All Alone
Ian Finley
atmospheric basic difficulty creepypasta female protagonist horror literary parser puzzleless Replayable short length sound Stalker TADS TADS 2 thriller
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You're all alone tonight.

Of course, you've gotten used to that since you moved in with Harvey. He works the late shift at the delicatessen every Tuesday and Thursday. He'll be back before too long. That man works so hard.

You slip into your toasty flannel pajamas because there's a cold winter rain coming down outside and the heat in Harvey's sub-basement apartment really needs looking at. You settle down into the oversized couch in the living room and snap on the TV. Tonight you're just going to relax.

all alone.
by ian finley

The living room is small; the big couch takes up almost all the floorspace. Not that you're complaining. It's the best Harvey can afford right now and until your drawings really start to sell you aren't contributing much financially. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the squat cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. Through a wide arch in the northwest corner you can see most of the kitchen and to the northeast is the bedroom. The door to the cement-floored outside hall is to the west.
You examine the drawings
The pictures are sketches, originals of your work. One is of a young man walking into a high school; another is a little girl boarding a plane. Your teacher is arranging to get some of your works on display downtown.

You hear the news starting on the TV.

Rain taps on the little square windows.
You check your inventory
You have a set of pajamas (being worn).

The TV continues, "This is the fourth slaying of this kind to occur in the past three weeks. . . "
You examine the couch
The couch is a huge, overstuffed thing that Harvey picked up at some flea market. Its all orange and yellow, pretty obnoxious.

The TV continues, ". . .and police are focusing as much on quelling the growing panic in the city as on catching the killer. "
You examine the bookshelf
The homemade bookshelf is basically a pile of paperbacks and big anatomy textbooks barely supported by cement blocks and sagging boards. There is a little candle burning on top that just screams "fire hazard."

The TV continues, "We have been asked not to broadcast the images we have of the crime scene, but the killer has left his usual macabre calling cards."
You look at candle
The candle is white and held in a little blue glass cup. It's lit, not that it helps much.

The TV continues, "The young woman's internal organs had been removed, and several thin strips of skin shaved from the body."

The storm is gathering force outside.
Leave
You're not going anywhere until you get out of the couch.

The TV continues, "While not wishing to encourage the unreasonable fear spreading through the city, the police do encourage women living alone to keep all curtains closed and make sure their doors are securely locked."
You get off the couch
Okay, you're no longer on the couch.

The TV continues, "In a related story, Mayor Anderson has significantly increased active police presence on the streets and has proposed another raise in pay."
You examine the window
Rain drizzles down the dark windows. They're small and placed high up since this is a basement apartment.

The TV continues, "These raises come at a crucial time, as work related stress causes growing numbers of investigators resign every week."
You blow out the candle
You blow out the candle.

For a moment the TV is blurred by loud static. Damn antennas.
You lock the door
Which door do you mean, the outside door, or the bedroom door?
Outside door
The door is already locked, two deadbolts and a latch.

The static clears and picks up with the anchorman saying, ". . .continued threats of chemical warfare."
You lock the bedroom door
It's too far away.

The TV continues, "In further world news--" and is cut short by low static.
You go to the northwest
The kitchen is deep and narrow, with sink and stove and refrigerator jutting out at awkward angles. It's not that the place is really dirty, but your mother wouldn't be able to stand it. The tile counters are washed-out yellow, slightly grimy, and the sink is more than half filled with this week's dishes. You can see about half the living room through the arch to the southeast, light from the TV flickering on the far wall.

The television growls with hushed static.

The phone's ringing, in the bedroom.
You look at the fridge
The refrigerator is a massive, humming block, probably left over from when this old building was first divided up into apartments.

The TV continues to hum.
You open the fridge
There is cold bread and meat in the refrigerator.

The static on the TV gives out to total silence.
You take the meat
Which meat do you mean, the canned food, or the bread and meat?
You take the bread
You don't want to carry that around.

The sound on the TV suddenly comes back in, loud.

Annoyed by the ringing, you finally dash into the bedroom and grab the receiver. "Hello?" No answer. You ask again and hear heavy breathing on the other end, panting. You stand there for a moment, trying to think of some response, something biting and clever, but you can't, and the harsh wheezing continues. You hang up the phone and stand there for a moment.
You look at socks
The old phone is on the floor, half buried by a pile of socks.

A hyperactive TV weatherman blurts out, "Well folks, tonight doesn't look too good."

A fat cockroach scurries over your bare left foot. Without thinking you jerk away and smash it with the ball of your right foot and it crunches under your skin. You quickly wipe the guts off your sole onto the floor and shudder.
You take the socks
The phone isn't ringing.

