depravity, you're disappointed.
You put pale blue on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas, smelling of cedar and frankincense. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
You put the frankincense on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, you sense something in the room watching you.
Kiss canvas
Your lips go numb and you're seized by  a distant thought of something rumbling beneath the earth.
You put pale on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas, smelling of frankincense. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
You put the petrichor on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, your painted skin flushes and bubbles with sweat, as if aroused. Everything in the room seems sharper.
Kiss canvas
Your lips go numb and you're seized by a sudden vision of Peter kissing you, your skin rotting to the bone where his lips have touched.
You put the frankincense on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, sweat bubbles up from the canvas. Your painted skin begins to sear -- you hear the crackling, see the char on the canvas. Everything in the room seems to grow eyes and judge.
You put pale blue on canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas, smelling of cedar, incense, tuberose and damp earth. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
You look at the spray decant
This vial is unmarked, the sprayer is snapped off, and most of the contents seem to have evaporated. But around the sprayer lingers the unmistakable scent of Peter's cologne. He must have decanted it and brought it here.
You examine the vanilla
A small vial of liquid, the size and feel of a damp thumb. A small dropper dispenses liquid.
This isn't a vial, per se; it's clearly a bottle of cooking vanilla, corner-store label still on, shoved awkwardly into a vial slot.
You put the vanilla on the canvas
You squeeze some vanilla extract onto the canvas. Nothing remarkable happens, but at least it smells like dessert now!
Kiss canvas
Your lips go numb and you're seized by a sudden vision of something rumbling beneath the earth.
You open the spray decant
The vial is screwed tight. Fortunately, there's a dropper.
You search box vials
In the box of vials are a vial of frankincense, a vial of tuberose extract, a vial of geosmin, a vial of musk, a vial of rose extract, a spray decant vial, a vial of vanilla extract, an unmarked clear vial, an unmarked teal vial and an unmarked pale blue vial.
You put Vial on the canvas
(the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew) on the painting)
Putting things on the painting would achieve nothing.
You look at the table
A stone slab in the center of the room, just barely larger than the canvas.
You put pale on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A blue smoke arises from the canvas. The scent disappears from the air, and the canvas, when the smoke does.
You put the frankincense on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, you sense something in the room watching you.
You put clear on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. You feel watched again.
Kiss canvas
As you kiss your likeness, your face is pulled closer and closer to the canvas, then your neck, then the rest of your body. A searing pain shoots through everything the canvas touches, and every transgression wells up in your mind -- each lie, rash word, over-short skirt. When your skin begins to disintegrate, it's almost a relief.
You put the tuberose on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, your painted face flushes red, faint claw marks appearing by the cupid's bow. Your own face flushes in turn, involuntarily; the whole room seems to turn and watch the painting, then you.
You put the petrichor on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, your painted skin flushes, smeared with sweat as if aroused. The whole room seems to reorient itself, as if staring.
You put the musk on the canvas
You squeeze the oil onto the painting -- you think, since it feels like nothing -- and then rub the canvas a bit. If you expected depravity, you're disappointed.
You put clear on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. A sudden heat envelops your body, and you are seized by visions of torching the manor in a frenzy. Everything in the room seems to morph into a humanoid figure; whenever you see something, you imagine wringing its neck. The visions are so transfixing you don't realize that your skin has been disintegrating until it's too late.
You put teal on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. Teal sweat drips off your face onto the canvas, burning rank holes everywhere but your painted lips, which part and seem to offer themselves up to meet every drop, shaking but pristine. You're pulled closer, sweat and hair matting against the canvas. A looming presence in the background seems to be pulling your head.

"YOU WARNED ME ABOUT THIS ONE'S PAST?" booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
You put clear on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. Teal sweat drips off your face onto the canvas, burning rank holes everywhere but your painted lips, which part and seem to offer themselves up to meet every drop, shaking but pristine. You're pulled closer, sweat and hair matting against the canvas. A looming presence in the background seems to be pulling your head.

"IS IT TIME FOR THE DELIVERY ALREADY?" booms a voice. The floor begins to shake around you, yanking you to your knees.
You put the cedar on the canvas
You apply the oil to the canvas, rubbing it in with your finger. As the oil hits the canvas, sweat bubbles up from the canvas. Your painted skin begins to sear -- you hear the crackling, see the char on the canvas. Everything in the room seems to grow eyes and judge.
Kiss canvas
You kiss your own image, ignoring the teal sweat matting your hair to the canvas. The room shudders and a guttural voice seems to hit the back of your skull. "WHY IS SHE EVEN HERE?" "Because you didn't secure the room, obviously." You stop -- the voice is obviously Peter's. You almost cry out, but another guttural roar stops you. "I was in a hurry," Peter whines. "A HURRY OF SEVERAL YEARS." Your husband grumbles, somehow unfazed. "If you'd have let me finish, then
you'd have her--"

You have a sudden memory: When Peter took you to the manor for the first time, you thought you'd nearly faint at what seemed like your impossibly stately, imposingly enormous new home. He kissed you, and you felt something you hadn't felt in years: a strange forward propulsion to your body, the air around you hot and charged. What you felt, you thought, was awe.

The guttural voice jolts you into reality. "VERY WELL. I SHALL DELIVER HER." Ignoring the voice, you continue to kiss your likeness, frenzied, blood smearing your lips and canvas flaking away onto your teeth. Your arms grip the sides of the canvas so tight they puncture it; what's left isn't hollow, as you thought, but pliable, like viscera. "THIS ONE BELONGS TO ANOTHER!" A claw sinks into your back, down to the spine, but you feel nothing, just a warmth radiating up your arms. "No she doesn't," Peter says. "I'd know if she was involved with someone else." "NOT LIKE THAT, FOOL. A HIGHER ENTITY." It stops, with a wall-splitting groan. Out of the corner of your eye you see a torrent of teal slime spew toward you. Your whole body jolts, static electricity thrown into water. "THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN--" A sudden flash of light; an explosion from behind you. The voices disappear. You continue kissing the painting, mechanically, disconnected from the act, until the canvas rots away to nothing.

You didn't realize you had fainted. There's nothing left of the canvas but a hollow edge, wisps of canvas like asbestos around the edges. Inside is a key, which you take.
You examine Key
Which do you mean, the slimy key, the ornate bronze key (smelling faintly of mildew), the old iron key or the silver and ivory key?
You look at slimy Key
A thick, acrid residue of paint, slime, and something unplaceable obscures whatever kind of key this is.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a stochastic pattern resembling television static. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go north
The curtains swing back into place with a thud.

From this corner of the attic, paths lead south and west, or you can head back down the rickety staircase. A damp wind flows through a gash in the exterior wall.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Eggplant Line -- Cragne Manor Attic.
You wait for the black Line
You lean against the rickety staircase, hold out your pass, and wait for the black line. Within moments, an ethereal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
Go west
You find yourself in a dark, narrow space between two stone walls. Moisture condenses from the ceiling and drips down the stone bricks to the floor. Doors are east and west.

A foul sarcophagus occupies almost all of the space, leaving you cramped against the walls.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at slimy Key
A thick, acrid residue of paint, slime, and something unplaceable obscures whatever kind of key this is.
You examine Key
Which do you mean, the slimy key, the ornate bronze key (smelling faintly of mildew), the old iron key or the silver and ivory key?
Go east
Only part of that made sense. The madness is taking hold, you know.
You go northeast
Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
You wait for the brown Line
You lean against the thing that isn't here, hold out your pass, and wait for the brown line. Within moments, a ghostly trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 4:37 am; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Brown Line -- Train Station.
Go south
You look again at the dim and dingy surroundings. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the green door are to the east. The restroom door is to the west. Maybe you should try unlocking the green door.
You unlock Door with the bronte
Which do you mean, the restroom door or the green door?
You unlock green Door with slimy
You unlock the green door.
You put the slimy in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the slimy key, then zip the key pocket back up again.
You go east
(first opening the green door)

Station Security Room (Monique Padelis)
As you step into the room you breathe out deeply and relax your shoulders. You realise your body has felt constricted ever since you arrived in Backwater.

The compact room smells earthy, as if you've stepped into a forest just after the dew has settled. A framed article hangs on the moss green walls alongside a window that lets in a little light. Your eyes are drawn to the two glowing CRT monitors on a desk that runs the length of the east wall. A leather chair sits in front of the desk and most of the south wall is taken up by shelves with labelled VHS tapes. The door to the station is to your west.
About yourself
You've often thought of your body as a mere vessel to house your mind, an unfortunate necessity for living in this world. Perhaps that's why you were always drawn to Peter - like you he could get so absorbed in a book he would forget to eat or sleep.

Since stepping into the office you've felt hyperaware of the clothes clinging to your body and your paper-thin skin covering your tendons and veins. The scar on your left leg from a football accident seems to throb, and the freckles along your arms remind you of all the sun damage you've willingly submitted to.
You examine the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a pair of dandelions. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Examine article
The article is dated 17th October 1995 and has a photo of a man and a woman in high-vis jackets smiling outside the entrance to the train station. The headline reads: SECURITY GUARD KILLED IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT:

train passing through Backwater train station. Bran Cragne, 34 (pictured with colleague Nadia) was patrolling the platform when he slipped and fell onto the tracks. His wife Barbara calls him a "kind and lovely husband" and his friends at the station say he will be sorely missed.

You skim the rest of the article, which just talks about his life and interests. It seems like an odd article to frame in an office, but you suppose it is in memory to a valued colleague.
You examine monitors
Two grey CRT monitors are lined up on the desk. The first one is labelled "Monitor 1 - Platform 1" and the second is labelled "Monitor 2 - Platform 2". They both show a live feed from the train station.
Examine monitor 1
You watch the screen for a few moments. The platform is empty; the only movement comes from a tree swaying from the wind on the other side of the track.

Suddenly the shadow of a pole buckles for a few moments, warping itself into twisted, jagged lines. Then, like a spring, it returns to its normal form.
Examine monitor 2
You watch for screen for a few moments. The way the camera is angled means you can see both the empty platform and through the window of the security office you're in. You watch yourself stretch. Strange. There must be a time delay, although you don't remember stretching.
You examine the desk
On top of the desk rests two monitors. There is also a telephone and various papers scattered on the surface.
You examine the phone
An ugly beige telephone. The answer machine button is flashing.

You roll back your shoulders and stretch your arms. Your bones make a satisfying click.
You look at the button
(the walkie-talkie (smelling faintly of mildew))
This bulky device may or may not be a proper walkie-talkie. It might be old military equipment, or a kid's toy made up to look like military equipment. It has a large speaker, a long antenna, and a single button.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the papers
(the repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew))
A complete page, grimy yet strangely untorn. It reads: "I must have rest. My senses deceive me into thinking she can see me, hear me."

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You put the repaired page in bp
You unzip the book pocket, deposit the repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the book pocket back up again.
You examine papers
The papers are all charts of train arrivals and shift times. You notice all the papers have drawings on them - the top one is just of a stick figure struck by lightning, the eyes marred by pencil scribbles. The next is a cartoon of a woman being eaten by a wolf, again with the eyes scribbled out. After that is an unnervingly realistic and detailed drawing of a woman with her legs crushed by falling rubble, her mouth twisted in anguish - the only unrealistic part is the eyes, which are large swirls of pencil so forcefully pressed into the paper that it's slightly ripped.
You look at the chair
The studded green leather chair curves round a little to enclose whoever sits there. It looks far too fancy to be provided by station management; someone must have brought it here specially.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a perfect fern, just like in a fancy latte. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You look at the shelf
The wooden shelves are filled with tapes, each labelled with the date as DD-MM-YY. There are too many to check each one.
Examine article
The article is dated 17th October 1995 and has a photo of a man and a woman in high-vis jackets smiling outside the entrance to the train station. The headline reads: SECURITY GUARD KILLED IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT:

train passing through Backwater train station. Bran Cragne, 34 (pictured with colleague Nadia) was patrolling the platform when he slipped and fell onto the tracks. His wife Barbara calls him a "kind and lovely husband" and his friends at the station say he will be sorely missed.

You skim the rest of the article, which just talks about his life and interests. It seems like an odd article to frame in an office, but you suppose it is in memory to a valued colleague.
You look at 17-10-95
Hm...When was the accident again?
You examine 16-10-95
You find a VHS player by the monitors and press play.

The security footage shows platform 2 - you can see the security office you are standing in as well, though the window is boarded up with black paper. As you watch, a man rips the paper down from the inside and presses his nose against the window. The image is a little fuzzy, but he looks like he's shaking. You watch as the man pulls forward monitor 1 and places something under it. He then wrenches open the door and stalks towards the platform.

For several minutes he just stands there, pacing the platform. A train approaches in the distance, and once it's a few meters away the man flings himself onto the tracks. Blood splatters the platform, and one of his shoes fly up into the air. The train brakes, but the damage is done.

For a few moments there is no movement on the screen, then a woman runs over to the bloodstain and tries to look under the train. Several other people arrive on the scene, but they just stand around and shake their heads.
You look under Monitor 1
You pull forward the monitor. There is a little nook behind it.
Examine nook
A small hole not much bigger than your fist. It looks as if someone has chipped away part of the wall on purpose.

In the small nook are a tarnished brass key and a folded up note.
You read it
A message is written in blue ink:

Barbara Ba Ba Ba you don't understand, you couldn't understand.
The office is the only place I feel safe. It protects me against the sharp realities of the world and you and my superiors want to rip me from it. You don't understand how many deadly things there are out there. Now they want to remove me from my job, so I have no choice. It is better to go my own way than let some infection spread all over me or lie bleeding and abandoned. I wanted to destroy the key to the shack, but I couldn't. Just...Don't go there. Please.
You look at brass key
A tarnished brass key to the shack.
Go west
As you walk out of the office you feel a wrenching sensation in your gut, as if some part of you is being dragged out, kicking and screaming. For a few moments everything looks like a threat: the slippery ground, the bending trees, the very air you breathe, carrying God only knows what kind of toxins.

The dim and dingy surroundings hold no more interest for you. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the door to the station office are to the east. The restroom door is to the west.
You go north
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 5:13 am; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Brown Line -- Train Station.
You wait for the blue Line
You sit on the bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the blue line. Within moments, an ethereal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you find
yourself transported to

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
Go east
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

On the cart are a slim hardback manual (smelling faintly of mildew), The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew), The Conservative's Cookbook, The Lives of the Roman Emperors
(smelling faintly of mildew), Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) (smelling faintly of mildew), an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew), a book New England and the Bavarian
Illuminati, De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende
Zeeworm, a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum
Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew), Tolerating An Asinine
God (smelling faintly of mildew), The Seven Gaunts, a
pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and
the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) and a shabby journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.
You examine book list
This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

The librarian disappears between the shelves for a bit, then returns.
You give Nightmares to the LIBRARIAN
Klonk-klonk. The librarian puts it on the cart, then comes out from behind the counter and unlocks the display case for you.
You examine the book list
This is to notify you that you are once again in GOOD STANDING with the Backwater Public Library, and may avail yourself of all the library's services, including book removal.

