text: [Themes: Horror, teenage protagonist]
  
  > Go west
  The narrow, potholed ribbon of blacktop runs east and west between thorny thickets to the north and south. A narrow gap in the shrubbery to the south might be wide enough for you to squeeze through.
  
  A black tar barrel is lying here.
  
  > Continue
  You roll the barrel down the road.
  
  A narrow, bumpy ribbon of blacktop runs east and west at this spot. To the south, a gravel driveway leads off through some tall bushes. Standing - or rather, leaning - next to the driveway is a sign that says, "Eternal Springs." The north side of the road is impassable due to a nasty-looking thicket of berry bushes.
  
  > pry the barrel with the screwdriver
  If you open the barrel here, the tar will pour out and make a mess. If there's a place where you might want a pool of tar, this surely isn't it.
  
  > ask Tyrone about the figurine
  When you mention the black figurine, Tyrone's eyes widen. "You been pokin' around some, ain'tcha? Mr. Beauregard, he got him one o' them nasty things up at the house. I seen it. I know what it is. It's pure evil, that's what it is. The man what carved 'em - there's more'n one of 'em, you know, I expect probably half a dozen - he done it a hundred years ago, maybe two hundred. He's dead now, Mr. Beauregard seen to that.
  
  "What them little dolls is for, they go out in the world and find their way into the hands of people what want somethin' bad enough, you know? They gotta want it real bad, whatever it is. Then they don't mind what they gotta do to get it, see? Them as ends up with one, they's the congregation, in a manner o' speakin'."
  
  > 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 wiggles her toes.
  
  > ask Honey about the compass
  Honey lowers her magazine and turns her big round dark glasses in your direction. "Well, hello, there."
  
  Honey leafs through the magazine. Either she didn't hear you, or she's pretending she didn't.
  
  Honey licks her thumb and turns a page in the magazine.
  
  > ask Honey about the figurine
  "Hey, what's that in there?" You down point at the straw bag.
  
  Honey hesitates, and then smiles. "That little old thing?" She picks it up out of the bag and cuddles it at her breast as if it were a baby - which is shocking, as it's a grotesquely ugly little statue. Its teeth are bared, its tongue protrudes, and its tiny jewel eyes glow a livid, mustard yellow. "I found it in an antique store, you believe that? It called out to me." After a lingering, thoughtful look at you, she tucks the figurine away again in the bag. "I shouldn't ought to be talkin' about that, though."
  
  > examine Honey
  Honey is in her early twenties, and quite glamorous in a trashy sort of Nashville way. She's wearing great big dark glasses, too much lip gloss, a wide-brimmed pink straw hat, and matching skin-tight shorts. She's lounging on the chaise longue in the sun, a large floppy straw purse yawning open beside her on the lawn, leafing idly through a magazine that, as well as you can judge from looking at it upside down, is devoted mostly to large photos of movie stars.
  
  Honey tugs at a strap on her top.
  
  > examine the purse
  It would be impolite to show too much interest in Honey's oversize straw bag, but you sidle over and glance down at it casually. The bag appears to be crammed with a variety of necessities, among which you glimpse a carved black figurine. It looks a little like a doll, but not really. It's quite fearsomely ugly.
  
  Honey adjusts the angle of her straw hat microscopically.
  
  > take the tongs
  Taken.
  
  Honey inspects her perfectly manicured bright pink nails.
  
  > take the figurine with the tongs
  It would be rude to fish things out of Honey's bag while she's sitting here watching.
  
  Honey yawns ostentatiously and goes back to reading her magazine.
  
  > 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."
  
  > examine the wasps
  The evil-looking yellow insects (being a city girl, you aren't sure whether they're wasps or hornets) are flying in and out of a large nest constructed of dried mud, which is tucked up under the eaves of the porch.
  
  "Wish I had me a seegar," Beauregard says wistfully. "Summer afternoons just ain't the same since I gave up them seegars."
  
  > hit the nest with poker
  Disturbing the wasps would be a really, really bad idea.
  