The TV continues, "This storm is gonna continue right up until tomorrow morning, and it is one monster of a storm."
You look at your surroundings
The bedroom is really much too small for everything in it. It was
ok when it was just Harvey's big waterbed and his dresser, but when you brought in your drafting desk with its lamps and everything, the room just got too crowded. You have to practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet to the east and the door to the bathroom to the west is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's socks and clothes crouch on the floor. He's been used to being a bachelor for so long. You can see the living room through the arch to the southwest.

The TV continues, "Winds up to seventy-two miles per hour have been reported, and the rain just keeps coming down."
Wear socks
You can't wear the phone.

The TV continues, "It's like the end of the world out there."
You examine desk
Your drafting table is the one serious piece of furniture you took from your parents' house when you moved in here. It's covered with half-finished sketches, charcoals and cups of pencils. The bulbs in the two lamps that are attached to it have burnt out.

There's a sudden clap of thunder outside and the wind starts picking up. The transmission on the TV starts to fade.
You examine sketches
The table has several open sketch pads, all with drawings in various stages of completion. Several pairs of cold, unseeing eyes stare at you from underneath scattered sheets, daring you to complete their bodies. You ignore them.

The sound on the TV fades in and out. You hear snatches of words and phrases.

Lightning flashes brightly for a moment, lighting up the whole apartment. The thunder comes almost at once.
You examine the bed
The water bed is this squelching monster of a thing really low to the floor and covered with neon green sheets. The pillows are the same whacked color. It's comfy though.

From the TV you hear, "Buy Fleischmann's. . .static, garble. . .
it slices, it dices, it. . . static, garble. . . "
You take all
clothing: You slip quickly out of your pajamas and into some jeans and a shirt that are on the floor.

From the TV you hear, "In our last story. . .garble. . .Good-night from. . .static. . . "

The phone.
You answer the socks
Frustrated, you grab the receiver, but don't say anything. The man on the other end is whispering. You can't make out exactly what he's saying. It sounds like, "You're not thinking of going anywhere are you?" You don't reply. "Didn't want to go out in your pajamas did you?" You glance quickly towards the window.The blinds are open. You can't see anything through the dark and rain."I just wouldn't go outside, ok, sweetie?" You slam down the receiver.

From the TV you hear, "Stay in. . .static. . .if you need. . .static. . .to go out. . ." and then complete silence.
You close the blinds
You unfold the blinds and cover the windows.
You call Harvey
You punch in Harvey's work number. Old man Luttfisk answers. You hate his voice. It sounds slimy.

"Luttfisk's Delicatessen. We're closin' up here--"

"Yes, Mr. Luttfisk, I know, I was just wondering if Harvey was there."

"Harvey?"

"Yes, Harvey, your assistant, if he's there--"

"Oh he left a long time ago. Had to pick up supplies. Yeah. He left a long time ago. Good night." Click. Buzz. You hang up the phone.
Go east
The closet is tiny and dark, barely enough room for you to stand in.
A few of your clothes are hanging on the one bar but most of them are still in a big box on the floor.

The sound on the TV jumps back in with raucous peals of laughter, some stupid sitcom or something.

The storm is getting even worse, the rain drowning out any other sound.
You open the box
The box is already open, you can see it's contents. For that matter, you don't think it ever had a lid to start with.

The tone of the TV changes and you hear, "We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this important message."
Inventory
You have a unlit candle and some clothes.

Static on the TV.
You kill
What do you want to attack?
You lock the door
There's no way to lock the door.

Static on the TV.
Wait
Time passes...

There's another whip of lightning and the TV shuts down completely.
Wait
Time passes...
Look around
The closet is tiny and dark, barely enough room for you to stand in.
A few of your clothes are hanging on the one bar but most of them are still in a big box on the floor.
You listen
Rain and thunder. The creaks of an old building.
You go west
You open the closet door and step out into the bedroom. No one there. You listen carefully but you can't hear anything in the apartment.