That's definitely not what it said before. Something weird is going on, but at least it's an improvement.
You open the bookcase
A cursory search turns up the manifesto of a political fringe group. With an increasing sense of futility, you put it back where it was.
You open the display
That's already open.

The librarian catches your eye and points at the bookshelves.
You look at it
In the display case are a plaque and De Vermibus Laceris.
You read it
Now you can flick through the yellowing pages of the grimoire, you learn that to open a way to your lost husband, you must:
blow the horn of the black goat,
while the stars are reflecting upon the grimoire,
with the stars falling under his true star sign,
and his most treasured memento,
and a divine pustule,
placed in a chalk circle beneath the raised grimoire.

Only then will the way open.

The librarian disappears between the shelves for a bit, then returns.
You look in the sp.
You unzip the side pocket just enough to take a peek inside. It contains a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew), a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew), a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew), some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew), a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew), a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew), a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew), a brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew), a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew), a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew), a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew), an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew), a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew), a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew), an ornate metallic box (smelling faintly of mildew), a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew) and a library card (smelling faintly of mildew).

The librarian fusses about behind the counter.
Open Sopen sp .
You open the side pocket, revealing a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew), a police report ("Francine Cragne") (smelling faintly of mildew), a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew), some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew), a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew), a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew), a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew), a brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew), a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew), a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew), a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew), an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew), a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew), a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew), an ornate metallic box (smelling faintly of mildew), a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew) and a library card (smelling faintly of mildew).

The librarian sorts some books.
You examine the wristwatch
You gave this to Peter as an anniversary present. It seems to have stopped. There is an inscription on the back.
You get it
Taken.

The librarian fusses about behind the counter.
Close sp
You close the side pocket.

The librarian disappears between the shelves for a bit, then returns.
You go northwest
The only exit is to the west.
You unlock Shack with Key
Which do you mean, a tarnished brass key, the ornate bronze key (smelling faintly of mildew), the old iron key or the silver and ivory key?
Brass
(the Shack Door with a tarnished brass key)
You unlock the Shack Door.
Go inside
(first opening the Shack Door)

Inside the Shack (Daniel Ravipinto)
The shadows pool in strange shapes along the earthen floor of the shack, the only light coming from the cracks in the surprisingly high ceiling and through the opened door. Piles of accumulated junk that Peter's family must have stored here over the decades lie against the inner walls, which have turned grey with either dust or the mere passage of time.

One of the shadows at the shack's far end moves, then separates into a distinct shape, slumped against a supporting pillar. There's something in here with you.
You look at the shape
Before you can really react, the shadow shifts, tumbling from the pillar into a shaft of light.

Oh my god. It's Peter.
You examine Peter
It's definitely Peter, dressed as you last saw him, though his shoes seem to be missing. He looks awful. There's blood on his shirt and he looks like he's been crying. He doesn't seem to see you.
You ask Peter about the library books
You suddenly realize there's something standing between you and Peter. It's as if the air itself has become solid. You press forward and encounter resistance, your hand sliding across its surface. Looking closer now, you can see - lines, drawings, figures? a language? - sliding beneath the surface of this...barrier. They move and shift as if alive. You press again, then smash a fist against it to no avail. Peter doesn't react at all. It's like he can't see or hear you.

Peter fruitlessly tries to wipe the blood from his shirt and hands.
About yourself
There's no mirror, but you can't imagine you're looking your best by this point. How long have you been wandering this damnable place by now?
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

Peter stumbles about, tripping and falling to his knees.
You examine junk
The junk ranges from the ancient to the recent, the obvious to the esoteric. And all of it quite useless.
Continue
You can tell already that there's nothing useful to be found among the piles, nor nothing to be done with them.

Peter presses blindly against the barrier, pressing his forehead against the frozen air.
You examine the barrier
There's something clearly there, stopping you from getting to Peter. It's not like you can really see it or anything, but weirdly, if the room weren't so quiet, you'd almost think you could hear it.

Peter goes to his knees and closes his eyes. He's praying.
You move the junk
You can tell already that there's nothing useful to be found among the piles, nor nothing to be done with them.

Peter suddenly shivers.
You listen to the barrier
The silence you hear sounds unnatural, as though a tone were missing that ought to be present.
Go southeast
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You go east
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

The librarian's dress is lying in a deflated heap on the floor. A trail of slime connects it to a vent in the wall.

On the cart are Life Beneath Nightmares (smelling faintly of
mildew), A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions, a slim hardback manual (smelling faintly of mildew),
The Dollmaker's Journal (smelling faintly of mildew), The Conservative's Cookbook, The Lives of the Roman Emperors
(smelling faintly of mildew), Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) (smelling faintly of mildew), an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew), a book New England and the Bavarian
Illuminati, De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende
Zeeworm, a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum
Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew), Tolerating An Asinine
God (smelling faintly of mildew), The Seven Gaunts, a
pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew), Twin Hearts Between the Planes (smelling faintly of mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and
the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) and a shabby journal.

You can also see a gray wig and a wax mask here.
You look at the dress
It's a plain dark floor-length thing with long sleeves and a high collar, like something an antagonistic Victorian governess would wear.
You look at the vent
Just an ordinary heating vent, a few inches across, high on the back wall. A trail of slime connects it to the dress lying on the floor.
You look at the wig
Gray acrylic hair bound up in a tight bun.
You examine the wax mask
A perfect replica of the librarian's face, molded in wax.
You wait for the Orange Line
You lean against the distant woods, hold out your pass, and wait for the orange line. Within moments, a noncorporeal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You go east
Curiosity Shop (Rachel Spitler)
A mingling of comfortable scents welcomes you to the small shop -- coffee, apples, cedar, soap, peppercorn -- and below it, just a hint of something metallic you can't quite recognize. The large windows behind you cast a dappled sort of light over the rug-strewn floors, the cheerful back counter with its display case underneath, the walls crowded with goods for sale. The courtyard lies back out to the west.

Jessenia seems to be getting ready to close for the day.
You examine the walkie
This bulky device may or may not be a proper walkie-talkie. It might be old military equipment, or a kid's toy made up to look like military equipment. It has a large speaker, a long antenna, and a single button.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Sell walkie
(to Jessenia)
Jessenia does not seem to appreciate your walkie-talkie (smelling faintly of mildew).

"The sort of thing I'm looking for," she says, "is something that will attract attention, but have no real importance. Let me know if you find anything like that!"
You sell Vial
(the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew) to Jessenia)
Jessenia chuckles over your little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew).

"The sort of thing I'm looking for," she says, "is something that will attract attention, but have no real importance. Let me know if you find anything like that!"
You sell the Herring
(to Jessenia)
Jessenia's eyes light up. "Oh! Is this--? Did you bring this for the shop?"
(y/n):
Y.
"Haha! It's perfect! Look at you!" She reaches out; you hesitate, checking the red herring's reaction, but it seems surprisingly interested. Gently, she takes the fish and holds it up in the air, cooing into its face in puppy-dog tones. Accordingly, it wriggles cheerfully like she's the best thing it's ever seen, which (if you're honest) she probably is. You have no idea what your face is doing.

"This is so much better than I expected," she laughs, lowering the fish. As she does, it suddenly flicks its body in one huge lurch and spits out an object, which clatters to the floor. After a moment's shock, Jessenia stoops down to pick it up, looking, if anything, more amused than ever. "A funny old key," she says wonderingly. "Ha! This fish knew what kind of shop it was coming to." She offers the key to you, grinning. "Here you go --  a curiosity, with my thanks. Oh, and a receipt!" Crossing to the counter with the herring nestled under her elbow, she quickly writes one out. "I'll write a check and register you as a customer first thing in the morning. Come back and tell me if you find out where that key goes!"

(Your inventory became less wiggly, and you got the ancient key.)
You examine ancient Key
A heavy, ancient key of some dark metal. The bow is of coiling, almost slimy-looking knotwork, while the wards are slightly pointed at the ends, like gothic windows. Despite the absence of rust, it gives a sense of having never seen the light of day before now. It feels dirty even after you wipe it on your pant leg.
You examine the styrofoam
The clouds in your cup form horizontal bands. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You go to the west
Courtyard (Finn Rosenloev)
As you walk cross the square courtyard, you are repeatedly twisting your legs, and you cannot help but wonder how many broken legs these cobblestones have caused over time.

A beautifully decorated well built by blocks of granite dominates the courtyard. Opposite it, to the east, is the entrance to the curiosity store.

To the north, a secret passage is hidden in the niche near the barred gate. Not too far from the well is the way down to the tunnel.

Above you, two guard towers rise majestically on either side of the drawbridge, and a parapet connects them so that soldiers of those days were able to quickly move from one side to the other.

You can't help but feel that the castle is watching you with expressionless eyes through the empty windows.
You examine the receipt
You're not sure what the going rate is for a normal herring, much less... that, but you're not complaining.
Go north
You maneuver behind the knight and enter the secret passage.

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
Continue
You hold down the button. The speaker blares out: "—room is my small contribution to Cragne Manor. This is my first piece of I7 in a few years as most of my time has been spent on enhancing Trizbort (shameless plug).

For as long as I can remember, I've—"
Go north
The Invisible Worm (Sam Kabo Ashwell)
A dimly-lit tavern, old enough that all its straight lines have worn or warped slightly out of shape, and everything feels cluttered and a little too small; you've had apartments with living-rooms bigger than this. Heavy, dark beams support a low ceiling, and the walls are crowded with ancient farm tools and yellowing photographs. A cramped doorway, south, leads back outside.

The bartender impassively surveys the room.

Old-timers monopolize the fireplace nook; a straggle of teenagers hunch in a corner.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a skateboard. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The old-timers wax poetic about the time Dorit Bucket's goat gave birth to a slithery growth. Most of the context seems to rely on details of local geography that you can't follow at all.
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

The old-timers speculate about the time Doctor Smith and his wife caused a scandal by their dissipation and wanton harlotry with Bernice Grave.
You listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

The old-timers rehash how Clem Carpenter broke Nick Fish's daughter's heart.
You continue
You hear nothing unexpected.

The old-timers talk about the time the Kinton boy got Bethany Till with a bastard.
Continue
You hear nothing unexpected.

The old-timers wax poetic about the time Jacob Nash and his wife caused a scandal with their indiscreet arrangement with the parson.
You continue
You hear nothing unexpected.

The old-timers discuss how the Baxter girl won't be causing any more trouble.
Keep going
You hear nothing unexpected.

The old-timers bicker about how the plaintive ghost of an Indian girl haunts the family home and Dilly Collamore refuses to speak of it. Somehow this relates to one of the old-timers owing another money.
You continue
You hear nothing unexpected.

The old-timers speak of whether it's safe to tap trees in Gemini.
Go east
Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You wait for the Lavender Line
You sit on the memorial bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the lavender line. Within moments, an ethereal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Balcony (Reina Adair)
The balcony has definitely seen better days. Once it was more than likely a fine place to sit and look out over the skyline or whatever one desired to do out here. However, its charm has been lost with the passage of time. The wood, once more than likely shiny and well polished, is now rotten and peeling in various spots. Somehow, despite the way the architecture has aged, the railing at the end of the balcony itself is still somewhat sturdy. All around, the view of the scenery is breathtaking, albeit somewhat unsettling for some reason. Occasionally, a slight breeze blows past you, but you can't tell if its supposed to be warm or cool. The only exit from here is to the north.

A statue with a very strange appearance to it is standing here, almost as if it is watching the area.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Lavender Line -- Cragne Manor Balcony.
You wait for purple Line
You lean against the thing that isn't here, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, a ghostly trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You go north
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

The night sky is dark and full of stars. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.
Go east
A long and narrow room, with a satin wallcovering in rich, patterned green above the creamy wainscot paneling. The room is overcrowded with paintings and furniture. There are doors at either end of the gallery, leading north and west.

It's a godawful mess in here and it's entirely your fault. It looks like you've cleared the path through the room, and there may be nothing left to do but enjoy the paintings.

You can see a photograph here.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form an airplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You wait for the black Line
You lean against the driveway, hold out your pass, and wait for the black line. Within moments, a phantom trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
You unlock the sarcophagus with ancient Key
You press the key into the keyhole on the center of the sarcophagus. You encounter slight resistance.

Pushing the key further, you displace a pint's worth of black slime that wells up and drips down the sides of the sarcophagus. Your hand burns where the slime touches it, but it fades when you wipe it off.
You put ancient Key in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the ancient key, then zip the key pocket back up again.
Open sarcophagus
You kneel down in the filth and open the sarcophagus. The pent-up slime spills out and fouls your clothing.

The pulsing, withered source of the black slime quivers in the center of the sarcophagus: a repulsive cyst.
You get the cyst
You place both hands on the cyst and gently tug it. It separates from the fleshy veins attaching it to the sarcophagus. Ichor spills out of the wounds for a moment before slowing to a drip and crusting over.
You go to the north-east
Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
You wait for the purple Line
You lean against the thing that isn't here, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, an ethereal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
Go inside
You open the door further to allow you to pass through. You go inside the garden shed.

The Shambolic Shack (Michael Fessler)
A dimly-lit shack with crude plywood walls. An octagonal window set high on one wall admits a feeble shaft of moonlight. Rickety wire shelving sits precariously in one dimly lit corner, and a battered metal wheelbarrow rests in the opposite corner. A rough doorway leads back out.

You can see some mildewed leather gloves here.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You put the apple in the wheelbarrow
As you lower the golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew), the heaving surface of the soil is suddenly broken by a furiously working set of clattering mouth-parts and probing antennae -- followed immediately by the first several inches of a centipede, yellow and chitinous, thick as an elephant's trunk. The creature's antennae, sampling the dank air, quest about aimlessly.

You recoil, and snatch away the golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew). The giant centipede scuttles back into the soil. Apparently that wasn't the snack it was hungry for.
You put the sausage in the wheelbarrow
As you bring the desiccated sausage closer, the heaving surface of the soil is suddenly broken by a furiously working set of clattering mouth-parts and probing antennae -- followed immediately by the first several inches of a centipede, yellow and chitinous, thick as an elephant's trunk.

Several antennae brush against the desiccated sausage, but soon move on in disinterest. Thoughtfully, you reclaim the rejected sausage. Maybe there's something you could do to make it even more tainted and disgusting?
You put the sausage in the gloves
You slide the desiccated sausage into one noxious glove and twirl it a few times. When you extract it, there are already fine strands of fungus spreading across its surface.
You put the sausage in the wheelbarrow
As you bring the desiccated sausage closer, the heaving surface of the soil is suddenly broken by a furiously working set of clattering mouth-parts and probing antennae -- followed immediately by the first several inches of a centipede, yellow and chitinous, thick as an elephant's trunk.

