text: [Themes: Horror, Lovecraftian, horror]
  
  > Look around
  This lumpy, patchy stretch of lawn is the most pleasant outdoor spot at Eternal Springs, though that isn't saying much. A rusted, sagging chaise longue is provided for the comfort of anyone who would like to bask in the scorching heat of the afternoon sun. (There's precious little shade here, other than the low oblong of obscurity wedged beneath the chaise.)
  
  To the east, the lawn is bordered by a high hedge of a virulent and sickly green, whose foliage is laden with a bounty of pulpy red flowers. The arid stretch of dirt between the cabins stretches out to the south. The main house stands, crooked and bleak but stubbornly attempting a faded grandeur, to the west, a short, broad flight of board steps leading up to the long porch, which is roofed over but nonetheless gapes open on the afternoon. A tiny, weed-infested flower-bed crouches to the right of the steps.
  
  A cracked and buckled concrete walk leads away through some tall bushes to the north, and another walk, whose slabs are tossed as if by some prehistoric geological upheaval, curves out of sight to the southwest around the corner of the house.
  
  Honey yawns ostentatiously and goes back to reading her magazine.
  
  > EXITS
  Obvious exits lead north; south, back to the north end of the croquet court; west; northwest; and southwest.
  
  Honey curls a strand of hair around her little finger.
  
  (You can control the exit listings with the EXITS command. EXITS STATUS shows the exit list in the status line, EXITS LOOK shows a full exit list in each room description, EXITS ON shows both, and EXITS OFF turns off both kinds of exit lists.)
  
  > go to the south
  Two rows of small, dilapidated cabins, three on each side, stand to the east and west of this stretch of bare dirt. Several croquet hoops are stuck crookedly into the ground at odd spots.
  
  You're standing between Cabin Four (to the west) and Cabin One (to the east). The croquet court continues south from here, the land sloping gently downward toward the swamp - almost as if the cabins are gently sliding into the swamp or marching, with a ponderous but imperceptible tread, toward it. To the north is a broad stretch of dusty lawn, and beside it to the west a large and rather ramshackle two-story house.
  An overgrown and uneven brick walkway leads off to the northwest, around the corner of Cabin Four.
  
  > Go east
  As much loathing as you feel for the white dress, you're not quite willing to risk Aunt Caroline's wrath by leaving the cabin with it. Best leave it here.
  
  > wear the dress
  You consider stripping off your slacks and top and trying on the white dress, but three things stop you. First, you're mad at Aunt Caroline for hauling you all the way down here, so you really don't want to give her the pleasure of trying on the dress she insisted on bringing for you. Second, you want to spend the afternoon looking around this dumpy motel to see if there's anything fun to do, and the dress would surely get dirty. Third, it would look really tacky with your sneakers.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains an old shovel and a sequined jacket), a flashlight, the key to Cabin One, a pill bottle, and a white dress. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > put the dress in the sack
  Better not. It would get wrinkled, and then Aunt Caroline would be mad.
  
  > drop the dress
  Better not leave it here. Aunt Caroline will be unhappy if it gets mussed.
  
  > Go north
  This lumpy, patchy stretch of lawn is the most pleasant outdoor spot at Eternal Springs, though that isn't saying much. A rusted, sagging chaise longue is provided for the comfort of anyone who would like to bask in the scorching heat of the afternoon sun. (There's precious little shade here, other than the low oblong of obscurity wedged beneath the chaise.)
  
  To the east, the lawn is bordered by a high hedge of a virulent and sickly green, whose foliage is laden with a bounty of pulpy red flowers. The arid stretch of dirt between the cabins stretches out to the south. The main house stands, crooked and bleak but stubbornly attempting a faded grandeur, to the west, a short, broad flight of board steps leading up to the long porch, which is roofed over but nonetheless gapes open on the afternoon. A tiny, weed-infested flower-bed crouches to the right of the steps.
  
  A cracked and buckled concrete walk leads away through some tall bushes to the north, and another walk, whose slabs are tossed as if by some prehistoric geological upheaval, curves out of sight to the southwest around the corner of the house.
  
  Honey Hartwell is reclining on the chaise longue, leafing through a magazine.
  
  Honey hums a little off-key tune to herself.
  
  > go west
  As you put your weight on the steps, several of the boards creak loudly.
  
  The front porch runs the length of the east side of the house. It's not screened in, though it probably ought to be, as there's a busy wasps' nest up under one corner of the roof. The floorboards are uneven, and the railing looks pretty wobbly. A long beige couch, from which the padding is escaping, is jammed against the inside wall, below a window.
  
  The screen door to the house is to the west, and a shallow flight of steps leads down to the east, to the lawn.
  