The bedroom is too small for everything in it. You have to
practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet and the door to the bathroom is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's dirty clothes crouch on the floor.
You go west
This is the darkest room in the apartment. The toilet works and the sink and shower aren't too dirty, but whenever you put on makeup you have to do it on your desk where there's more light instead of using the mirror in here.
You look at the mirror
The mirror is one of those medicine cabinet things, into which you've crammed all your necessary toiletries. It's closed right now.
You open it
You open the cabinet.
You look in the cabinet
Inside the open medicine cabinet is a ton of random bathroom junk.
You look at the sink
The sink is one of those tiny things on a tall free-standing pedestal. Harvey says it's Victorian, but you think it's just plain annoying cuz there's nowhere to put anything on it or even any space under it for cabinets.
You go to the east
The bedroom is too small for everything in it. You have to
practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet and the door to the bathroom is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's dirty clothes crouch on the floor.
You look at the table
Your drafting table is the one serious piece of furniture you took from your parents' house when you moved in here. It's covered with half-finished sketches, charcoals and cups of pencils. The bulbs in the two lamps that are attached to it have burnt out.
You take the pencil
You grab one of the pencils.
You examine the pencil
It's a plain, number 2 graphite pencil with a little green eraser.
You draw
You sit down at the desk and grab a fresh piece of paper. You start moving your pencil over the smooth surface, letting it form whatever shapes it wants. A long dark gash on the paper resolves into a man's shadow. Diagonal lines mist into the slashing rain. Details, a long coat, a suitcase, a knife. . . You stop drawing and crumple up the paper. Another time.
You go east
The closet is tiny and dark, barely enough room for you to stand in.
A few of your clothes are hanging on the one bar but most of them are still in a big box on the floor.
You go to the west
The bedroom is too small for everything in it. You have to
practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet and the door to the bathroom is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's dirty clothes crouch on the floor.
You go west
This is the darkest room in the apartment. The toilet works and the sink and shower aren't too dirty, but whenever you put on makeup you have to do it on your desk where there's more light instead of using the mirror in here.
Go southwest
The living room is small, the couch takes up all the space. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. You can see the kitchen to the northwest and the bedroom door to the northeast. The door to the outside hall is to the west.
Sitting on the floor is a Polaroid picture.
You take the picture
Taken.
You look at the picture
Which picture do you mean, the Polaroid picture, or the sketches?
You examine the polaroid
It takes you a minute to figure out what the blurry, close-up picture is of. When you realize, your stomach knots, the bile rises in your throat. You fight down the nausea.
You go northwest
The kitchen is narrow, with sink and stove and refrigerator jutting
out at odd angles. The tile counters are washed-out yellow, and the sink is half filled with dishes. You can see about half the living room to the southeast.
The refrigerator seems to contain some bread and meat.
You turn off the timer
You twist the timer knob and turn off the bell. You'd forgotten about the lasagna you put in to cook an hour ago. Harvey brought it home from the deli last night. You take it out of the oven and put it on the counter, still steaming.
You examine the lasagna
The lasagna is in its own disposable pan right from the deli.
You take the lasagna
It's too hot to just carry around.
You examine the sink
The stainless steel sink is practically brimming with unwashed dishes. You really need to get a dishwasher, but there'd be no room for it. Among all the dishes you see the shine of a large knife blade.
You take the knife
The pick up the knife.
You cut the lasagna with the knife
You cut the top layer of the casserole, releasing a cloud of hot, foul-smelling steam.
You examine the lasagna
The lasagna is in its own disposable pan right from the deli.

There's a white hot flash of lightning outside the window and something that sounds like an explosion. The apartment goes completely dark.
The power's out.
Light candle
You have nothing to light it with.
You eat the lasagna
You fish a semi-clean fork out of the sink and dig into the lasagna. It's from the deli; they usually have great stuff. But something tastes wrong about it. There's something rancid about the sausage.
You put the fork down and almost gag.

The phone.
You look around
The kitchen is almost pitch black. You feel your way around. The ceiling seems lower.
You touch the ceiling
The ceiling is covered with the same cracked plaster as the walls.
Go southeast
You can't see your own hands. You can feel the presence of the big couch but everything else is lost in the darkness.
You go to the north-east
You're disoriented in the total darkness. You can guess roughly
where the bed and the table are, but you're not sure.

The ringing is driving you crazy. You stumble through the dark before your hands find the phone. You snatch up the receiver.

"What the fuck do you want?" you growl. There's silence for a moment.

"That's not very nice language sweetie. I don't want to have to punish you more." You don't reply. "Is my pretty sweetie mad at me? Well don't you worry, I'll take care of that. You just stay right there." click. You drop the receiver.
You call 911
You pick up the receiver and punch 9, then 1. . . Then you pause. Nothing's really happened, why are you so panicky? You take a deep breath and hang up the phone.
You call 911
You dial 911 and wait. Ring. Ring.

"Hello, 911, is this an emergency?"

"Um. Yes, kinda. I've had some unusual phone calls--"

"Let me patch you through to the police, and may I remind you that this number is for emergencies only." There's a sharp click, a pause, and then faint jazz and a voice telling you you're on hold. You slam down the receiver.
You call 911
You dial 911 and wait. Ring. Ring.