Several antennae strain toward the fungus-wreathed sausage. Suddenly and with a resounding SNAP!, terrifying mandibles seize one end of the sausage. You hurriedly let it go, and watch the tainted charcuterie vanish into the centipede's maw. The creature's frenzied motions begin to slow. Perhaps it's sated for now.
You search the wheelbarrow
A battered metal wheelbarrow. Or at least, it used to be when it still had a front wheel. With only a twisted axle remaining, I guess now it's just a "barrow". It is full of glistening black soil.

A sudden movement draws your attention back to the wheelbarrow. The enormous centipede is lying coiled on the surface of the glistening soil, writhing in unearthly convulsions. As its movements slow, you see a wave of gray fuzz erupt from the creature's mouth and spread like fire down the length of its body. With one final convulsion, the fungus-encrusted monstrosity heaves itself over the wheelbarrow's edge, toppling to the floor with a sodden thud. It lies motionless, save for the swaying mycelial fronds protruding from every crack and orifice.
You examine the centipede
The motionless fungus-ridden carcass of a giant centipede, festooned with swaying mycelial fronds that protrude from every crack and orifice.
You search soil
After a few moments of groping, your fingertips slide across a small jagged metallic object. You manage to get a grip on it, and a moment later, you're holding a tiny brass key.
You examine the tiny brass
It's too small to be the key to a door. Maybe a jewelry box, or a cabinet.
You unlock the cabinet with the tiny brass
You unlock the board games cabinet.
You put the tiny brass in the kp
You unzip the key pocket, deposit the tiny brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), then zip the key pocket back up again.
You open the cabinet
You open the cabinet.
You examine it
The board games cabinet is full of board games. That's why they call it the board games cabinet.
You examine the games
The games resist examination. When you try to scan them or look at them in aggregate, they swim in your vision. You get the sense that you could probably find a specific one if you knew the name of it.
Examine tv
On my waaaaaaay to where the air is sweeeeet...
You stand
You get out of the chair. Your new situation kinda sucks compared to earlier, when you were in the chair.
Play
(the vial of rose extract)
Examine tv
You keep watching.
That cool pinball animation plays. You sing along, counting to 12.
Examine tv
You keep watching.
Another commercial comes on. A man has trouble believing that he ate the whole thing.
Examine tv
You keep watching.
You watch a short animation that teaches you to be less racist.
You look at the tv
You keep watching.
Another commercial comes on. Orson Welles reassures you that he will only sell you wine after its time.
You look at tv
You keep watching.
Another commercial. You are urged not to squeeze the Charmin.
You look at the tv
You keep watching.
Nobody except Big Bird can see Snuffleupagus. This reminds you of your current situation somehow.
You stand
You get out of the chair. Your new situation kinda sucks compared to earlier, when you were in the chair.
You look at the tv
You keep watching.
Another commercial comes on, this one for a board game called Marble Blasters.
You get Marble Blasters
You should just leave it where it is. Somebody might want to play it while you're gone.
You examine it
You find Marble Blasters and rummage through its contents. There's a board, eight red marbles, seven blue marbles, a couple of spring-loaded marble-flicker things, and hey, what's this? A card from a different game -- one called Moonbase Bravo.
You look at the moonbase
You find Moonbase Bravo and dig through the box. There are some cardboard squares with craters printed on them, three little plastic astronauts, a deck of "moon unit" cards, and a domino with "Domino Destruction Derby" printed on the back. That one must be from a different game.
You examine Domino
You grab Domino Destruction Derby and open the box. It contains a few plastic ramps, a few dozen dominoes, and a little square of cardboard with a spooky ghost printed on it. The back of the card says "The Haunting of Haunt House" on it -- it must be from a different board game.
You examine the Haunt House
You grab The Haunting of Haunt House and rummage around in the the box. There are lots of little cardboard tokens representing ghosts and goblins and mummies, and also a red, white and blue die-cast motorcycle with "Evil Knievel's Canyon Jump" stencilled on the side of the gas tank.
You look at the canyon jump
You grab Evil Knievel's Canyon Jump, hurl the lid across the room like the daredevil you are, and examine the contents. There's a disassembled plastic canyon, some ramps, some little metal figurines of impressed bystanders, and a card with a picture of a guy wearing a white chef's hat labeled "Pierre Patisserie."

You flip the card over -- apparently Pierre belongs in a game called "Murder Kitchen."
You examine Kitchen
You grab Murder Kitchen, reluctantly open the lid, and take a look at what's inside. There's a deck of cards representing different chefs you can murder, and a few full-sized rusty kitchen implements. Actually, hold on. One of the chef cards is actually an alien card from a different game -- Space Actuary.
You look at the Space Actuary
You grab Space Actuary and examine the contents. It's mostly just charts and tables with different fictional space diseases and their effects on life expectancy, but there's also a little resin sculpture of a child's head mounted on a plaque. What a creepy thing. You look at the back of the plaque, and see "Suburban Safari" embossed in it.
You look at Safari
You grab Suburban Safari and reluctantly open the box. The board depicts an entire town, but only the gun stores and cul-de-sacs are labeled. Among the grisly statuettes is a gauze eyepatch with "Pirate Hospital" printed on the strap.
You examine Pirate
You grab Pirate Hospital and examine the contents. There are a few small bottles of medical rum (all empty, sadly,) a set of pegleg-mounting wrenches, and a big rubber shark fin, which wouldn't be out of place in a pirate game, except that this is really more of a hospital game.

You take a closer look at the fin and see a small paper tag inside that says "Shark Shark Shark Shark Shark."
You examine the Shark
You grab Shark Shark Shark Shark Shark and take a look at what's inside. It's four more of those shark fins, and a bottle of sunscreen labeled "San Tropez Tanners by Ban de Soleil."
You examine Tanners
You pull out San Tropez Tanners by Ban de Soleil and examine its contents. There are a bunch of little plastic sunbathers, a few dice, a rulebook (in French) and holy cow, a rusty meat cleaver. That is not even a little bit safe for people in this game's intended age range. You'd better take it with you.
You get cleaver
You already have that.
You examine it
This meat cleaver is rusty and filled with old blood stains.
You wait for the red Line
You lean against the manor, hold out your pass, and wait for the red line. Within moments, a spectral trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you
find yourself transported to

Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain.

A hole is smashed into its side.

To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant.
You go inside
The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen)
You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door.
You look at the hooks
The meat hooks are rusty, stained and out of reach. They are all empty except for a hook at the southern end of the room, which holds the body of a dead animal, hanging from its legs head down.
You cut the animal with the cleaver
You take a deep breath and raise the meat cleaver. You carefully cut around the hard part of the stomach, to ensure you do not destroy whatever is in there. After a minute, a plastic bag leans out. You open it, revealing a single sheet of printed paper, which you take. Since you do not need the empty plastic bag, you stuff it back in the dog.
You put the cleaver in the sp
You unzip the side pocket, deposit the rusty meat cleaver, then zip the side pocket back up again.
You look at printed
A low-quality photocopy of a hand-lettered original, slightly dog-eared. The title, Friends to the Worm Secret Menu, seems to
have been written with a calligraphy pen in crude imitation of a fancy letterhead, but the rest is roughly printed in Sharpie:
Eternal Chowder
Drunken Goat of the Woods
Ancestor Sandwich
Fiddleheads Three Ways (SPRING)
Shivering Hill Special Reserve
Exit
Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover)
Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain.

A hole is smashed into its side.

To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant.
You wait for the Orange Line
You lean against the livestock blood, hold out your pass, and wait for the orange line. Within moments, a ghostly trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You go west
Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window.

You can see a newspaper box here.
You go to the north
The Invisible Worm (Sam Kabo Ashwell)
A dimly-lit tavern, old enough that all its straight lines have worn or warped slightly out of shape, and everything feels cluttered and a little too small; you've had apartments with living-rooms bigger than this. Heavy, dark beams support a low ceiling, and the walls are crowded with ancient farm tools and yellowing photographs. A cramped doorway, south, leads back outside.

The bartender impassively surveys the room.

Old-timers monopolize the fireplace nook; a straggle of teenagers hunch in a corner.

The old-timers rehash the time Edmund Fuller's granddaughter's hog gave birth to a lifeless agglomeration of hair. Somehow this relates to one of the old-timers owing another money.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a perfect fern, just like in a fancy latte. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The old-timers squabble over the time Elderman Hardwick caught his ward with a state senator.
You look at the whetstone
A dark grey, smooth whetstone, great for sharpening any cutting implements.

The old-timers talk about the time Deputy Fish's wife caught her son making time in the privy with a married woman. It's unclear whether this happened last week or last century.
You give Menu to the bartender
(the bartender)
The bartender doesn't seem interested.

The old-timers go on about the time an itinerant fruit-picker stole a heirloom pitchfork that was on display in the pub.
You give Menu tthe old-timers
They're too wrapped up in their conversation to pay you any notice .

The old-timers go on about whether Cameron Diaz is a finer example of womanhood than Jennifer Anniston.
You give Menu to teenagers
They stare back at you with blank (and slightly fish-like) contempt.

The old-timers talk about the time the Collamore girl gave birth to a half-formed abomination that did not survive baptism. The pipe-smoker is visibly uncomfortable with the conversation, and contributes little.
You show Menu to the bartender
(the bartender)
The bartender is unimpressed.

The old-timers gossip about how Purity Pewsey's youngest's daughter got no better than she deserved, and that that's what comes of not knowing your place.
Examine menu
A low-quality photocopy of a hand-lettered original, slightly dog-eared. The title, Friends to the Worm Secret Menu, seems to
have been written with a calligraphy pen in crude imitation of a fancy letterhead, but the rest is roughly printed in Sharpie:
Eternal Chowder
Drunken Goat of the Woods
Ancestor Sandwich
Fiddleheads Three Ways (SPRING)
Shivering Hill Special Reserve

The old-timers talk about the time all the goats were afflicted with the skitters and blindness, because the prophecy of Bernice Clerke was not heeded.
You ask the bartender about the special reserve
(the bartender about that)
"Cragne tab, yeah?" grunts the bartender, and appears to interpret the confused noise you make as assent. So presumably your orders are covered here? Or get billed to the house? You are not reassured.

The bartender raises his eyebrows, then presents you with a very small glass of a pale amber liquor. You're no whiskey expert, but the vapors coming off the stuff suggest that this is oesophagus-shredding stuff.

Yup. Tastes a little bit of oak but mostly of paint stripper, gives you a brief head-rush.

The old-timers bicker about how time-consuming it is to prepare an Ancestor Sandwich properly.
You ask the bartender about the whetstone
(the bartender about the dark grey whetstone)
He ignores you completely.
You ask the bartender about the fiddleheads
(the bartender about that)
The bartender cracks his knuckles and turns aside to prepare your food. This is complicated enough to require his full attention.

The old-timers speculate about whether the secret menu has become too much of an open secret.
You get whetstone
The bartender's back being momentarily turned, you summon your distant experience as a tween shoplifter (lifetime haul: two tubes of lipstick and a caramel Cow Tales), pretend to examine an old photo, and swipe the whetstone from its place on the wall. In this dim light nobody will even notice it's gone.

The bartender is busy cooking and has his back to you.

The old-timers bicker about how the Cra... (and here they glance furtively at you and trail off to a mumble) broke Dimona Nettles's heart.
You put the whetstone in the hidden pocket
You put the dark grey whetstone into the hidden pocket.

The bartender is busy cooking and has his back to you.
You close the hidden pocket
You close the hidden pocket.

"Order up," barks the bartender.

You receive a heaped bowl of fern croziers, baby fern fronds still curled up like feathery green snail shells, and variously prepared. The pickled ones taste like anything else that's been pickled; the steamed ones are delicious, crunchy and earthy and fresh; the battered ones taste like fried batter, except that the texture is ever so slightly reminiscent of chewing through the rubbery bones of an alien foetus. There's ranch dressing on the side.

In summary, it is very good and is done with much too quickly.

The old-timers converse upon the time Jeremiah Gilchrist caught his sweetheart with Jacob Purcell's eldest.
You look at the coffee
The clouds in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The old-timers opine on the time a tourist stole a heirloom screwdriver from that very wall display.
You look at Menu
A low-quality photocopy of a hand-lettered original, slightly dog-eared. The title, Friends to the Worm Secret Menu, seems to
have been written with a calligraphy pen in crude imitation of a fancy letterhead, but the rest is roughly printed in Sharpie:
Eternal Chowder
Drunken Goat of the Woods
Ancestor Sandwich
Fiddleheads Three Ways (SPRING)
Shivering Hill Special Reserve

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You order Sandwich
The bartender cracks his knuckles and turns aside to prepare your food. This is complicated enough to require his full attention.

The old-timers converse upon the time Zerubbabel Buxton's nephew and his wife caused a scandal by their dissipation and wanton harlotry with Clem Crackstone.
You examine the photos
(photos of you (smelling faintly of mildew))
You keep flipping through. There's a photo of you entering the manor after a hard squall, coat half-on and umbrella inside out, hair matted and face agonized -- from rain, you'd thought.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The bartender is busy cooking and has his back to you.

The old-timers argue about Fly-Satan Ayer's pointless campaign for side judge.
You look athe old-timers
The three old boys around the fireplace - one pipe-smoker, one roll-up, one Lucky Strike - are fumigating the premises and talking shit about their families and neighbors.

The bartender is busy cooking and has his back to you.

The old-timers speak of how the Phelps family had always been bad and Dorcas was the worst of 'em, and it just goes to show you.
You examine the teenagers
Not conspicuously blessed with the radiant bloom of golden youth; nor a grasp of basic hair care. They're nursing their beer with sullen frugality of a last round, so either they're broke or the barman's tolerance is approaching its limit.

The bartender looks over at you, slaps a plate on the bartop and grunts something that might be "order's up." You take your sandwich, and retreat to a table to eat it.

From Hobbing's Compendium of the North American Sandwich: The
Ancestor Sandwich is a true rarity, confined to a scattering of refugia within upper inland New England. The classic recipe comprises pickled herring, shredded kid goat, and wild ramps or similar pungent onions, served on sourdough and sauced with slampery, a bone
broth rendered down to the consistency of gelatinous mayonnaise. Seasonal greens or iceberg lettuce are sometimes added, to no appreciable effect. The authors have been unable to personally sample an authentic Ancestor Sandwich; the above information is gleaned from recipe-books and other textual references dating between 1890 and 1935. Personal experiments with these recipes have not been encouraging.

It's a lot of food. You make a brave go of it, and clean your plate. You might even want it again sometime, if it was about a quarter of the size.

The old-timers gossip about the time Roger Hart and his wife caused a scandal by carrying on with an infamous Arkham fetish model. Most of the context seems to rely on details of local geography that you can't follow at all.
You open the hidden pocket
You open the hidden pocket, revealing a dark grey whetstone.
Sharpen machete
(with the dark grey whetstone)
These days you prefer plastic pull-through sharpeners, but you vaguely remember something like this from your days in scouting. You spit on the whetstone and rub it at an angle against the edge of the machete. You repeat this until the edge feels reasonably sharp against your finger.