  > ask Phelps about Honey
  Having been taught good manners, you can't quite bring yourself to ignore Phelps, so you nod to him and mumble a hello.
  
  He smiles at you and nods heavily. "You enjoyin' our balmy Southern weather, darlin'?"
  
  When you mention Honey Hartwell, Beauregard sighs heavily. "She is a sight for sore eyes, and that's the truth."
  
  > ask Phelps about the nest
  "You worried about them wasps, sweet pea? They won't bother you none."
  
  Beauregard belches, and doesn't apologize.
  
  > ask Phelps about the Aunt
  "This useta all be prime farm land, once," Beauregard says, waving his arm. "We grew us a fine crop o' leaf. Was you sayin' somethin'?"
  
  Beauregard beams at you in a slimy, sweaty way.
  
  > ask Phelps about David
  "You're just a regular little chatterbox, ain'tcha?"
  
  "I heard your aunt's gonna get you all dolled up for the picnic. I just can't wait!"
  
  > ask Phelps about the cigar
  "I hope I git up to see New York sometime," Beauregard says irrelevantly.
  
  Beauregard hitches up his suspenders.
  
  > ask Phelps about the tobacco
  Beauregard stifles a yawn. "Gettin' time for my afternoon nap, but I'm just too keyed up this afternoon to sleep."
  
  > ask Phelps about the sleep
  Beauregard beams benignly at you. "You are just the cutest little thang. I can't get over it."
  
  Beauregard hitches up his suspenders.
  
  > ask Phelps about the Cocoa
  Beauregard pulls his gaze back from the lawn. "Was you sayin' somethin', sweet pea?"
  
  Beauregard belches, and doesn't apologize.
  
  > ask Phelps about maid
  Beauregard shows his teeth in a grimace that he probably thinks is a smile. "You're gonna look so cute in that white dress!"
  
  Beauregard smacks his lips. "That young lady from Nashville, now - she's quite somethin', ain't she?"
  
  > ask Phelps about the handkerchief
  Beauregard beams benignly at you. "You are just the cutest little thang. I can't get over it."
  
  Beauregard lazily waves away a curious wasp.
  
  > go east
  Phelps turns away from you, scratches himself, and goes back to gazing out across the lawn.
  
  As you put your weight on the steps, several of the boards creak loudly.
  
  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.
  
  > pry the steps with the poker
  The porch steps is not something you can pry.
  
  Honey licks her thumb and turns a page in the magazine.
  
  > ask the Aunt about the figurine
  Hesitantly you bring up the subject of the little black statues. "Have you been nosing around in my things?" Aunt Caroline says sharply. "Well, don't. Not if you know what's good for you."
  
  > Search clothes
  (Aunt Caroline's clothes)
  You lift a couple of garments to peek beneath them, and decide there's really nothing useful or interesting in the drawer.
  
  > examine the bed bathroom
  The bed looks sort of lumpy, and the pillow is flat and undoubtedly hard. A threadbare brown coverlet is spread over the bed.
  
  > Close top
  Closed.
  
  You see nothing on the bed near the bathroom.
  
  > Near the door
  On the bed near the door is a white dress.
  
  > examine the pillow
  Which pillow do you mean, the bed near the door, or the bed near the bathroom?
  
  > EXITS
  The only obvious exit leads southeast to the lawn.
  
  > go southeast
  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.
  
  > dig the ditch
  You glance at the ditch and instantly dismiss it as unimportant.
  
  > ask the boys about the compass
  "Hello again," you say, trying to sound cheerful. "I'm back."
  
  "Was she gone?" the smaller boy says. "I din't notice."
  
  Trying to be casual, you ask the boys whether they might be willing to part with the compass they showed you. "Oh, that there's valuable," the larger boy says, scowling. "You got anything we'd want?"
  
  "I know what you're thinking about," you retort, "and the answer is no! But how about if I bring you something to trade for it?"
  
  "I'd take a million bucks for it," says the smaller, dirtier boy. "Or even a hundred bucks, I guess. In cash."
  