"Hello, 911, is this an emergency?"

"Um. Yes, kinda. I've had some unusual phone calls--"

"Let me patch you through to the police, and may I remind you that this number is for emergencies only." There's a sharp click, a pause, and then faint jazz and a voice telling you you're on hold. You slam down the receiver.

From the darkness of the living room you hear noises. Rattling, at the door. Two sharp clicks. A loud pop. The door creaking open.
Inventory
You have a unlit candle, some clothes, a single pencil, a Polaroid picture, and a knife.

Someone's in the apartment, moving around in the darkness of the living room. "Look, I made it sweetie. . ."

You take a step back. Something wriggles and crunches beneath your foot.
You go to the southwest
You can't see your own hands. You can feel the presence of the big couch but everything else is lost in the darkness.

Someone is there. The beam of a flashlight shines in your face and you're blinded, stars flickering around you in the darkness. "Oh, you look good enough to. . ." The figure moves towards you. Hands on your mouth and waist. Wet cloth with something chemical and sickening.

Darkness. Men's voices. Wet.

It's light. The rain has stopped. You're on the couch. The apartment's quiet and cold. You seem all right. You shiver.
You check your inventory
You have some clothes.

The cardboard box from your closet is sitting in front of the open door. A dark stain is seeping out from the black cardboard onto the carpet. You move towards it shaky, bruised. There are things lying among your clothes in the box. A pair of glasses. A finger. A Zip-Loc bag of something viscous. A piece of scalp. Somehow you recognize it. Harvey finally made it home.

You may restore a saved game, start over, or quit.
You go to the west
You think about the Polaroid. There is someone out there. Not in the apartment, there wouldn't be anyplace to hide. But if you left, even to get to the other apartments in the building, you'd have to go out alone, down the unlit outside hall, and then around the hole length of the building in the dark and rain. Harvey has to be almost home.
Y.
You're all alone tonight.

Of course, you've gotten used to that since you moved in with Harvey. He works the late shift at the delicatessen every Tuesday and Thursday. He'll be back before too long. That man works so hard.

You slip into your toasty flannel pajamas because there's a cold winter rain coming down outside and the heat in Harvey's sub-basement apartment really needs looking at. You settle down into the oversized couch in the living room and snap on the TV. Tonight you're just going to relax.

all alone.
by ian finley

The living room is small; the big couch takes up almost all the floorspace. Not that you're complaining. It's the best Harvey can afford right now and until your drawings really start to sell you aren't contributing much financially. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the squat cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. Through a wide arch in the northwest corner you can see most of the kitchen and to the northeast is the bedroom. The door to the cement-floored outside hall is to the west.
Go northwest
You're not going anywhere until you get out of the couch.

You hear the news starting on the TV.

Rain taps on the little square windows.
You get up
Okay, you're no longer on the couch.

The TV continues, "This is the fourth slaying of this kind to occur in the past three weeks. . . "
Go northeast
The bedroom is really much too small for everything in it. It was
ok when it was just Harvey's big waterbed and his dresser, but when you brought in your drafting desk with its lamps and everything, the room just got too crowded. You have to practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet to the east and the door to the bathroom to the west is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's socks and clothes cover the floor. He's been used to being a bachelor for so long. You can hear the TV to the southwest over the pouring rain.

The TV continues, ". . .and police are focusing as much on quelling the growing panic in the city as on catching the killer. "
Go northwest
The kitchen is deep and narrow, with sink and stove and refrigerator jutting out at awkward angles. It's not that the place is really dirty, but your mother wouldn't be able to stand it. The tile counters are washed-out yellow, slightly grimy, and the sink is more than half filled with this week's dishes. You can see about half the living room through the arch to the southeast, light from the TV flickering on the far wall.

The TV continues, ". . .and police are focusing as much on quelling the growing panic in the city as on catching the killer. "
Search sink
You find nothing of interest.

The TV continues, "We have been asked not to broadcast the images we have of the crime scene, but the killer has left his usual macabre calling cards."
You examine the oven
The oven is nothing special, just a big metal box stuck next to the wall.

The TV continues, "The young woman's internal organs had been removed, and several thin strips of skin shaved from the body."

The storm is gathering force outside.
You examine the stove
The oven is nothing special, just a big metal box stuck next to the wall.

The TV continues, "While not wishing to encourage the unreasonable fear spreading through the city, the police do encourage women living alone to keep all curtains closed and make sure their doors are securely locked."
You open the oven
There's no reason to do that.