Then you suddenly remember a particularly annoying scout leader explaining to you, in his condescending way, how a machete isn't supposed to be sharp like a knife, and how it must be sharpened with a file and not a whetstone. Oh, well. Hopefully you didn't ruin it completely.
You go east
Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
You wait for purple Line
You sit on the memorial bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, a spectral trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.
You cut the roots with the machete
(the roots covering the sculpture with the sharp machete (smelling faintly of mildew))
After cutting of a couple of roots from the statue, you realize that you can insert the machete blade under the weave of roots and sawing through it from inside, as if cutting up a fish. A milky fluid oozes from the cuts, as if trying to heal them. When you toss the roots aside, you get the strange impression that the statue is relieved.
You examine the statue
Through a yellow lichen that covers the white stone, two intensely red eyes made of some translucent material glare at you. The beak is open as if uttering a squawk. But the parrot actually looks less hostile since you removed the roots. Still not actually friendly, though.
You look at Tree
The moldy strangler fig roots cover the enormous trunk at the center of the greenhouse, seeming to melt into one another, making it impossible to tell what the host tree used to looked like. There are no branches within reach.
Go upward
You climb the unstable staircase.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (on the mesh walkway)
You're up the mesh walkway circling the greenhouse partway up the wall. The roots have grown into the iron mesh and railing as well, twisting it and breaking it apart. Between the roots and sharp metal edges there is hardly room to stand, but the branches stretching finger-like from the lower part of tree look sturdy and climbable.

The spiral staircase leads back down.
You climb the branches
You hold onto one of the more sturdy-looking branches and carefully move toward the tree at the center of the room.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (up the tree)
You're on one of the thick lower branches of the tree. The strangler fig roots cover the host tree completely. A sturdy, root-covered branch has grown into the walkway circling the greenhouse.

The branches above you look surprisingly climbable.
Go upwards
Heights have always frightened you. Steeling yourself, you grab hold of the sturdiest branch you can find and pull yourself up. Your hands are trembling and slippery with sweat.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (higher up the tree)
You are among the murkier branches higher up the tree. Trying your best not to look down, it is still obvious that you would not survive a fall from this height. Here, gaps between the strangler fig roots reveal the original host tree, which looks like an African fern pine. Through a small hole in the host tree, you can see the strangler fig growing like a spinal cord through its hollow trunk. The tree continues upwards.
You cut fig
You cut away some roots. A viscous milky fluid is excreted from the cuts.
Go upwards
Ignoring your sweaty palms and pounding heart, you force yourself higher. It's getting difficult to even find room to move between the branches and pointy twigs. You are starting to feel dizzy.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (even higher up the tree)
Up here the tree is more like a thicket of thin, sharp, dead twigs, with flowering roots spiraling between them. There are some huge bones among the twigs and leaves — the skeleton of some prehistoric aquatic beast once mounted here, suspended from the ceiling by metal wires, now twisted and broken by the relentless growth of the tree. It seems possible to climb still higher from here.
You examine bones
The bones are black with yellow fungal growth, and swing unnervingly from their wires. Probably made of painted plaster of Paris, they might once have formed the skeleton of some kind of elasmosaurus.
You cut the bones
You carefully climb up to one of the bones, what actually looks like a number of huge vertebra molded together as one, and hit it with the machete. Spores billow up, dense enough to make you cough, and about half the bone comes off, bounces through the branches and shatters on top of the parrot sculpture below in a cloud of plaster.

You lose your footing and barely manage to grab hold of the other half of the bone, still swinging from its steel wire. Nearly blacking out with vertigo and fear, you make your way back to some reasonably safe branches further in.
Go up
You climb higher. It feels like crawling through a thorny bush. The entire crown of the tree sways along with your every move, and the glass ceiling crackles like thin ice. Sweat trickles into your eyes. Did you black out there for a moment? You feel like throwing up.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (top of the tree near the ceiling)
The entire treetop sways from your weight, up and down, this way and that. You are close enough to the glass ceiling to see the blue sky and bright sunshine outside.

Something is hidden behind the tightly woven branches and leaves here.

There is a loud squawk next to your ear. Everything goes black. You fall.

Then consciousness returns. Only a second has passed. You are still falling. Instinctively you reach for something to grab onto, but every time you think you've got a hold on the sharp twigs and slithery leaves they slip out of your grasp.

But you keep trying, and eventually your fall slows down and the branches stop giving way below you. With a final lurch you find yourself swinging astride one of the lower branches of the tree, cut and bruised and in shock but still breathing.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (up the tree)
You're on one of the thick lower branches of the tree. The strangler fig roots cover the host tree completely. A sturdy, root-covered branch has grown into the walkway circling the greenhouse.
Go downward
You carefully hang from one of the lower branches and drop to the greenhouse floor below.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund)
Nothing should be growing here anymore — the heating and irrigation have been off for years — but roots seem to have covered everything.

The walls curve inward, forming a huge dome, with a mesh of roots covering it from the floor up to about halfway to the ceiling. Sunlight still breaks through in places, throwing a pattern of bright spots across the room. The roots grow from an enormous tropical tree at the center of the greenhouse, towering all the way up to the ceiling, which it hides behind a thick crown of leaves.

A spiral staircase, seemingly woven of roots, leads to a circular mesh walkway higher up along the wall.

The parrot sculpture protrudes from the roots near the exit.
Close beak
The sculpture has no moving parts. Its mouth is less than an inch deep.
You get Eyes
The eyes are firmly set in the statue. You can't get them out.
Kiss parrot
There is a slight trembling in the sculpture at your display of affection. Or did you just imagine it? Somehow you feel a desire for cleansing emanating from the parrot.
You cut the lichen
As you scrape off some mold, it turns into a cloud of spores.
Cut fungus
There is too much mold to scrape it all off.
You ascend
You hold onto one of the more sturdy-looking branches and carefully move toward the tree at the center of the room.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (up the tree)
You're on one of the thick lower branches of the tree. The strangler fig roots cover the host tree completely. A sturdy, root-covered branch has grown into the walkway circling the greenhouse.
You go upwards
You climb higher up the tree.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (higher up the tree)
You are among the murkier branches higher up the tree. Trying your best not to look down, it is still obvious that you would not survive a fall from this height. Here, gaps between the strangler fig roots reveal the original host tree, which looks like an African fern pine. Through a small hole in the host tree, you can see the strangler fig growing like a spinal cord through its hollow trunk. The tree continues upwards.
You look at the vinegar
A gallon jug of white vinegar. The label is fairly faded but part of it reads, "Possible uses: cleaning appliances such as coffee makers, dishwashers, and washing machines, making hardboiled eggs easier to shell, deodorant, and pouring it on hard-to-pull weeds in your driveway to kill them."

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
Go upward
You climb even higher up the tree.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (even higher up the tree)
Up here the tree is more like a thicket of thin, sharp, dead twigs, with flowering roots spiraling between them. There are some huge bones among the twigs and leaves — the skeleton of some prehistoric aquatic beast once mounted here, suspended from the ceiling by metal wires, now twisted and broken by the relentless growth of the tree. It seems possible to climb still higher from here.
Go upward
You climb still higher up the tree.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (top of the tree near the ceiling)
The entire treetop sways from your weight, up and down, this way and that. You are close enough to the glass ceiling to see the blue sky and bright sunshine outside.

Something is hidden behind the tightly woven branches and leaves here.
Search branches
(the tightly woven branches and leaves)
Is there some kind of cage hidden behind there? You are not sure.
You cut the branches
(the tightly woven branches and leaves)
You cut through the branches with the machete. As the leaves fall away, a human-size birdcage, suspended from the ceiling, is revealed.
You examine Cage
It is a wrought-iron cage, large enough to fit a human. It is closed with a small latch. Through the bars you see what looks like a bird's nest.
You open Cage
You open the door. A bird's nest made of dry twigs fills the bottom of the cage. It is full of broken eggshells and small bird bones. Hidden among the bones is a strangely clean and intact small cardboard box.
You examine the cardboard
It's labeled "Vacuum Component".
You get it
You reach in through the birdcage door. As soon as your hand closes around the cardboard box, it seems to get darker outside. You hear a distant sound as from a thousand squawking birds, and it is getting louder.

There is a huge crash and sharp pieces of glass shower down all around you. Then the air is full of parrots. A pandemonium of red-eyed albino parrots, thousands of them, circling through the greenhouse like the water in a washing machine. They land on your back and in your hair, wherever you can't wave them off. Their sharp beaks peck at your skin, pinching it, pulling it, going for your eyes —

When you open your eyes you are on your back on the greenhouse floor, feeling your clothes soaking up blood. The parrots land on you and around you, their talons and beaks tearing into your flesh, but as you try to wave them off, you find that you are unable to lift a finger. The pain is unimaginable, yet you cannot make a sound, not even as one of them pecks out your eye.
You examine nest
A bird's nest made of dry twigs fills the bottom of the cage. It is full of broken eggshells and small bird bones. Hidden among the bones is a strangely clean and intact small cardboard box.
You cut Cage
You strike the side of the cage. It sways away on its steel wire. A yellow cloud of spores billows up, dense enough to make you cough and your eyes run. But the cage itself seems unaffected.
You look around
Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund) (top of the tree near the ceiling)
The entire treetop sways from your weight, up and down, this way and that. You are close enough to the glass ceiling to see the blue sky and bright sunshine outside.

There is a human-size birdcage suspended from the ceiling here. Through the open door you see something inside that looks like a bird's nest.
You enter Cage
You grab the bars and put one foot on the floor of the cage, but a loud cracking noise from where the cage is attached to the glass ceiling makes you change your mind. You let go of the cage.
You close Cage
You close the birdcage.
You cut the wire
The wire is tough and the strike seem to have little effect, but when you look closer you see that a couple of metal fibers are loose.
Keep going
Another cut, and you're almost through. The cage nearly hits you on the rebound and you lose your balance, but you regain it by grabbing hold of the cage for a moment. New cracks appear in glass ceiling up where the wire is attached.
Continue
You grab the cage to steady it before placing the cut, and the last fiber of the wire snaps. As the cage falls, it snags on the branch you are standing on and pulls you down with it.

A pandemonium of albino parrots is squawking and flapping all around you, their wings whipping your face along with the air. The ground is approaching rapidly.
You open Cage
The wire holding up the birdcage snaps at first touch. As the cage falls, it snags on the branch you are standing on and pulls you down with it.

A pandemonium of albino parrots is squawking and flapping all around you, their wings whipping your face along with the air. The ground is approaching rapidly.
You get branch
You reach blindly for anything to hold onto, and your fingers close around a dry branch. It snaps right off, but not before slowing your fall a little.

The parrots all scream in horrible unison as the cage crashes into the stone parrot right below you, shattering it. A split-second later you hit the cage head first, and everything goes dark.

When you open your eyes you are on the greenhouse floor, resting your head on the side of the battered birdcage.

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund)
Nothing should be growing here anymore — the heating and irrigation have been off for years — but roots seem to have covered everything.

The walls curve inward, forming a huge dome, with a mesh of roots covering it from the floor up to about halfway to the ceiling. Sunlight still breaks through in places, throwing a pattern of bright spots across the room. The roots grow from an enormous tropical tree at the center of the greenhouse, towering all the way up to the ceiling, which it hides behind a thick crown of leaves.

A spiral staircase, seemingly woven of roots, leads to a circular mesh walkway higher up along the wall.

There is a battered human-size birdcage here. Between the wrought-iron bars you see something inside that looks like a bird's nest.

You can also see a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew), a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew), Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew), a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew), an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed), a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew), a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew), a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew), an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew), a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew), a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew), a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew), a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew), a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew), a spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew), a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew), an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew), a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew), a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew), a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew), a snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew), a scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew), a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (in which is a jar of screws (empty)), a Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew), a Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew), a Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew), an Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew), the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), a blank
punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew), a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a 923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew), a library note (smelling faintly of mildew), a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew), a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew), an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew), a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew), a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)
(smelling faintly of mildew), a jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew) (in which is a silver and ivory key), a creased square of paper (smelling faintly of mildew), a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew), a black horn (smelling faintly of mildew), a stubby pencil (smelling faintly of mildew), Limerickus Dirtius (smelling
faintly of mildew), some assorted teeth (smelling faintly of mildew), a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew), a box of Nilla Wafers (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), some Nilla wafers (smelling faintly of mildew), a wine bottle (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), a walkie-talkie (smelling faintly of mildew), a pointer thingy (extended) (smelling faintly of mildew), a bag of peanut (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), an old iron key (smelling faintly of mildew), an ornate bronze key (smelling faintly of mildew), sketches of your face (smelling faintly of mildew), photos of you (smelling faintly of mildew), a box of vials (smelling faintly of mildew) (in which are a vial of frankincense, a vial of tuberose extract, a vial of geosmin, a vial of musk, a vial of rose extract, a spray decant vial, a vial of vanilla extract, an unmarked clear vial, an unmarked teal vial and an unmarked pale blue vial), a vial of cedarwood extract (smelling faintly of mildew), a tarnished brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), a folded up note (smelling faintly of mildew), De Vermibus Laceris (smelling faintly of mildew), a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew), a wax mask (smelling faintly of mildew), a gray wig (smelling faintly of mildew), a librarian's dress (smelling faintly of mildew), Jessenia's receipt (smelling faintly of mildew), a Cyst (smelling faintly of mildew), a secret menu (smelling faintly of mildew), a dark grey whetstone and a sharp machete (smelling faintly of mildew) here.

You slowly get up, your body aching all over. But nothing seems to be broken.
You get all
piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

black business card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

spray bottle that used to contain fungicide (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

mallet (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

snowglobe (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

scrap of paper (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Piccoli Uomini Blu (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Prurito Notturno (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Lettera Segreta (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Isole Perdute (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

blank punch card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

923647F1 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

library note (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew): You scoop the box out of its crumbling niche. A whiff of stale air hits you, and you recoil. Yet the box remains safely cradled to your chest. Something inside it thumps, as if to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You can see no further into the grave.
slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says
"Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew):
Taken.

jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

creased square of paper (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

black horn (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

stubby pencil (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Limerickus Dirtius (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

assorted teeth (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

box of Nilla Wafers (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Nilla wafers (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

wine bottle (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

walkie-talkie (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

pointer thingy (extended) (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

bag of peanut (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

old iron key (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

ornate bronze key (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

sketches of your face (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

photos of you (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

box of vials (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

jar of screws: Taken.

silver and ivory key: Taken.

vial of frankincense: Taken.

vial of tuberose extract: Taken.

half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.
Look around
Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund)
Nothing should be growing here anymore — the heating and irrigation have been off for years — but roots seem to have covered everything.

The walls curve inward, forming a huge dome, with a mesh of roots covering it from the floor up to about halfway to the ceiling. Sunlight still breaks through in places, throwing a pattern of bright spots across the room. The roots grow from an enormous tropical tree at the center of the greenhouse, towering all the way up to the ceiling, which it hides behind a thick crown of leaves.