  The large boy nudges his companion. "Hey, show her what we stole offa that Boy Scout!"
  
  The smaller boy looks exasperated. "What does a girl care about that?"
  
  "Nah, c'mon."
  
  The smaller boy digs in his jeans pocket and hauls out a small hand-held compass, which he holds out to you - but not close enough that you could grab it. "Pretty nifty, hunh?" He closes his fist on the compass and jams it back into his pocket.
  
  > ask the boys about the gold
  "Do we look like the Encyclopedia Bittranica?" the larger boy says.
  
  "They got any guys as good-lookin' as us back where you come from?" The larger boy runs his hand over his hair and sticks out his jaw. "I bet not."
  
  > Go east
  Knowing the boys are likely to make fun of anything you say, you just turn and walk away without saying goodbye. As you walk away, you hear the boys snickering about something.
  
  The narrow, potholed ribbon of blacktop runs east and west between thorny thickets to the north and south. A narrow gap in the shrubbery to the south might be wide enough for you to squeeze through.
  
  > go south
  The gravel driveway runs behind the big house, which looms over you to the east. At the north end the driveway passes through a high hedge, and at the south it opens out into an area in front of a shack, where a dusty van is parked. A pair of low doors angles out from the foundation of the house at this spot.
  
  A black tar barrel is lying here.
  
  You see a dead possum here.
  
  > go west
  The upstairs hall, which extends eastward, widens here to form an odd-shaped space. It's too open to be called a room, but too functional to be called a hallway. An ironing board is set up in the northeast corner, and behind it a narrow, steep stairway ascends. There's a doorway to the north, a wide, massive closed door to the south, and a broad window on the west wall, beneath which is a box-shaped window seat.
  
  Luisa is standing at the ironing board, ironing.
  
  > ask Luisa about Cocoa
  "Excuse me," you venture. "Are you ironing?" Of course she's ironing, you can see she's ironing. You're aware as the words tumble out of your mouth that it's a stupid question - but at least it's better than, "Excuse me, are you the maid?"
  
  The woman looks up from her ironing board and levels a smoky gaze at you. "No, I'm dancing with Clark Gable." She doesn't look very friendly, that's for sure. "You're the girl," she goes on. "The one they brought. I'm Luisa. I work here, keep the house clean. I thought Mr. Beauregard didn't want you in the house, but now you're here, I guess it's okay. Just don't make no mess." She has a heavy Hispanic accent, but her words are not hard to understand.
  
  You mention the cocoa mix in the kitchen, and Luisa nods. "Mr. Phelps, he likes his cocoa every afternoon. Much nicer than those stinky old cigars he used to smoke."
  
  > tell Luisa about the fuse
  You ask Luisa whether she knows one of the fuses in the fuse box is burnt out. "Oh, yeah," she says nonchalantly. "Happens all the time. I'll fix it later."
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains a pill bottle, the key to Cabin One, a little white pill, some faded photographs, a flashlight, a mystery by John Dickson Carr, a croquet hoop, a partially crumbled piece of burnt toast, a bad fuse, a sketchbook, a stone bracelet, a gold locket, an indecipherable map, a poker, and some fire tongs), a screwdriver, and an old shovel. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > pry the barrel with the screwdriver
  You insert the end of the screwdriver under the edge of the barrel lid and bear down. The edge of the lid pops up half an inch, so you move the screwdriver around to the other side and repeat the process. This time the lid pops free and drops to the floor. Within moments, a thick, gooey mess of tar has flowed out into a shallow depression in the cellar floor.
  
  > look in the barrel
  In the barrel is a sticky, gooey mass of half-liquid road tar.
  
  > Olly olly oxen free
  At first it seems your silly shouting will go unanswered, but then Lydia comes toward you from among the trees. "I hope you found everything we need," she says. "Show me what you've found. I can't wait to get away from here."
  
  > show the map to Lydia
  (first taking the indecipherable map from the burlap sack)
  Lydia looks eagerly at the map, but then her face falls. "You showed me that before," she says. "We still can't read it."
  