The TV continues, "In a related story, Mayor Anderson has significantly increased active police presence on the streets and has proposed another raise in pay."
You examine the sink
The stainless steel sink is practically brimming with unwashed dishes. You really need to get a dishwasher, but there'd be no room for it. Among all the dishes you see the shine of a large knife blade.

The TV continues, "These raises come at a crucial time, as work related stress causes growing numbers of investigators resign every week."
You take the knife
The pick up the knife.

For a moment the TV is blurred by loud static. Damn antennas.
You go southeast
The living room is small; the big couch takes up almost all the floorspace. Not that you're complaining. It's the best Harvey can afford right now and until your drawings really start to sell you aren't contributing much financially. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the squat cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. Through a wide arch in the northwest corner you can see most of the kitchen and to the northeast is the bedroom. The door to the cement-floored outside hall is to the west.

The static clears and picks up with the anchorman saying, ". . .continued threats of chemical warfare."
You wash knife
The knife looks a bit cleaner now.

The TV continues, "In further world news--" and is cut short by low static.
You go to the northeast
The bedroom is really much too small for everything in it. It was
ok when it was just Harvey's big waterbed and his dresser, but when you brought in your drafting desk with its lamps and everything, the room just got too crowded. You have to practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet to the east and the door to the bathroom to the west is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's socks and clothes crouch on the floor. He's been used to being a bachelor for so long. You can see the living room through the arch to the southwest.

The television growls with hushed static.

The phone is ringing, across the room under a pile of socks.
You take all
clothing: You slip quickly out of your pajamas and into some jeans and a shirt that are on the floor.

The TV continues to hum.

The phone.
Go northwest
You can't go that way.

The static on the TV gives out to total silence.
Go southwest
The phone is ringing, it might be important.
You close the blinds
You unfold the blinds and cover the windows.

The sound on the TV suddenly comes back in, loud.

Annoyed by the ringing, you grab the receiver. "Hello?" No answer. You ask again and hear heavy breathing on the other end, panting. You stand there for a moment, trying to think of some response, something biting and clever, but you can't, and the harsh wheezing continues.
You hang up the phone and stand there for a moment.

Frustrated, you grab the receiver, but don't say anything. The man on the other end is whispering. You can't make out exactly what he's saying. It sounds like, "You're not thinking of going anywhere are you?" You don't reply. "Didn't want to go out in your pajamas did you?" You glance quickly towards the window. The blinds are down. What's going on? "I just wouldn't go outside, ok, sweetie?" You slam down the receiver.
Go southwest
The living room is small, the couch takes up all the space. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. You can see the kitchen to the northwest and the bedroom door to the northeast. The door to the outside hall is to the west.

A hyperactive TV weatherman blurts out, "Well folks, tonight doesn't look too good."

A fat cockroach scurries over your bare left foot. Without thinking you jerk away and smash it with the ball of your right foot and it crunches under your skin. You quickly wipe the guts off your sole onto the floor and shudder.
You go west
You reach out towards the door, then you think about the phone call. Even to get to the other apartments in the building you'd have to go out alone, down the unlit outside hall, and then around the whole length of the building in the dark and the rain. It would be safer just to stay locked in here. Harvey should already be on his way home.

The TV continues, "This storm is gonna continue right up until tomorrow morning, and it is one monster of a storm."
Go west
You reach out towards the door, then you think about the phone call. Even to get to the other apartments in the building you'd have to go out alone, down the unlit outside hall, and then around the whole length of the building in the dark and the rain. It would be safer just to stay locked in here. Harvey should already be on his way home.

The TV continues, "Winds up to seventy-two miles per hour have been reported, and the rain just keeps coming down."
You go to the west
You reach out towards the door, then you think about the phone call. Even to get to the other apartments in the building you'd have to go out alone, down the unlit outside hall, and then around the whole length of the building in the dark and the rain. It would be safer just to stay locked in here. Harvey should already be on his way home.

The TV continues, "It's like the end of the world out there."
You call Harvey
The phone is in the bedroom.

There's a sudden clap of thunder outside and the wind starts picking up. The transmission on the TV starts to fade.
You go to the northeast
The bedroom is too small for everything in it. You have to
practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet and the door to the bathroom is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's dirty clothes crouch on the floor.

The sound on the TV fades in and out. You hear snatches of words and phrases.

Lightning flashes brightly for a moment, lighting up the whole apartment. The thunder comes almost at once.
You call Harvey
You punch in Harvey's work number. Old man Luttfisk answers. You hate his voice. It sounds slimy.

"Luttfisk's Delicatessen. We're closin' up here--"

"Yes, Mr. Luttfisk, I know, I was just wondering if Harvey was there."

"Harvey?"