A spiral staircase, seemingly woven of roots, leads to a circular mesh walkway higher up along the wall.

There is a battered human-size birdcage here. Between the wrought-iron bars you see something inside that looks like a bird's nest.

You can also see a vial of cedarwood extract (smelling faintly of mildew), a tarnished brass key (smelling faintly of mildew), a folded up note (smelling faintly of mildew), De Vermibus Laceris (smelling faintly of mildew), a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew), a wax mask (smelling faintly of mildew), a gray wig (smelling faintly of mildew), a librarian's dress (smelling faintly of mildew), Jessenia's receipt (smelling faintly of mildew), a Cyst (smelling faintly of mildew), a secret menu (smelling faintly of mildew), a dark grey whetstone and a sharp machete (smelling faintly of mildew) here.
You get all
vial of cedarwood extract (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

a tarnished brass key (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

a folded up note (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

De Vermibus Laceris (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

wax mask (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

gray wig (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

librarian's dress (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Jessenia's receipt (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Cyst (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

secret menu (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

dark grey whetstone: Taken.

cardboard box: The birdcage isn't open.
sharp machete (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.
You examine the parrot
There is hardly anything left of the parrot sculpture.
You open Cage
You open the door. A bird's nest made of dry twigs fills the bottom of the cage. It is full of broken eggshells and small bird bones. Hidden among the bones is a strangely clean and intact small cardboard box.
You get the cardboard
Taken.

[Congratulations! You have reached the violent conclusion of this room.]
You open cardboard
You open the cardboard box, revealing a vacuum component.
You examine the Vacuum
A big antique thing-a-ma-bob that seems perfectly fitted to go inside a large, antique vacuum. Or at least you would imagine.
You describe your surroundings
Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund)
Nothing should be growing here anymore — the heating and irrigation have been off for years — but roots seem to have covered everything.

The walls curve inward, forming a huge dome, with a mesh of roots covering it from the floor up to about halfway to the ceiling. Sunlight still breaks through in places, throwing a pattern of bright spots across the room. The roots grow from an enormous tropical tree at the center of the greenhouse, towering all the way up to the ceiling, which it hides behind a thick crown of leaves.

A spiral staircase, seemingly woven of roots, leads to a circular mesh walkway higher up along the wall.

There is a battered human-size birdcage here. Through the open door you see something inside that looks like a bird's nest.
You wait for the Eggplant Line
You lean against the placard, hold out your pass, and wait for the eggplant line. Within moments, a mistlike trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

From this corner of the attic, paths lead south and west, or you can head back down the rickety staircase. A damp wind flows through a gash in the exterior wall.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Eggplant Line -- Cragne Manor Attic.
You go to the south
Disheveled Studio (Katherine Morayati)
The studio must have been abandoned in a hurry. The bookshelves are ransacked, the easel in pieces on the floor, bulbs torn out of two of the ceiling lights. The only thing undisturbed is a table, solid like a slab, precisely in the center of the room. Several layers of heavy curtain block off crawlspaces to the north and southeast.

The room smells distractingly of Peter's cologne.

Nothing remains of the canvas but a hollowed-out shell.
Go southeast
The curtains swing back into place with a thud.

Abandoned Nursery (Harrison Gerard)
An octagonal room. Dust coats the walls. In one corner, a crib. In the other, a dollhouse. Exits lead northwest, north, and northeast.

You can see a "Gossipin' Gertie" doll and a vacuum cleaner here.
You put the Component in the Vacuum
(the vacuum cleaner)
You click the component into place. The vacuum is functional.
Clean dollhouse
You rub the dollhouse.
You turn on the Vacuum
You switch it on, and with a whir, it sucks the cobwebs clean from the dollhouse.
You examine the dollhouse
A large wooden dollhouse. Its exterior is a nearly perfect match for Cragne Manor, but there's something odd about the interior.
You examine the interior
The interior rooms of of the miniature manor are all mixed up. Staring at the jumble for too long gives you a headache. Now that the cobwebs are cleared, though, you can search the rooms a little more thoroughly.
Search rooms
You reach into the dollhouse and retrieve a silver letter opener.
You go north
Invasive Library (Justin de Vesine)
Once a study or a small sitting room, a particularly invasive species of library has taken over this space. Walls obscured by stacks of books. Ceiling hidden by stacks of books. The floor might as well be tiled with books. There's a path of sorts from a small doorway to the south to a desk amidst the overgrown collection, and to the southeast, a bookshelf has been shoved aside to reveal a passage through the wall.
You go east
From this corner of the attic, paths lead south and west, or you can head back down the rickety staircase. A damp wind flows through a gash in the exterior wall.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Eggplant Line -- Cragne Manor Attic.
Go downwards
A shaft of light through the door to the west falls upon as tidy a closet as ever you've seen. The shelves are clear, and now you can see a trapdoor in the ceiling above them.
You go west
MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS)
Here we have the master bedroom of Cragne Manor, which is by turns contradictorily capacious and cramped. Though you can't put your finger on it, something about this windowless chamber sucks the very air out of your lungs and puts you on edge. One would have to be a master indeed to achieve any rest in this offputting room.

Though it is relatively sparsely furnished, it wouldn't be much of a bedoom without a bed -- and there it is, a four-poster tall, dingy, imposing and unsettling. Next to it is a bedside table, on which resides some torturously elongated lamp -- apparently the dim room's only light source, currently turned off.

To the west is the hallway door through which you first arrived, and to the east there is also a door to what is most likely a walk-in closet.
Go west
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east to the master bedroom (which is also open); a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

The broken doors to the armoire lie on the floor near the center of the room.

The doorless armoire stands against the north-west wall. There's nothing inside.
You examine the mirror
A regal woman with graying hair and harsh features stares back at you.

"Have you found my letter opener yet? I must ask that you return it to me immediately," Eustace says.
You examine the opener
It belonged to Eustace's father, Eustace Arthur Rolling the elder, who left it to your husband when he passed. Your Eustace is attached to it to a degree one might describe as concerning.
You give opener to Eustace
He proceeds to open the letter and read it quietly to himself. Within moments, he is more spirited than he's been in some time.

"Good news! I've been accepted to a professorship at Yale, beginning in the spring. We can finally leave Backwater and this wretched house behind us, and start fresh. Isn't it wonderful?" He needs only notice your reluctant expression for his demeanor to change sharply. "Oh, you mustn't fight me on this, darling. We can keep the house, if only to satisfy your pride, but moving is not a negotiation. I've lived in the shadow of your family and your house and your trappings for far too long. It is time for me to be my own man."

You try to maintain a stony expression, but his behavior makes it far too difficult. A condescending smile spreads across your lips. "Your own man? Ha! You would never have been granted an interview without my uncle's influence, nor the time to write all those papers without living off my inheritance."

He takes several steps towards you. His eyes are darker than usual. His lips curl into a snarl. "Your late father failed to discipline your tongue, as have I since our marriage. A correction in your behavior is long overdue." Before you can react, his hands encircle your neck and begin to squeeze.
You kill Eustace
You struggle against Eustace's grip, clawing uselessly on his arms, but he holds you fast. The letter opener. It's your only chance. You reach towards his breast pocket, fingers brushing against its smooth surface, and at last grab hold.

Then you flail.

Slash.

An awkward angle, and you drive it deep into his ear. His hands loosen. He collapses beneath you.

You stagger backwards, clutching your throat and coughing. Slowly, your breath becomes more even and the world returns to focus. Your husband is crumpled on the floor, the letter opener embedded deep in his ear. Blood spills from the wound and pools around his head.
You examine Eustace
Your husband is now your late husband. The letter opener is buried hilt-deep in his ear.
You get the opener
You grab hold of the letter opener and pull. It slides out of your husband's head with more ease than you expected.
You look at the mail
(the handwritten letter to you)
My dear mother,

I hope you are well and remain so through this dreadful winter. I
am happy to report your Christmas fruit cake survived the journey unscathed and has been enjoyed with great enthusiasm by the other boys. I am passing along their compliments. Second term is just beginning, and much work is anticipated. I will try to keep regular correspondence as you requested.

My nightmares have been growing worse as of late. Even though I
never met grandfather, I know it is he who visits me. I pray every night, but God seems to ignore me. What am I to do? Might you send some funds for a doctor? Perhaps he could prescribe a tonic to aid me in my sleep.

I love you, mother, in so many ways and more. Give father my love.
I will write again soon.

Your beloved son,
Christopher
You look at your surroundings
A large bay window allows for ample light into the elegant sitting room. Above the fireplace hangs the portrait of the sneering Cragne ancestor. Near the westward entrance to the dining room hangs a mirror.

Eustace is lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor.
You look at the table
The furniture has been passed down the Cragne line for generations. They ought to be replaced, but Eustace prefers not to waste the money on them.
You look at the portrait
The great Horace Cragne is perched above the fireplace, maintaining a constant vigilance over the sitting room. You think he would serve better in the study. At the very least, he would avoid frightening the ladies from church when they visit for tea after Sunday service. His face is gaunt, features severe, and his eyes are rimmed a deep crimson. You prefer not to meet his gaze.

Hanging next to the portrait is a bell pull.
You pull the bell pull
Not yet. She'll help you clean the mess, but it will require some... persuasion.
You search the portrait
You feel as though a curse would descend upon you should you touch the thing.
You examine the fireplace
The fire does its best to repel the deep February chill. Above the fireplace is a portrait, and beside that is the bell pull.
You examine the window
Through the window you have a view of the front porch, from which hangs the peculiar chimes that whistle and clang eerily with each passing breeze. Beyond is the wide yard, and beyond that the forest line, and farther still, Backwater. If you squint hard enough, you can sometimes make out a few townspeople wandering about, attempting to find some significance in their lives.
About yourself
You are Lillian, lady of Cragne Manor. Some days, you wish you were someone else. But only some.
You cut yourself
Cutting you up would achieve little.
Inventory
You are carrying a letter opener and a handwritten letter to you.
Burn letter
(the handwritten letter to you)
This dangerous act would achieve little.
You examine the chimes
It's a collection of long, slender chimes that have hung from the porch since long before you were born. You don't like listening to them, nor do you wish to touch them nor remove them from their chain. A dilemma, to be sure.
You burn eustace
This dangerous act would achieve little.
You get the chimes
The chimes are merely a view beyond the window.
Go west
You have the urge to look in the mirror before you depart. It's a quirk of yours you can't seem to avoid.
You look at the mirror
You gaze at your reflection, your eyes rimmed red. There's a spattering of blood on your face and across your dress. Some stains can never be cleaned, once they are too deeply set. In such cases, you must rid yourself of the garment entirely. You should never have become Mrs. Rolling. How ridiculous you've been. You are a Cragne through and through, like your father, and your father before him, back to the very founding of Backwater. So, too, shall your son be a Cragne. It is in the blood.

And then, you are not you. You are the other you, yourself. You clutch your stomach and heave, ready to vomit, the image of that man lying in his own blood fresh in your mind. You weren't actually there, right? It was all in your head. Got to be.

You look down and find yourself holding a strange windchime. How did you get this? Maybe Lillian thought you should have it. You doubt you'll ever really know.
You examine the chime
It's a bizarre thing, the width of your two thumbs together and as long as your hand, shaped something like a bookmark and as thin as one, yet it's intensely heavy - far more than its slight form would indicate. It looks like a windchime or part of some musical instrument. It's clearly made of metal, but you're unable to easily identify the kind, for its coloring seems to shift in the light - one moment a solid silver, the next bronze, the next almost golden. Running through the material is some sort of greenish corrosion and stamped or carved into its surface are a multitude of strange, sinuous symbols. You can't make heads nor tails of any of them. It feels slightly warm to the touch.
Ring chime
You flick the chime gently with a fingernail. Nothing seems to happen at first, then the chime begins to produce a gentle thrum seeming to emanate from deep inside its core. Over the next few moments, the hum increases in intensity until the chime is softly buzzing in your hand. It seems to give no indication of stopping any time soon.
Go west
Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi)
A long, rectangular mahogany table takes up most of the room. The room is old and dusty, and it seems decades have passed since the last time someone had dinner here. On the table lies a broken machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south.

The chime suddenly shudders more violently in your hand.
Go south
Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall.

The ramshackle bookshelf lies in a pile of splintered wood on the floor like a fallen scarecrow, arms akimbo.

The ringing of the chime redoubles.
You go to the south
Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust.

The night sky is dark and full of stars. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.

The chime suddenly shudders more violently in your hand.
You go south
Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.

You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here.

The ringing of the chime redoubles.
Go south
Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.

The vibration of the chime is slightly stronger now.
You stop chime
You flatten the strange chime between your palms. For a long moment, it seems as if nothing will happen, that the chime will ring forever and ever. You push harder. There is still no response. Just when you are about to give up, the chime's ringing begins to fade. Within a few moments, it is silent once more.
You wait for Gold Line
You lean against the porch, hold out your pass, and wait for the gold line. Within moments, a ghostly trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you
find yourself transported to

The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You go north
It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)
You lie on the altar
You get onto the stone altar.

You lie down, settling your body into the impression and your face into the cavity at the end. The milkweed leaf mask protects your face from the strands of orange slime that you belatedly notice fill the cavity. Is it even you doing this? It feels like the most natural action in the world.

As you press your face deeper into the cavity, your vision warps. The world seems to fold and buckle: what was convex becomes concave and what was concave becomes convex.

The altar wobbles and inverts, giving you the bizarre sensation of lying atop a smooth green hole that floats in midair. Deeper within the hole is a shelf of green stone with something resting (how?) on it.
You put the iron key in the sphere
The imaginary sphere rotates suddenly, spinning the slot away from the old iron key (smelling faintly of mildew).
Go upward
You mount the ladder, making sure your feet catch each rung, and climb to the ceiling don't look down! through the square opening...

Steeple (Michael D. Hilborn)
Disjointed and decaying pillars of wood form the arches that make up the walls of the church's steeple. The arches, open to the sky, tower over you, ending in a webwork of thick rafters which support the belfry above and ultimately the church's spire. A series of ropes slither down from those rafters, centered over a square hole in the floor that leads down into the bowels of the church.

A misshapen mass slumps in one corner of the steeple.
You ask the gnome about the author
"He considers himself an interactive fiction enthusiastic," says the gnome. "Has been since the age of ten when he first played "Zork." He's only published one major work, "The Life (and Deaths) of Doctor M," and a couple shorts for the tribute album "Apollo 18+20."
You ask the gnome about the beta testers
The gnome flips through his notebook. "Ah, yes, the author would like to thank the following folks for their remarkable endurance and patience while testing this room: Greg Frost, Michael Lin, Hanon Ondricek, and Andrew Schultz."
You ask the gnome about the ropes
"Hopefully, the player will deduce from various clues that they need to be pulled in a certain sequence." The gnome drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you know there are four different sequences that can be rung?"
You look at Tome
(De Vermibus Laceris (smelling faintly of mildew))
A massive tome, with ragged pages bound in badly-decayed black leather. You can just make out the words "DE VERMIBUS LACERIS" embossed on the cover, and "Azban" underneath that in smaller type.
You look at the corpse
So misshapen is this poor figure that it's difficult to tell where its head ends and its torso begins. Its back is horrendously humped, its face an amorphous mass of tumors with sunken holes for eyes. What appears to be its mouth is open in a silent scream.