  > ask Lydia about the aunt caroline
  You tell Lydia how your aunt brought you down here from New York for no apparent reason, and brought along this white dress for you to wear to some kind of supposed picnic. Lydia nods vigorously. "That's just like me with my cousin Jake. I guess he needed money more than anything. I think the horrid thing grants people's wishes. I guess it must have made Jake rich. I'll bet your aunt is the same way. I'll bet she wants something so much she's willing to let them - no, not let them, she's willing to help them kill you."
  
  > go to the west
  As you walk away, Lydia calls after you, "I'm going to hide now. Be sure to come back when you're ready for us to escape, and call 'olly olly oxen free.'"
  
  You follow the path westward, back to Eternal Springs.
  
  The brackish, oily, unpleasant waters of the swamp stretch south from here. Large trees festooned with slimy green creepers stand in the water. To the west is a shed, to the east a path along the shore. The cabins are to the north.
  
  You find yourself wanting to hurry along, so as not to catch another glimpse, even out of the corner of your eye, of the terrible swamp-thing you saw - or imagined you saw - before.
  
  > cry
  You sniffle a little. It's not proving to be a good day, is it? But feeling sorry for yourself probably isn't going to help.
  
  > 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 tugs at a strap on her top.
  
  > cry
  You sniffle a little. It's not proving to be a good day, is it? But feeling sorry for yourself probably isn't going to help.
  
  Honey hums a little off-key tune to herself.
  
  > ask Honey about the handkerchief
  Honey lowers her magazine and turns her big round dark glasses in your direction. "Well, hello, there."
  
  Honey leafs through the magazine. Either she didn't hear you, or she's pretending she didn't.
  
  Honey stretches languidly.
  
  > ask Tyrone about the handkerchief
  "Hello, Tyrone," you say.
  
  "Hello again," he says. "How you gettin' along, now?"
  
  Tyrone spreads his hands. "You got me."
  
  > Continue
  Tyrone shrugs. "None o' my concern, and that's the truth."
  
  > go southwest
  Tyrone shrugs and goes back to work on the van.
  
  This may once have been a garden, but now it's just a final resting place for junk - lots and lots of junk - and nothing grows here but weeds. The falling-down shack stands (if that's the right word) north of here, its single square window looking out on the junk. The area where the van is parked is to the northeast, and the area behind the cabins is east. Off to the southeast stands the shed at the edge of the swamp.
  
  The way westward is blocked by an improbably dense thicket of bramble-bushes.
  
  > Dig
  What do you want to dig in?
  
  > Ground
  (with the old shovel)
  You have no reason to dig in that.
  
  > open the window
  There's no obvious way to do that. A quick inspection reveals that the screen is held firmly in place by half a dozen heavy screws.
  
  > unscrew screen with the screwdriver
  The screws are pretty tight, but with a bit of effort you're able to unscrew all but one of them with the screwdriver. The window screen is left dangling by one stubborn screw, but it's out of the way. Climbing in the window should be easy now.
  
  > enter the window
  This cluttered, low-ceilinged little room is obviously lived in. There's a rumpled bed against one wall and a table littered with stuff. The door is to the east and the window to the south.
  
  Hanging from one wall is a large, fearsome-looking ebony mask.
  
  > examine the mask
  The hand-carved ebony mask is larger than a human face, and its oval tapers to points at the top and bottom. The expression on the face is solemn and hostile. Dominating the face are the eyes, which are wide, round, and glaring. As you move around the little room, you can't escape the eerie sensation that the eyes are turning to watch you.
  
  > look at the table
  The table is old and paint-stained, and one leg is a little crooked. The table is littered with an assortment of stuff. No, make that a mound. Your first impulse is to dismiss it as junk, but that would be an insult to the man who lives here. These are his possessions - probably all he owns. Lying diagonally across the junk is a fishing pole.
  