"Yes, Harvey, your assistant, if he's there--"

"Oh he left a long time ago. Had to pick up supplies. Yeah. He left a long time ago. Good night." Click. Buzz. You hang up the phone.

From the TV you hear, "Buy Fleischmann's. . .static, garble. . .
it slices, it dices, it. . . static, garble. . . "
You call Harvey
You dial the delicatessen. Ring. Ring. Nothing. Ring. You keep waiting. Ring. Ring. You hang up.

From the TV you hear, "In our last story. . .garble. . .Good-night from. . .static. . . "
You get pencil
You grab one of the pencils.

From the TV you hear, "Stay in. . .static. . .if you need. . .static. . .to go out. . ." and then complete silence.
Go southwest
The living room is small, the couch takes up all the space. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. You can see the kitchen to the northwest and the bedroom door to the northeast. The door to the outside hall is to the west.
You examine the bookshelf
The homemade bookshelf is basically a pile of paperbacks and big anatomy textbooks barely supported by cement blocks and sagging boards. There is a little candle burning on top that just screams "fire hazard."
You get the candle
You pick up the candle.
You look at the textbooks
The five or so big books on human anatomy are a lot more interesting than Harvey's other selections. You've actually used them once or twice as references for your sketches.

The sound on the TV jumps back in with raucous peals of laughter, some stupid sitcom or something.

The storm is getting even worse, the rain drowning out any other sound.
You read the anatomy
You flip through one of the big books and find a set of transparencies. First the skeleton, then the veins over that, then the bright organs, then the muscles, and finally the skin.
You look around
The kitchen is narrow, with sink and stove and refrigerator jutting
out at odd angles. The tile counters are washed-out yellow, and the sink is half filled with dishes. You can see about half the living room to the southeast.
Sitting on the counter is a lasagna.

Static on the TV.
You wash the dishes
You turn on the water and try to wash some of the dishes but you don't seem to make any headway -- you don't even know where Harvey keeps the dish soap -- and you give up on it almost immediately.

Static on the TV.
You open the fridge
There is cold bread and meat in the refrigerator.

There's another whip of lightning and the TV shuts down completely.
You get the bread
You don't want to carry that around.

There's a white hot flash of lightning outside the window and something that sounds like an explosion. The apartment goes completely dark.
The power's out.
You look around
The kitchen is almost pitch black. You feel your way around. The ceiling seems lower.
You go to the south-east
The single candle in your hand is next to worthless. Everything
beyond your little circle is invisible. You don't know where the doors are.

The phone.
You go west
You reach out, your hand an inch away from the top lock, when it turns by itself. CLICK. Then the next one. CLICK. The door rattles. POP. The last lock bursts out of the flimsy wood frame. The door swings open an inch.

The door opens. Someone is there. The beam of a flashlight shines in your face and you're blinded, stars flickering around you in the darkness. "Look, I made it sweetie. . ." The figure moves towards you. Hands on your mouth and waist. Wet cloth with something chemical and sickening.

Darkness. Men's voices. Wet.

It's light. The rain has stopped. You're on the couch. The apartment's quiet and cold. You seem all right. You shiver.
You go to the north-east
You stand up and head towards the door, shivering. You look over should shoulder. Oh, no wonder it's so cold. The front door is wide open.

The cardboard box from your closet is sitting in front of the open door. A dark stain is seeping out from the black cardboard onto the carpet. You move towards it shaky, bruised. There are things lying among your clothes in the box. A pair of glasses. A finger. A Zip-Loc bag of something viscous. A piece of scalp. Somehow you recognize it. Harvey finally made it home.

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You get up
Okay, you're no longer on the couch.

The news is on TV right now. The grinning anchorman fills the screen.

Rain taps on the little square windows.
You get the candle
You pick up the candle.

The TV continues, "This is the fourth slaying of this kind to occur in the past three weeks. . . "
You adjust the antenna
Wierd static rises and falls as you move the delicate rods.

The TV continues, ". . .and police are focusing as much on quelling the growing panic in the city as on catching the killer. "
You turn the dial
You twist the dial but the selection isn't that wide, Harvey doesn't have cable. You flick through a few news programs, some documentary about carnivorous plants or something and end up on the same station you began.

The TV continues, "We have been asked not to broadcast the images we have of the crime scene, but the killer has left his usual macabre calling cards."
You look in the couch
There's nothing in the couch.

The TV continues, "The young woman's internal organs had been removed, and several thin strips of skin shaved from the body."

The storm is gathering force outside.
You read the textbooks
You flip through one of the big books and find a set of transparencies. First the skeleton, then the veins over that, then the bright organs, then the muscles, and finally the skin.