Hard to say how long the corpse has been here in the steeple, but it seems ancient, skin and clothes desiccated and thin like parchment, somehow mummified. It's slouched--or sitting?--on the floor in one corner of the steeple.

On the corpse's lap rests an open tome. Another book lies near the corpse: A worn, leather-bound journal.

The gnome shakes his head. "Poor soul. His story is told in the journal lying next to him. His presence was inspired by the 'Hunchback of Notre Dame.'"
You look at Journal
Which do you mean, the worn, leather-bound journal, the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein
Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew) or the
Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You examine worn Journal
About the size of your hand. The binding is cracked and torn, the pages yellow with age.

"The journal tells the story of that poor soul over there," says the gnome, pointing at the corpse. "The style of language within the journal is inspired by the way that gargoyles speak in 'Ultima VI: The False Prophet.' The author of this room thought it might add a little flavor, for better or worse."
You put the vermibus in the hidden pocket
You put De Vermibus Laceris (smelling faintly of mildew) into the hidden pocket.
You ask the gnome about the gnome
The gnome places a hand to his heart. "Me? Why, I'm the gnome of commentary, hired to give little tidbits of information about the implementation of this room. Sadly, I'm one of the more complex objects in here." He nudges you. "A little too much effort for an easter egg, in my humble opinion."
You close the hidden pocket
You close the hidden pocket.
You examine Tome
Cradled in the corpse's lap, the humungous tome lies open as if the corpse still studies the pages. It's clearly ancient, the pages withered and yellow, like the skin of the corpse itself, its leather bonding cracked.

The gnome taps the tome. "An important part of the puzzle. The corpse points to the name of the star alignment that one sees when examining the ceiling of the steeple. If you ring the bells in the proper order, you can learn the name of the true sign of Peter Cragne."
You ask the gnome about Peter
The gnome flips through his notebook, then shakes his head. "I'm afraid I don't have any information on that."
You look at the notebook
(the torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew))
Many pages are torn out, and those that remain are mostly smudged or otherwise illegible. One, however, stands out because it appears to have been pasted into the notebook. It looks like a letter.

"September 21, 1908

"...les Cragne, Rufous Alderman,

"I was pleased to hear of your success with ... of the ritual...

"...Sinclair's pamphlet will bring unwanted atte... ...ven to your remote operation. I hope I need not remind you ...tance of ... role ...

"... can get ... blood befo... ...crifice must be complete by the coming full moon... Vaadignephod will...

"Yours in fraternity

"... of the Variegated Court"

"Cattle: 10 gal, 200 / hr, 24000 gal
Hog: 5 gal, 500 / hr, 30000 gal
Man: 10 pt, 1 / day, 10 pt"
You examine the landscape
The steeple must rise higher than you think, for it penetrates a cloud bank that stretches to the horizon, and most likely beyond. As calm as the sea on a breezeless day, the clouds ripple with a hazy, pale green glow. Occasionally, part of the surface erupts in a silent flash of light.

The gnome squints toward the landscape. "Hard to say what lurks beyond those clouds, but if you examine them enough, you'll get hints of what is going on down there."
You look at the stars
Pinpricks of sickly, green light. A multitude of them, though many others must be veiled behind the murk that is the atmosphere.

The gnome shields his eyes as he looks up at the sky. "Not much up there, is there? But the stars and moons play an important part of this room's main puzzle."
You examine the bells
Hard to discern how many bells hang up there in the shadows of the belfry, but they are large, very large, and with the starlight streaming through a perforated ceiling above them, you can distinguish at least four.

"Although the player can't see the bells," says the gnome, "they hopefully will deduce that there is one of gold, one of silver, one of copper, and one of iron up there."
You ask the gnome about the notebook
(the torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew))
The gnome flips through his notebook, then sighs. "I'm afraid I don't have any information on that."
You examine notebook
A small gnome with a pair of spectacles resting upon his pointed nose and wearing a red cap. He carries a small notebook.

The gnome places a hand to his heart. "Me? Why, I'm the gnome of commentary, hired to give little tidbits of information about the implementation of this room. Sadly, I'm one of the more complex objects in here." He nudges you. "A little too much effort for an easter egg, in my humble opinion."
You look at Hole
Cut into the middle of the floor, the hole opens upon a set of rickety stairs which lead down into the bowels of the church.

The gnome flips through is notebook, coming up empty-handed. "Yes, ah, well, it's a hole, what else can I say? You could try dropping something in it, I suppose, though nothing exciting will happen."
You go downwards
"Very well, if you no longer need me. . ." The gnome bows, then disappears with a *poof*.

Narthex (Hanon Ondricek)
The narthex extends the width of the church. Despite the
gloominess, it's not that unwelcoming except for the eye-watering pattern of industrial linoleum floor tiles. They checkerboard underfoot in grayish green and grayish white squares with dark speckles, stopping only at the margin marked by a wall border at waist level.

leads out of the building.

Two side by side openings lead in to restrooms.

Shattered glass and broken pieces of picture frames cover the floor of the narthex around the edges near the walls.
Leave
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You wait for the blue Line
You lean against the thing that isn't here, hold out your pass, and wait for the blue line. Within moments, an ethereal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes
through you, and you find yourself transported to

A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
Go inside
Inside the Shack (Daniel Ravipinto)
The shadows pool in strange shapes along the earthen floor of the shack, the only light coming from the cracks in the surprisingly high ceiling and through the opened door. Piles of accumulated junk that Peter's family must have stored here over the decades lie against the inner walls, which have turned grey with either dust or the mere passage of time.

Peter is here.

Peter paces nervously.
You examine the coffee
The swirls in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

Peter lies down and seems to go to sleep. A few moments later, he jolts awake.
Ring chime
Nothing happens. You try again. Still nothing.

The third time the chime bellows in response, a deep, aching
tone like a brazen bell the size of the manor itself. And then, silence. And yet the tone goes on - for you can feel it in the bones of your hand, your chest. And then

the chime is falling from your nerveless fingers as your hands clamp to your ears. For the ringing must still be going on, but your
ears...

Your hands come away, covered in blood and the grey walls of the shack slide to one side and you see Peter, on his feet, tears running down his face, screaming silently at you as he slams his fists against the strange barrier again and again and then it shatters and him
along with it.

A thousand shards of Peter are floating in the air, rotating slowly in the light and then they each slowly align, each a tiny dagger pointed at your face and then they fly...

A cramped and claustrophic darkness sketching out a triangular space of a few square feet. There must be light of some kind, because you can see, but for the life of you, you couldn't say where or what it's coming from. The walls are the same solid air you saw in the shack, but without the sigils you saw under the surface. Outside is only darkness.

Somehow, again, trapped in the same, small space, is Peter, lying slumped against the far wall.
You look at Peter
Peter's eyes roll upwards until they're pointed in your direction. He blinks exhaustedly. He's dressed in the same grey shift you find yourself wearing. He blinks again, as if uncertain what he's seeing, then he starts backwards as if surprised. Then he climbs to his knees and smiles.

"Darling?" he asks, passing his hand over his face in disbelief. "Is that you?"

He stands and takes a single step closer to you and somehow whatever is allowing you to see here brightens. Now it is you who is
blinking.

His face is wrong.

This isn't Peter. You don't know how you know but you know. There's something in his eyes, in the planes of his face.

"What?" the thing that is not your husband says, his mouth moving just a millimeter too much, his eyes half-closed, hiding something horrible behind the lids. "What is it?" he asks, with an awful wonder in his voice that turns your stomach. This is not Peter. This is Not-Peter.

Not-Peter approaches you slowly, frowning. He walks the length of the prism, back and forth, his eyes never leaving yours. Then he stops dead. "You're not her, are you? You're...who are you?"
You say vaadignephod
(to Not-Peter)
Not-Peter shudders. "What are you?"
You say naomi
(to Not-Peter)
Not-Peter frowns and presses himself against the prism wall, keeping as far from you as possible.
You say Cragne
(to Not-Peter)
Not-Peter suddenly turns to you, clearly angry. "What have you done with her!" he shouts. "What have you done with Naomi?"
You say vaadignephod
(to Not-Peter)
The non-light in the darkness beyond the wall flares and beyond it you can now see -- another prism. Another space defined by three walls, one of which is the wall of your own cell. And in that space -- another you, another Naomi, dressed in a grey shift. And with her, another Peter.

Not-Peter spins and stares at the pair, then looks back at you. "Is she the real..."
About yourself
What you were wearing and everything you carried are gone. You're been left clothed in a coarse grey shift, barely enough for modesty.

There's another flare and the light expands. Now there are
two other prisms.
You look at the prisms
There are four - two of Peter, two of you. The newest two can seem to see the older two. They're pounding on the prism walls to no avail.

There's another flare of non-light on either side of the prism. The number of others jumps to eight.

Far in the distance, you can make out what's happening in another chamber. Naomi is screaming and ripping at her face. Her eyes are gone. Peter keeps trying to offer her one of his.
You look at Peter
Not-Peter cannot take his eyes off the other cells. His face is pressed against the wall, his eyes flickering constantly from face to face.

The thing illuminating this space breathes outward. Doubling,
doubling  again -- so sixty-four copies?

You glance up. There is nothing in the prism other than six arms, arranged against the walls. You can't tell who they belong to from here.
You hit Peter
He's shocked by your sudden outburst of violence, but he manages to fend you off.

More non-light, more people ... hundreds...

There's another prism visible now. Peter is laughing. He can't stop laughing. He is gasping for breath, and his lips are turning blue. But the laughter still comes.
Kiss peter
Not-Peter might not like that.

Oh god. You somehow now know that there are exactly 1,227 copies around you. But you don't know which of you or Peter is missing a copy.

Your eyes randomly focus on one of the other chambers. Peter and Naomi are calmly drinking tea. At least you think it's tea. Now Peter is eating his cup.
You say vaadignephod
(to Not-Peter)
And now the non-light expands outwards - up and down and you
are at the center of a matrix extending infinitely in all directions and all there are are walls and Naomis and Peters. For ever and ever, amen.

Faced with the infinite, Not-Peter manages to pull himself away from the prism wall. He turns on you, tears in his eyes. "Which one? Which one is us? The real us?"
You say yourself
(to Not-Peter)
Not-Peter drops to his knees and begins to sob. "I can't take it anymore. I can't. I've just -- there's nothing here. Nothing real."

As he continues to sob, you notice a strange shimmering along the back of his hands.
You look at the hands
A strange helix of multicolored strings are attached to Not-Peter at various points - his hands, his elbows, his head. They vanish into the infinite madness of copies above you.

more of them - more threads, pulling upwards towards the ceiling...

Oh god. There's something in the ceiling.
You look at the ceiling
There is a thing. In the prism. In the ceiling. A spider thing. Eyes and legs and threads of rainbow. And all of them are attached to Not-Peter.

Not-Peter turns and the spider-thing turns and he opens his mouth and it opens its mouth and oh god its speaking and and crying in time with him because they're the same thing and god please let none of this be real nothing will ever be real again --

eyes are looking into your eyes because they're its eyes because you chose to move your hand and your eye and it's not telling you
you're telling it and then you pull back and it pulls up and then it's puppets all the way down...

An origami unfolding of your mind along an axis that you always knew was there but did not wish to see. A centipede with a million arms unfolding in all directions. Circles of patterns and routines. Sharp edges of improbability. Jagged lines of perverse action. Outright impossibilities cutting deep, defining a horizon.

And then a slowing and a flattening, and there you are, all of you -- all you were and are and could be -- laid out on the grey slab that is the rest of your non-reality. Pinned and flensed and categorized and autopsied before the great mass of eyes and twitching limbs above. And still the thread climbs and your sense of self climbs with it and then they both narrow and expand and soon you are not even you anymore...

The Vaadignephod-continuity was exceptionally clear as to what is to be allowed. The complete possibility space of the intersection of the Naomi-entity and the Peter-entity has been given over to the Weaver-continuity for purposes of experimentation and/or entertainment in exchange for support of material and/or energetic resources within the bound-domicile up to and including quasi-real multi-dimensional manifestations, as well as any necessary calculations performed within the given hypergeometric domain.

An equitable and standard enough exchange, like much of existence in the lower dimensions: limited, but full of possibility.

The initial state-machine, however, has revealed the full possibility space available utilizing only the entities' immediate physical manifestations to be rather small. It seems there is, in fact, a hard and considerable limit to how much a continuity can achieve with such mere flesh before repetition sets in.

Hence the Book.

A metaphor, of course. But a useful one. Its pages are theoretically infinite and the permutations of each individual page an orthogonal, additionally endless axis. For reasons that are unclear, there are only three such pages here. (Singularity is not to be desired. This is not good. You were in the mansion, you were looking for...something. Someone?)

Above the first of the Book's pages float sigils in the Tongue which read WHEN WE WERE NOT YET. The others await a mere turning away.

A tableau of meeting is laid out across the Book's scenery: a domicile of primitive education. Tiny entities scurry in the background from gathering to gathering, futilely attempting to expand their primitive minds. In the foreground is a momentous meeting between two entities as small as the others that crowd the scene. The Naomi-entity seems to be greeting the Peter-entity.
The Vaadignephod-continuity (oh god that's the...it's the thing doing all of this, isn't it?) utilizing a mere four of its myriad and infinite Aspects, had/has/will-have defined a complexly interesting manifold of hypergeometry -- bounded by the Four Fundamental Movements of the Utter North, South, East and West -- which defines the probability-space over which the Weaver-continuity was/has/will-be given dominion.

Laid across the top of the book's opened page like a bookmark is a lovely message-thread of your own design.
You look at the thread
It links this manifold possibility space to those of the rest of the continuity (though why you cannot hear them even now is disturbing). Pulling at it signaled/signals/will signal the rest of the continuity that the book may be closed, for your work/play here is done.
About yourself
A Weaver of Forms is a fine thing to be -- as beauteous and graceful as one is delicate and fragile. Clever of limbs and eyes and mind so as to encompass a myriad of creative realities. Your fate as part of such a continuity is much to be desired.
You check your inventory
You carry the whole of possibility within your claws.
You look at the page
The Book lies beneath your twitching limbs, aching to be changed. Above the first of the Book's pages float sigils in the Tongue which read WHEN WE WERE NOT YET. The others await a mere turning away.

A tableau of meeting is laid out across the Book's scenery: a domicile of primitive education. Tiny entities scurry in the background from gathering to gathering, futilely attempting to expand their primitive minds. In the foreground is a momentous meeting between two entities as small as the others that crowd the scene. The Naomi-entity seems to be greeting the Peter-entity.
You look at Naomi
That which exists within the book is possibility made manifest. Left in a given state, the entities and their environs define a singular spacetime slice that the rest of the Weaver-continuity may make use of, once they are alerted via the mechanism of the message-thread.
Turn page
The Book does not, of course, turn its pages. They are a metaphor. Yet as a metaphor it does an admirable job, shifting along yet another axis, giving you access to yet another portion of probability.