  Beauregard Phelps is sitting on the couch, gazing out placidly across the lawn. Once in a while his eyes flick toward you, as if he's watching you while pretending not to.
  
  Beauregard points at where Honey is sunbathing on the lawn. "Quite a little heifer, ain't she? Course, you wouldn't know."
  
  > look at the couch
  The old couch was upholstered in nubbly beige cloth a very long time ago. Woolly white stuffing is coming out through various rips and holes, and the cloth itself is badly stained, as if animals are in the habit of sleeping on it.
  
  Beauregard Phelps is sitting on the couch.
  
  Beauregard beams at you in a slimy, sweaty way.
  
  > Kiss beauregard
  The danger is, he might like it.
  
  > examine Phelps
  Your first impression of Beauregard Phelps, when he arrived half an hour late at the airport to meet Aunt Caroline and you and bring you out here in the van, was that he was not just repulsive and creepy but truly evil. Nothing you've seen of him in the past couple of hours has changed that opinion. He's old and fat, with thick lips, a coarse complexion, and sparse hair as yellow as a dribble of tobacco juice, but it isn't just the way he looks. It's the way he smiles at you with those piggy little eyes - as though he's planning to eat you for supper, and looking forward to it.
  
  There are sweat rings under his armpits, and his baggy pants are held up by suspenders. Ever since the van pulled into the motel, shortly after a greasy lunch at a filthy little diner on the state highway, Phelps has been sitting on the mangy couch on the porch, fanning himself, working a toothpick around in his mouth, and gazing out across the lawn like a king surveying his realm and finding it good.
  
  Beauregard belches, and doesn't apologize.
  
  > go west
  As you move past Beauregard Phelps toward the screen door, he levers himself up off the ratty old couch with surprising agility and grips your arm. "Why don't you sit down and visit with me for a spell, missy? It does my old heart good just to look at you." Much against your will, you find yourself pulled down beside him on the couch. For a couple of minutes he plies you with questions about New York, which you answer in mumbled monosyllables.
  
  When his grip slackens, you seize the opportunity to leap up. You blurt something about needing to go see if your aunt needs anything and scamper down the steps to the lawn. You've escaped his clutches - for now, anyway.
  
  This lumpy, patchy stretch of lawn is the most pleasant outdoor spot at Eternal Springs, though that isn't saying much. A rusted, sagging chaise longue is provided for the comfort of anyone who would like to bask in the scorching heat of the afternoon sun. (There's precious little shade here, other than the low oblong of obscurity wedged beneath the chaise.)
  
  To the east, the lawn is bordered by a high hedge of a virulent and sickly green, whose foliage is laden with a bounty of pulpy red flowers. The arid stretch of dirt between the cabins stretches out to the south. The main house stands, crooked and bleak but stubbornly attempting a faded grandeur, to the west, a short, broad flight of board steps leading up to the long porch, which is roofed over but nonetheless gapes open on the afternoon. A tiny, weed-infested flower-bed crouches to the right of the steps.
  
  A cracked and buckled concrete walk leads away through some tall bushes to the north, and another walk, whose slabs are tossed as if by some prehistoric geological upheaval, curves out of sight to the southwest around the corner of the house.
  
  Honey Hartwell is reclining on the chaise longue, leafing through a magazine.
  
  This lumpy, patchy stretch of lawn is the most pleasant outdoor spot at Eternal Springs, though that isn't saying much. A rusted, sagging chaise longue is provided for the comfort of anyone who would like to bask in the scorching heat of the afternoon sun. (There's precious little shade here, other than the low oblong of obscurity wedged beneath the chaise.)
  
  To the east, the lawn is bordered by a high hedge of a virulent and sickly green, whose foliage is laden with a bounty of pulpy red flowers. The arid stretch of dirt between the cabins stretches out to the south. The main house stands, crooked and bleak but stubbornly attempting a faded grandeur, to the west, a short, broad flight of board steps leading up to the long porch, which is roofed over but nonetheless gapes open on the afternoon. A tiny, weed-infested flower-bed crouches to the right of the steps.
  
  A cracked and buckled concrete walk leads away through some tall bushes to the north, and another walk, whose slabs are tossed as if by some prehistoric geological upheaval, curves out of sight to the southwest around the corner of the house.
  
  Honey Hartwell is reclining on the chaise longue, leafing through a magazine.
  
  Honey curls a strand of hair around her little finger.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains an old shovel and a sequined jacket), a flashlight, the key to Cabin One, and a pill bottle. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > look at the pill bottle
  The pill bottle is a small brown cylinder made of plastic. The label says, "Caution: Sleeping pills. May cause drowsiness." When shaken, the bottle makes a rattling noise, as if there's a pill inside. It's closed by a screw-top - probably child-proof, but easily removed.
  
  Honey inspects her perfectly manicured bright pink nails.