The TV continues, "While not wishing to encourage the unreasonable fear spreading through the city, the police do encourage women living alone to keep all curtains closed and make sure their doors are securely locked."
You go east
You can't go that way.

The TV continues, "In a related story, Mayor Anderson has significantly increased active police presence on the streets and has proposed another raise in pay."
You go to the west
Going out in the pouring rain in the middle of the night wearing only your Mickey Mouse pajamas would be ridiculous. You'd wanted to just spend a quiet night at home.

The TV continues, "These raises come at a crucial time, as work related stress causes growing numbers of investigators resign every week."
You go northwest
The kitchen is deep and narrow, with sink and stove and refrigerator jutting out at awkward angles. It's not that the place is really dirty, but your mother wouldn't be able to stand it. The tile counters are washed-out yellow, slightly grimy, and the sink is more than half filled with this week's dishes. You can see about half the living room through the arch to the southeast, light from the TV flickering on the far wall.

For a moment the TV is blurred by loud static. Damn antennas.
You draw
Your materials are in the bedroom.

The static clears and picks up with the anchorman saying, ". . .continued threats of chemical warfare."
You open the fridge
There is cold bread and meat in the refrigerator.

The TV continues, "In further world news--" and is cut short by low static.
You eat the bread
You nibble some red salami and some other tid-bits, but you don't have much of an appetite.

The television growls with hushed static.

The phone's ringing, in the bedroom.
You go to the southeast
The living room is small, the couch takes up all the space. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. You can see the kitchen to the northwest and the bedroom door to the northeast. The door to the outside hall is to the west.

The TV continues to hum.
You go to the north-east
The bedroom is really much too small for everything in it. It was
ok when it was just Harvey's big waterbed and his dresser, but when you brought in your drafting desk with its lamps and everything, the room just got too crowded. You have to practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet to the east and the door to the bathroom to the west is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's socks and clothes crouch on the floor. He's been used to being a bachelor for so long. You can see the living room through the arch to the southwest.

The static on the TV gives out to total silence.
You answer the phone
You grab the receiver. "Hello?" No answer. You ask again and hear heavy breathing on the other end, panting. You stand there for a moment, trying to think of some response, something biting and clever, but you can't, and the harsh wheezing continues. You hang up the phone and stand there for a moment.
You draw
You sit down at the desk and grab a fresh piece of paper. You start moving your pencil over the smooth surface, letting it form whatever shapes it wants. A long dark gash on the paper resolves into a man's shadow. Diagonal lines mist into the slashing rain. Details, a long coat, a suitcase, a knife. . . You stop drawing and crumple up the paper. Another time.

The sound on the TV suddenly comes back in, loud.

A fat cockroach scurries over your bare left foot. Without thinking you jerk away and smash it with the ball of your right foot and it crunches under your skin. You quickly wipe the guts off your sole onto the floor and shudder.
You draw yourself
I don't know how to draw yourself.

A hyperactive TV weatherman blurts out, "Well folks, tonight doesn't look too good."
Go east
The closet is tiny and dark, barely enough room for you to stand in.
A few of your clothes are hanging on the one bar but most of them are still in a big box on the floor.

The TV continues, "This storm is gonna continue right up until tomorrow morning, and it is one monster of a storm."
You look at the bar
It's a plain metal pipe fitted into the walls. A few of your nice dresses are hanging from it.

The TV continues, "Winds up to seventy-two miles per hour have been reported, and the rain just keeps coming down."
You examine the dresses
These are some of your nice clothes, the ones that you didn't want to just leave bunched up in the box.

The TV continues, "It's like the end of the world out there."

Lightning flashes brightly for a moment, lighting up the whole apartment. The thunder comes almost at once.
You look at the box
The box is a big cardboard thing that says "Rothschild's Vodka" on the side. The liquor store always has extra cardboard boxes, which you needed when you moved. The box is filled with most of your clothes, the stuff you haven't had time to unpack yet.

There's a sudden clap of thunder outside and the wind starts picking up. The transmission on the TV starts to fade.
Go west
As you start to leave the closet you hear sounds coming from the living room. CLICK. CLICK. The locks on the front door. Harvey must be home, finally. You call out to him, "Hi, honey," but there's no reply. CLICK. You hear the door swinging open, slowly and quietly. "Honey?" you call. No answer. Quiet feet in the living room.

The sound on the TV fades in and out. You hear snatches of words and phrases.
You go to the southwest
You can't go that way.

From the TV you hear, "Buy Fleischmann's. . .static, garble. . .
it slices, it dices, it. . . static, garble. . . "
Go southeast
You can't go that way.