Above the second of the Book's pages float sigils in the Tongue which read WHEN WE BECAME. The others await a mere turning away.

A tableau of a primitive binding ritual is laid out across the Book's scenery: a group of mortal entities gathered against a green background, surrounded by flora of all kinds. Are all of them necessary as a sacrifice? In the foreground stand those that must be bound. They are adolescent, younger than those that surround them. One of the entities is the Naomi-entity. The other is the Peter-entity.
Turn page
Your tarsi ache with anticipation as the next probability-space slides into existence.

Above the third of the Book's pages float sigils in the Tongue which read WHEN WE WERE NO LONGER. The others await a mere turning away.

A tableau of some sort of parting ritual is laid out across the Book's scenery: a repository for the storage and repair of mortal entities. In the foreground stand those are to be parted. They are adolescent, barely sentient. The Naomi-entity is beginning the ritual.
Turn page
The current Page slips from probable existence and another shifts along the reality axis until it stands before you.

Above the first of the Book's pages float sigils in the Tongue which read WHEN WE WERE NOT YET. The others await a mere turning away.

A tableau of meeting is laid out across the Book's scenery: a domicile of primitive education. Tiny entities scurry in the background from gathering to gathering, futilely attempting to expand their primitive minds. In the foreground is a momentous meeting between two entities as small as the others that crowd the scene. The Naomi-entity seems to be greeting the Peter-entity.
Turn page
The Book bends to your will once more, slipping easily to the next Page.

Above the second of the Book's pages float sigils in the Tongue which read WHEN WE BECAME. The others await a mere turning away.

A tableau of a primitive binding ritual is laid out across the Book's scenery: a group of mortal entities gathered against a green background, surrounded by flora of all kinds. Are all of them necessary as a sacrifice? In the foreground stand those that must be bound. They are adolescent, younger than those that surround them. One of the entities is the Naomi-entity. The other is the Peter-entity.
You look at the photograph
Which do you mean, the photograph of a memory, photos of you (smelling faintly of mildew) or the a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)?
You examine the photograph memory
It's an old black and white photograph, with a silvery sheen that indicates that perhaps it was taken in the the early 1900s. It depicts a sunny day in an open park, the background filled with trees. A group of people have gathered in formal dress. You and Peter stand in the foreground. He's in a tuxedo, you're in a lovely floor-length dress. You're both so young - barely out of your teens.

This is from the day you were married! You remember it like it was yesterday. It was so awful. Papa had never approved of you and Peter. That was why you'd always met in secret. But then Mama had found out you were... in the family way. All of a sudden, any talk of separating the two of you stopped and they and Peter's family demanded that you and Peter tie the knot immediately. There was no real time to plan. You ended up getting hitched under a tree in the park.

This is impossible. There's no way this happened. There's no way it could have happened. And yet -- you remember. You
remember it as certainly as you remember anything else in your life.
You read vermibus
(first taking De Vermibus Laceris (smelling faintly of mildew))
Now you can flick through the yellowing pages of the grimoire, you learn that to open a way to your lost husband, you must:
blow the horn of the black goat,
while the stars are reflecting upon the grimoire,
with the stars falling under his true star sign,
and his most treasured memento,
and a divine pustule,
placed in a chalk circle beneath the raised grimoire.

Only then will the way open.
You look at the coffee
The swirls in your cup form -- weird, they've entirely dissipated. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.
You wait for the Eggplant Line
You lean against the town square, hold out your pass, and wait for the eggplant line. Within moments, a noncorporeal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you,
and you find yourself transported to

From this corner of the attic, paths lead south and west, or you can head back down the rickety staircase. A damp wind flows through a gash in the exterior wall.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Eggplant Line -- Cragne Manor Attic.
You go west
Branching Corridor (Zachary Hodgens)
A trace amount of sunlight filters in impossibly through imperceivable cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the barren wooden walls and floorboards of this narrow passageway. A short distance away you find yourself in a crossroads of sorts. Corridors leading elsewhere go off toward the northwest, west, east, and southeast. Several large potted cacti line the walls of the passageways.

The trace rays of sunlight beaming down from above get in your eyes.
Go southeast
You carefully sidestep through the maze of cacti you have built.

The Observatory (Joey Jones)
The observatory is a cramped domed room cluttered with all manner of mechanical contrivance. The way out is northwest.

At the top of the dome is a large telescope. Immediately beneath it is a vast projector, bristling with obscure controls.

To one side of the dome is a worn wooden lectern, set before a large chalk circle.

The device is projecting a star sign upon the walls of the dome.
You put Tome on the lectern
You place the grimoire on the lectern and it falls to the page of the ritual. The stars from the projector dance across its pages.
You put Cyst in the circle
You put the Cyst (smelling faintly of mildew) into the chalk circle.
You put the memory in the circle
You put the photograph of a memory into the chalk circle.
Blow horn
You try to draw some sound from the horn, putting it to your lips. It lets out a low shuddering sound, like a thousand goats crying out in slow motion.

The grimoire shakes upon the lectern.

The chalk circle glows.

The cyst starts to bubble.

The stars shine brighter upon the observatory's walls, and the whole room ripples.
room ripples.The horn cracks and crumbles to dust in your hands. The cyst bursts and evaporates into the ruin in a greasy haze. The photograph in the chalk circle burns to ash. Something perpendicular to this plane of existence worms its way through into the observatory.

There is a crack in existence; a portal taking up the space in the center of the room where the device once stood.
You examine the portal
Peering through you catch brief glimpses of impossible geography beyond. If the ritual has worked, entering the portal will be the way to reach your husband at last.
You enter the portal
You take a deep breath and step outside of the world. Your senses curdle. You see yourself outside of yourself, as if you were a second person. Your memories of the last day (or night? or season? or year?) shuffle like the star signs across the observatory, with dozens of competing possible versions of yourself juxtaposed incoherently.

You try to grasp at what the true memory was. A woman, searching a house for her husband? A trip to the library to return overdue books? But now in your mind you only have a patchwork of impossible moments. Of bizarre creatures, unlikely tasks and glimpses at the precipice of madness.
You arrive somewhere else.

Gulf of Nehilim (Nobody)
You look around
Gulf of Nehilim (Nobody)
Wait
Whatever.

The Great Purple Unknown (Adri)
The world around you is purple. So much purple. The immediate area is bright enough to see, but you don't see any obvious light source, and then there is darkness. Purple darkness. The ground seems to be some sort of dark stone. There is a gate here, an ornate wrought-iron one with an arch over it, but it doesn't connect to any sort of fence. In fact, you can walk around the gate without any problem, and through it, you see only more purple. Above the gate, secured to the metal arch, are a set of masks.

In the center of the lit area is Peter. He kneels on the ground, staring off into nothingness.
About yourself
You've looked better. You could really use a nice warm shower when all this is over.
You examine Peter
It's your husband, Peter! He looks unharmed, but his eyes are dull, and he is unresponsive under your gaze.
You kiss him
You kiss Peter gently on the lips, hoping to rouse him. For a moment, it seems like he's responding in kind, until you feel the tentacles slide down your throat. The last thing you see are his eyes, glowing with a distant light.
You touch Peter
You place your fingers on Peter's neck, feeling for a pulse. It's weak and irregular, but it's there. Suddenly his hands are caressing your cheeks. He stares intently into your eyes as he twists your head to the side, snapping your neck.
You hit Peter
Have you gone crazy? Well, maybe you have. But nonetheless, that doesn't seem like a good idea.
You examine Gate
A pair of closed metal gates, the sort that should swing open, if only you could figure out how they worked. The bars are too decorative and entwined to squeeze through, and the gate is too high to climb over, not that you think it would take you anywhere if you did. You can walk right around it, and the other side is near identical, minus the masks on the arch.
You look at the masks
It's a set of those tragedy and comedy masks you've seen on theatre playbills. You think they're named Sock and Buskin.
You say Sock
(to Peter)
Your lips form words, but no sound comes out.
You get the masks
They're just too high for you to reach, even standing on your toes.
You examine Darkness
You are surrounded by darkness in all directions.
You examine Peter
It's your husband, Peter! He looks unharmed, but his eyes are dull, and he is unresponsive under your gaze.
You examine the arch
A tall iron arch standing around the gates. A set of masks hang at the apex.
You climb Gate
You make it all the way to the top of the gate, when your foot slips and you fall across the top of the gate, impaling yourself on a rather sharp spike you hadn't noticed before. Your death comes slowly, but it does come.
You open Gate
You pull and push on the bars to no avail. It must be locked, but there's no latch or keyhole.
You listen
You hear nothing at all. It is eerily quiet.
Search gate
Looking more closely, you see a set of dials hidden in the decoration of the gate.
You examine the dials
There are two dials here, like those found on a combination lock, one on each gate.
You look at the dial
Which do you mean, the right dial or the left dial?
You examine the left dial
It's a tiny dial. It can be turned to any number. It currently reads 0.
You set the left dial to 3
You turn the left dial to 3.
You set right dial to 19
The dial only goes from 0 to 9.
Search masks
That would be easier if you were holding the masks.
You examine the note
You unfold and read the note. The handwriting is unmistakably your husband's. "Ialdabaoloth". It's a single word, but suddenly everything makes sense. You start to laugh uncontrollably.
You look
The Great Purple Unknown (Adri)
The world around you is purple. So much purple. The immediate area is bright enough to see, but you don't see any obvious light source, and then there is darkness. Purple darkness. The ground seems to be some sort of dark stone. There is a gate here, an ornate wrought-iron one with an arch over it, but it doesn't connect to any sort of fence. In fact, you can walk around the gate without any problem, and through it, you see only more purple. Above the gate, secured to the metal arch, are a set of masks.

In the center of the lit area is Peter. He kneels on the ground, staring off into nothingness.

You can also see a note here.
You point at the masks
You point at the set of masks. Peter doesn't notice.
Point at Gate
You point at the gate. Peter doesn't notice.
You point at yourself
You point at yourself. Peter doesn't notice.
You point at Peter
You point at Peter. Peter doesn't notice.
Wave
You wave.
You wave at Peter
You wave at Peter. He doesn't wave back.
Shake peter
You shake Peter. When you let go, his body continues to shake. His skin splits open, revealing the most beautiful creature you have ever seen. Overcome with happiness, you start to weep, tears of blood running down your cheeks.
You hug Peter
You wrap your arms around Peter, trying to warm him up. You're about to give up, when he suddenly hugs you back. He's cold, so cold. You try to pull away, but he only holds you more tightly, squeezing you until you can barely breathe. When he finally releases you, you find you are frozen in place. As the world around you goes black, all you can think is that at least your husband is alive.
You cry
You break down into tears, sobbing heavily, all without making a sound.

Your heart feels a little lighter.
Laugh
You laugh. At first it feels forced, but soon you're laughing hysterically, albeit silently.

The world seems a little brighter.

Suddenly Peter looks up at you. He stands up and walks over to you, taking your hand.
Point at Gate
You point at the gate. Peter shrugs.
You point at masks
You gesture at the set of masks. Peter nods and retrieves them for you.
You look at the masks
It's a set of those tragedy and comedy masks you've seen on theatre playbills. You think they're named Sock and Buskin.
You search them
sock mask: You wipe away some dirt, revealing the number 2.

buskin mask: It's been scratched out, but you think you can make out the number 5.
You set left dial to 2
You turn the left dial to 2.
You set the right dial to 5
You turn the right dial to 5.

The gate suddenly swings open.
You enter Gate
You take Peter's hand and walk forward, through the gate and into the night.
You go to the west
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
Go west
Estate Agent's Office (Jenni Polodna)
The space is dominated by the unexpectedly symbiotic combination of a giant desk and a tiny woman, who together give the impression of being one complete single entity, like a centaur. The surface of the desk is invisible underneath a loose pile of glossy architectural magazines, manila folders, and real estate listings pamphlets. Behind it, a gunmetal-grey filing cabinet lurks unattractively in the far corner. The exit back out to the street is east.

Bethany looks at you expectantly. "Any real estate questions for me?"
You ask Bethany about the church basement
"I'm sorry," Bethany says, "I have auditory processing disorder, and as far as I can tell, you just said 'latency pals'.
Go east
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.
You unlock Door with the brass key
You unlock the Shack Door.
Go inside
(first opening the Shack Door)

Inside the Shack (Daniel Ravipinto)
The shadows pool in strange shapes along the earthen floor of the shack, the only light coming from the cracks in the surprisingly high ceiling and through the opened door. Piles of accumulated junk that Peter's family must have stored here over the decades lie against the inner walls, which have turned grey with either dust or the mere passage of time.

One of the shadows at the shack's far end moves, then separates into a distinct shape, slumped against a supporting pillar. There's something in here with you.
You go northwest
The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
Branches scramble overhead, straining toward one another in a bid to blot out the sky. Mercifully, light manages to filter down through an opening in the canopy above a small pond. Paths slither away into the forest to the north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a flat stone here.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear a mourning dove's plaintive song. From above, a leaf floats slowly toward the ground.
Go north
The Old Well (Reed Lockwood)
The trees here gather, black with wet; glimmering fingers hung with ragged matter, huddling beneath a cold and gently weeping sky. Beneath your feet, the damp red felt of rotting leaves slopes down toward a still, murky puddle. Nearby is a well, a ragged, gaping hole in the earth. A broken-down section of brick wall waits for raindrops to fall along its spine, and an old, half-dead oak straddles an angular boulder studded with quartz. A path through the forest leads south.

You can see a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew), a comfy snake, a colorful bird, a polyphonic ungulate and a wooden sigil here.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Green Line -- The Woods.
Go upwards
The Old Well (Reed Lockwood)
The trees here gather, black with wet; glimmering fingers hung with ragged matter, huddling beneath a cold and gently weeping sky. Beneath your feet, the damp red felt of rotting leaves slopes down toward a still, murky puddle. Nearby is a well, a ragged, gaping hole in the earth. A broken-down section of brick wall waits for raindrops to fall along its spine, and an old, half-dead oak straddles an angular boulder studded with quartz. A path through the forest leads south.

You can see a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew), a comfy snake, a colorful bird, a polyphonic ungulate and a wooden sigil here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Green Line -- The Woods.
You go to the south
The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
Branches scramble overhead, straining toward one another in a bid to blot out the sky. Mercifully, light manages to filter down through an opening in the canopy above a small pond. Paths slither away into the forest to the north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a flat stone here.

The wind picks up again for a moment, and a few leaves fall from above. One of the leaves settles in your hair. You disentangle the leaf and toss it to the ground.
Go southwest
The Churchyard (David Jose)
A neglected and long forgotten cemetery stretches out below you, surrounded by a rusted wrought iron fence. Lopsided gravemarkers, slowly succumbing to the elements, topple downhill like a congregation bent low in prayer. At the very center of the graveyard, set into a low valley, a squat, stone mausoleum crouches menacingly.