From the TV you hear, "In our last story. . .garble. . .Good-night from. . .static. . . "
You go to the east
You can't go that way.

From the TV you hear, "Stay in. . .static. . .if you need. . .static. . .to go out. . ." and then complete silence.
You go to the west
You step out into the bedroom and look around. No one. You listen carefully but you can't hear anything but the TV.

The bedroom is too small for everything in it. You have to
practically crawl over the desk to get to the closet and the door to the bathroom is almost as blocked. Piles of Harvey's dirty clothes crouch on the floor.
Go southwest
The living room is small, the couch takes up all the space. Some of your sketches hang on the walls above the TV and the cinder-block-and-boards bookshelf. You can see the kitchen to the northwest and the bedroom door to the northeast. The door to the outside hall is to the west.
Sitting on the floor is a Polaroid picture.

The storm is getting even worse, the rain drowning out any other sound.
You examine Polaroid
It takes you a minute to figure out what the blurry, close-up picture is of. When you realize, your stomach knots, the bile rises in your throat. You fight down the nausea.
You go northwest
The kitchen is narrow, with sink and stove and refrigerator jutting
out at odd angles. The tile counters are washed-out yellow, and the sink is half filled with dishes. You can see about half the living room to the southeast.
The refrigerator seems to contain some bread and meat.

The sound on the TV jumps back in with raucous peals of laughter, some stupid sitcom or something.
You turn off the stove
You twist the timer knob and turn off the bell. You'd forgotten about the lasagna you put in to cook an hour ago. Harvey brought it home from the deli last night. You take it out of the oven and put it on the counter, still steaming.

The tone of the TV changes and you hear, "We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this important message."
You cut the lasagna
What do you want to attack it with?
You go west
You think about the Polaroid. There is someone out there. Not in the apartment, there wouldn't be anyplace to hide. But if you left, even to get to the other apartments in the building, you'd have to go out alone, down the unlit outside hall, and then around the hole length of the building in the dark and rain. Harvey has to be almost home.

Static on the TV.
You close the door
It's too far away.

Static on the TV.

There's a white hot flash of lightning outside the window and something that sounds like an explosion. The apartment goes completely dark.
The power's out.
You go to the west
You think about the Polaroid. There is someone out there. Not in the apartment, there wouldn't be anyplace to hide. But if you left, even to get to the other apartments in the building, you'd have to go out alone, down the unlit outside hall, and then around the hole length of the building in the dark and rain. Harvey has to be almost home.
You get photo
Taken.

The phone.
You go to the north-east
You're disoriented in the total darkness. You can guess roughly
where the bed and the table are, but you're not sure.
You answer the phone
The ringing is driving you crazy. You search the darkness desperately before your hands land on the phone and you snatch up the receiver.

"What the fuck do you want?" you growl. There's silence for a moment.

"That's not very nice language sweetie. I don't want to have to punish you more." You don't reply. "Is my pretty sweetie mad at me? Well don't you worry, I'll take care of that. You just stay right there." click. You drop the receiver.
You call 911
You pick up the receiver and punch 9, then 1. . . Then you pause. Nothing's really happened, why are you so panicky? You take a deep breath and hang up the phone.
You call 911
You dial 911 and wait. Ring. Ring.

"Hello, 911, is this an emergency?"

"Um. Yes, kinda. I've had some unusual phone calls--"

"Let me patch you through to the police, and may I remind you that this number is for emergencies only." There's a sharp click, a pause, and then faint jazz and a voice telling you you're on hold. You slam down the receiver.

From the darkness of the living room you hear noises. Rattling, at the door. Two sharp clicks. A loud pop. The door creaking open.
You go southwest
The single candle in your hand is next to worthless. Everything
beyond your little circle is invisible. You don't know where the doors are.

The door opens. Someone is there. The beam of a flashlight shines in your face and you're blinded, stars flickering around you in the darkness. "Look, I made it sweetie. . ." The figure moves towards you. Hands on your mouth and waist. Wet cloth with something chemical and sickening.

Darkness. Men's voices. Wet.

It's light. The rain has stopped. You're on the couch. The apartment's quiet and cold. You seem all right. You shiver.
You check your inventory
You have a set of pajamas (being worn).

The cardboard box from your closet is sitting in front of the open door. A dark stain is seeping out from the black cardboard onto the carpet. You move towards it shaky, bruised. There are things lying among your clothes in the box. A pair of glasses. A finger. A Zip-Loc bag of something viscous. A piece of scalp. Somehow you recognize it. Harvey finally made it home.

You may restore a saved game, start over, or quit.