To the southwest a dilapidated, stave church rises up obscenely against the night sky.

A dark pine forest crowds against the wrought iron fence to the northeast. You might be able to forge a path between its trees.
You go inside
Mausoleum (Gary Butterfield)
You're blinking more than usual. You shake your head to try to clear it.
You go southwest
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You eat the milkweed
(the giant milkweed leaf)
That's plainly inedible.
You go to the north
To the north is the monumental windowless bulk of the train station. Perhaps that is unsurprising, given the rest of the town. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine.
You go to the north
The dim and dingy surroundings hold no more interest for you. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the door to the station office are to the east. The restroom door is to the west.
Go east
Station Security Room (Monique Padelis)
The compact room smells earthy, as if you've stepped into a forest just after the dew has settled. A framed article hangs on the moss green walls alongside a window that lets in a little light. Your eyes are drawn to the two glowing CRT monitors on a desk that runs the length of the east wall. A leather chair sits in front of the desk and most of the south wall is taken up by shelves with labelled VHS tapes. The door to the station is to your west.
Go west
As you walk out of the office you feel a wrenching sensation in your gut, as if some part of you is being dragged out, kicking and screaming. For a few moments everything looks like a threat: the slippery ground, the bending trees, the very air you breathe, carrying God only knows what kind of toxins.

The dim and dingy surroundings hold no more interest for you. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the door to the station office are to the east. The restroom door is to the west.
Go north
Railway Platform (Naomi Hinchen)
The platform is open to the outdoors, but has an overhanging roof with a rusted sign hanging from it. At the back of the platform, to the south, is the entrance to the lobby. Train tracks stretch off into the distance to the east and west; on the other side of the track is a graffitied brick wall.

The clock overhead gives the time as 6:13 am; beneath the clock is a schedule board listing train arrival times. On the platform itself are a wooden bench, a storage locker, and a vending machine.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Brown Line -- Train Station.
Wave
There's no one here to wave at, so you're just doing jazz hands.

For no apparent reason, the PA system plays a three-second snatch of bagpipe music.

The clock gives a deep, booming chime on the quarter hour.
You jump
You do a few jumping jacks. Great, that's your cardio for today!

Thunder rumbles in the distance.
Sing
Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world...
Sing
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's
amore...

The wind blows stray leaves across the tracks.
You look at the clock
The clock face seems almost to be staring at you, as the second hand sweeps hypnotically around it. The time shown is 6:19 am. You can't see the clock very closely from down here.
You wait for the Gold Line
You sit on the bench, hold out your pass, and wait for the gold line. Within moments, a noncorporeal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you
find yourself transported to

The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.
You go inside
The women's restroom is tidy as church facilities go. There is only one way out, unless you count the bathroom stall door reflected
in the mirror above the sink.
You go west
You are in the main worship area of the church. Whom or what this chapel is used to worship is not immediately apparent. The accommodations are fairly modest: several rows of pews face toward the west end of the room, where a pulpit stands in front of an altar. In the corner of the room is a cheap-looking electric organ. The one lavish decoration is an elaborate stained glass window taking up most of the wall behind the altar.

The vestibule is to the east. On the southern wall is a wooden door, which is open.

On the altar are a collection plate (empty) and a lockbox (empty).
You look at the window
The window is made up of hundreds of small shards of glass, stained with an impressive variety of colors. Although the effect is striking, though it's difficult to tell exactly what is the image that's meant to be depicted here -- whenever you look away and back, it seems as though the colors have changed to produce different shapes. At the moment, it most resembles a werewolf.
Go downwards
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

You hear a sound from somewhere down the tunnel. Maybe a rat. Hopefully a rat.
You go to the north-east
Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.
You go to the south-west
Drinking Fountain (Lucian Smith)
A public drinking fountain is placed in a nook here, nearly overgrown with ivy. You can return to the town square to the northeast.

A ragged hole graces the side of the brick fountain.
You go to the east
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large inhuman sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.

On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.
Go east
Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast. A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A man stands near the barricade. He appears to be contemplating the contents of the dig site.

A grad student works fastidiously on the fossilized bones in the pit.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.
Go north
Backwater Jail (Marshal Tenner Winter)
The air is stale in this wood-paneled sheriff's office. You feel as if you've stepped back in time maybe twenty years as the office furnishings in here are simple and utilitarian. A desk, generic in style but wide enough for an outdated-looking computer, is near the window. A swivel chair is behind it and a wooden visitors chair is on the other side. Despite the meager light that creeps in the window, there's still a bleak glow from fluorescent bulbs overhead. Other furnishings include a file cabinet and, what appears to be, a locker that was literally ripped out of a high school and placed against the wall in here.

Otherwise, a cheap door with a unisex bathroom sign on it is to the west and a secure door, obviously the lock-up, is to the north. The exit is south.

You can see a desiccated corpse here.

On the desk is a clipboard holding some paperwork.
You go to the north
Padded cell (Marius Müller)
The overhead lightbulb in its wire-mesh cage barely lights the room. Everything here seems a colorless beige - the cracked floor tiles, the thick cloth padding on the walls. A padded door leads south.

A secret compartment in the wall has swung open, revealing a small switch and some graffiti that says "THEY THOUGHT THEY COULD TRAP ME IN MY OWN CELL".

A metal chest stands in a corner of the room.
Go southeast
Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover)
Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain.

A hole is smashed into its side.

To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant.
Go upwards
Dusty office (Matthew Korson)
This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room.

Dust hangs so thickly in the air that you can hardly see to the other side of the room. You wheeze and choke every time you take a breath.

You can see an enormous dessicated rat corpse, a diagram scratched into the floor, a broken knife handle and a piece of yellowed newsprint here.
Go downwards
You quickly climb down the stairs.

The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen)
You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door.
Enter
Family Crypt (Justin Melvin)
You are in a long-neglected, dusty, and surprisingly cold crypt, about the size of a garage. The walls are covered with a dark mold creeping from the floor, and the whole place smells unsettlingly like cured meat and leather. There are numerous plaques on the floor, and it is difficult to navigate the room without stepping on one of them. Your eyes are drawn to the only other object in the room: a large ornately decorated stone coffin. The only exit is the door you came in through leading back outside.
You look at the welcome mat
The welcome mat lies crooked in front of the door. It is flecked with mud.
You go to the west
Court (Ryan Veeder)
Walls paneled with elaborate boiseries curl slowly around this ovular hall. The western vertex of the ellipse is dominated by an enormous window; at the opposite end, a low archway leads east to the foyer. A glass display case is set into the north wall.

In the center of the room, an irregular circle of twelve pedestals surrounds a black monolith.

On the puce pedestal is a figurine of a greyhound.

On the xanthic pedestal is a figurine of a peregrine falcon.

On the griseous pedestal is a figurine of a cat.

On the mazarine pedestal is a figurine of a Pontiac Firebird.

On the niveous pedestal is a figurine of a wolverine.

On the fulvous pedestal is a figurine of a duck.

On the rufous pedestal is a figurine of a rat.

On the eburnean pedestal is a figurine of a kraken.

On the cesious pedestal is a figurine of a silverfish.

On the fuscous pedestal is a figurine of a white antelope.

On the icterine pedestal is a figurine of a weasel.

On the croceate pedestal is a figurine of an eel.

The rain falls harder, louder, slamming into the window.
Continue
You hold down the button. The speaker blares out: "—by men worthy of belief (though Allah's knowledge is greater) that in the first days there was a king of the isles of Babylonia who called together his architects and his priests and bade them build him a labyrinth so confused and so subtle that the most prudent men would not venture to enter it, and those who did would lose their way. Most unseemly was the edifice that resulted, for it is the prerogative of God, not man, to strike confusion and inspire—"

The stained glass lights up again, and you see the figure raising something to its lips.
Go north
Rec Room (Zack Johnson)
The manor's rec room is short for the manor's recreation room. Even though it's as old as the manor itself, it looks, as all rec rooms do, like it's stuck in the 1970s.

The room is dominated by a pool table. Or maybe a billiards table, you were never really sure what the difference is. An old television sits atop a little wooden stand in front of a comfy-looking easy chair.

Doors lead south and east, and the north wall is covered entirely in built-in cabinets, whose glass doors lead, predictably, into their interiors.
Go east
The Music Room (Wade Clarke)
You are in a large modern studio space, not unlike a concert hall but without any seating. Dark, golden-hued wooden paneling lines the floor and walls, imbuing the area with an intimate atmosphere in spite of its size. The walls curve inwards in a carefully designed asymmetrical fashion (some kind of acoustic treatment?) and electric-bulbed faux chandeliers fill the place with ruddy light.

A doorway leads out of the music room to the west.

Standing against the center of the eastern wall, facing you, is a mahogany podium with four push-buttons on it.
Go north
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
A dusty room, unvisited for more than two decades.

You can see a window (closed) and a Tome of Naomi here.
You leave
The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east.

You hear an electronic humming noise coming from the hole in the wallpaper.
You go to the west
Study (Ian Holmes)
Barely a sunbeam reaches this study. Dust cakes the desk, drapes, and book-lined shelves like a bug mass grave. More insect bodies litter the carpet in earlier states of decay. The exit is east.

You definitely feel guilty. As if the headmaster is coming.

On the desk are a notepad and a photo.
Go south
Balcony (Reina Adair)
The balcony has definitely seen better days. Once it was more than likely a fine place to sit and look out over the skyline or whatever one desired to do out here. However, its charm has been lost with the passage of time. The wood, once more than likely shiny and well polished, is now rotten and peeling in various spots. Somehow, despite the way the architecture has aged, the railing at the end of the balcony itself is still somewhat sturdy. All around, the view of the scenery is breathtaking, albeit somewhat unsettling for some reason. Occasionally, a slight breeze blows past you, but you can't tell if its supposed to be warm or cool. The only exit from here is to the north.

A statue with a very strange appearance to it is standing here, almost as if it is watching the area.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Lavender Line -- Cragne Manor Balcony.
You go to the east
A shaft of light through the door to the west falls upon as tidy a closet as ever you've seen. The shelves are clear, and now you can see a trapdoor in the ceiling above them.
Go upwards
From this corner of the attic, paths lead south and west, or you can head back down the rickety staircase. A damp wind flows through a gash in the exterior wall.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Eggplant Line -- Cragne Manor Attic.
You go to the south
Disheveled Studio (Katherine Morayati)
The studio must have been abandoned in a hurry. The bookshelves are ransacked, the easel in pieces on the floor, bulbs torn out of two of the ceiling lights. The only thing undisturbed is a table, solid like a slab, precisely in the center of the room. Several layers of heavy curtain block off crawlspaces to the north and southeast.

The room smells distractingly of Peter's cologne.

Nothing remains of the canvas but a hollowed-out shell.
Scents
Cedar: Enhances visions.
Frankincense: Purifies sins.
Tuberose: Inflames passions.
Petrichor: Promotes rot.
Animalic musk (castoreum, civet): Promotes depravity.
Blood: Binds an object to the one who bled.

Savior's breath: Colorless and curiously insubstantial. Used for purification.
Peat venom: Extracted from cadavers in river mud. Opens one up to forces beyond this earth.
Dispulsichor: Undoes the effect of past divination.
Go southeast
The curtains swing back into place with a thud.

Abandoned Nursery (Harrison Gerard)
An octagonal room. Dust coats the walls. In one corner, a crib. In the other, a dollhouse. Exits lead northwest, north, and northeast.

You can see a "Gossipin' Gertie" doll and a vacuum cleaner here.
You wait awhile
Time passes.
You go west
Science Tower (Riff Conner)
This round, tall room must be a tower. I don't know if you were given a description of the manor from the outside, or if it mentioned a tower if you were, but if you were and it did, this is probably that tower. At a guess it's around fifty feet tall, although it's very shadowy up at the top so it's difficult to estimate it accurately.

It appears to be some kind of science lab, although you would expect a science lab to have more stuff in it; perhaps all the stuff that was easily moveable has already been taken away. There's a large table in the center of the room, and everything else is up against the walls: a complex-looking control console, a large chalkboard, a metal cabinet, an old iron ashtray stand, and a wooden barstool with a hamster cage on top of it.

The whole place has a thick smell of science throughout it (assuming science smells like chalk dust, hamster, cigarettes, and electricity), and rain is pounding at the windows. There are exits to the east and southwest.

On the chalkboard is a yellow sticky-note.
You look at the dr peanut
Dr. Peanut is holding his peanut in his little arms as if it were a major science award, and looking rather pleased with himself.
You go east
Dr. Peanut squeaks queryingly as you leave.

Branching Corridor (Zachary Hodgens)
A trace amount of sunlight filters in impossibly through imperceivable cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the barren wooden walls and floorboards of this narrow passageway. A short distance away you find yourself in a crossroads of sorts. Corridors leading elsewhere go off toward the northwest, west, east, and southeast. Several large potted cacti line the walls of the passageways.

The trace rays of sunlight beaming down from above get in your eyes.
Go southeast
You carefully sidestep through the maze of cacti you have built.

The Observatory (Joey Jones)
The observatory is a cramped domed room cluttered with all manner of mechanical contrivance. The way out is northwest.

At the top of the dome is a large telescope. Immediately beneath it is a vast projector, bristling with obscure controls.

To one side of the dome is a worn wooden lectern, set before a large chalk circle.

The device is projecting a star sign upon the walls of the dome.
You go north
Cold Storage Room (Jeremy Freese)
Aunt Mavis used to keep her peaches in a room that didn't look at all like this. On the walls is a message written in blood, composed in an ancient language you know intimately.

There's also the thing Aunt Mavis gave you. You now understand what it is.
You go east
Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed) and a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.
You go east
Workroom (Andrew Plotkin)
You are in a circular chamber, walled in the same decaying brickwork which runs all through the manor's basement. A ritual bound of oddly-angled runes has been carved around the perimeter of the room. The only exit is west.

A majestic filing cabinet stands in one corner, stuffed to overflowing with antique journals. Next to it is a full-length, badly fogged mirror.

The lunar sphere on the wall is entirely red. A knob is visible underneath it.
You go west
Your ears pop and you stumble as you step across the threshold, reeling in a momentary gravitational slippage.

Laboratory (Michael Gentry)
Hard, white light reflected from steel walls pricks painfully at your eyes. Through the glare you can make out the implements of some sort of laboratory, squirming sculptures of metal and glass dripping curdled fluids and spurting foul-smelling puffs of steam. A way out lies east, but otherwise there seem to be no other exits from this place.
Go downwards
Something tells you that Edwin Cragne really would not want you to take his secrets out of this room and that you really ought to leave the journal in the boiler room.

Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes)
The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground.
You wake up
You rouse yourself from your dream. In your dream, you were in a dank, narrow tunnel, filled with foul slime. In your waking life, you are as well. Is there any difference?
You jump
You try to jump, but your feet break through the crust below you and into the underlying slime. You extract yourself.