  > look at the pole
  The pole is thin, flexible, and about seven feet long. It's the kind you've seen in old illustrations in books like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. It doesn't even have a reel for reeling the line in and out - but there is a line, which is attached to the tip of the pole and dangles free.
  
  > examine the bed
  The bed is sagging and rumpled, as if it has been slept in for years by someone large and heavy.
  
  > look under the bed
  As you start to, the mouth of the mask opens and it emits a horrible howling noise! Looks like Tyrone has set up a voodoo burglar alarm. You stand silent and tense with your fingers crossed, hoping nobody heard the noise. After a minute, you relax. It seems you got away with it ... once.
  
  > keep going
  Once again, the mask sets up its horrible howl. A moment later the door bursts open and Tyrone seizes you firmly by the arm. "So, we got ourselves a sneak thief," he says.
  
  You try to squirm out of his grip. "Ow, you're hurting me!" But he's much stronger than you, and from the look in his eyes, he isn't about to be sweet-talked.
  
  He drags you outside, slams the door, and finally releases you. "Look here," he says. "I know you're just a kid. And I expect you're lookin' around for somethin' that might help get you outta the fix you're in. So I ain't gonna whop you upside the head, though maybe I ought to. But that stuff in there's mine, you understand? See you leave it alone. Now run along." Without another word, he goes back to working on the van.
  
  > Go south
  This may once have been a garden, but now it's just a final resting place for junk - lots and lots of junk - and nothing grows here but weeds. The falling-down shack stands (if that's the right word) north of here, its single square window looking out on the junk. The area where the van is parked is to the northeast, and the area behind the cabins is east. Off to the southeast stands the shed at the edge of the swamp.
  
  The way westward is blocked by an improbably dense thicket of bramble-bushes.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains a pill bottle, the key to Cabin One, a little white pill, some faded photographs, a flashlight, a mystery by John Dickson Carr, a croquet hoop, a partially crumbled piece of burnt toast, a bad fuse, a sketchbook, a stone bracelet, a gold locket, a poker, and some fire tongs), a screwdriver, an old shovel, and an indecipherable map.
  You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > Go south
  This may once have been a garden, but now it's just a final resting place for junk - lots and lots of junk - and nothing grows here but weeds. The falling-down shack stands (if that's the right word) north of here, its single square window looking out on the junk. The area where the van is parked is to the northeast, and the area behind the cabins is east. Off to the southeast stands the shed at the edge of the swamp.
  
  The way westward is blocked by an improbably dense thicket of bramble-bushes.
  
  > give Carr to Honey
  (first taking the mystery by John Dickson Carr from the burlap sack) Honey lowers her magazine and turns her big round dark glasses in your direction. "Well, hello, there."
  
  Honey pats her fingers over her lips, politely stifling a yawn. "You found a storybook, that's nice. You want to read me a story? On second thought, don't bother. I'm not in the mood."
  
  Honey hums a little off-key tune to herself.
  
  > Go west
  As you walk away, Honey goes back to reading (if that's the right word) her magazine. 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 hitches up his suspenders.
  
  > give Carr to Phelps
  "I want to talk to you," you say to Beauregard.
  
  His eyes widen mildly. "So talk, then."
  
  When he sees the book, Beauregard smiles benignly. "I see you found my old mysteries," he says. "I don't do a lot of readin' myself, not no more, but I'll bet your aunt would be keen to look at that, her bein' a mystery writer and all."
  
  Beauregard points at where Honey is sunbathing on the lawn. "Quite a little heifer, ain't she? Course, you wouldn't know."
  
  > go to the east
  Phelps turns away from you, scratches himself, and goes back to gazing out across the lawn.
  
  As you put your weight on the steps, several of the boards creak loudly.
  
  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 adjusts the angle of her straw hat microscopically.
  
  > give Carr to the Aunt
  Aunt Caroline is in the bathroom, and the door is closed.
  
  > ask Aunt about Carr
  Talking through the bathroom door, you mention to Aunt Caroline that in the bookcase in the house you saw some first editions by John Dickson Carr. The door pops open and Aunt Caroline's head pops out. Then the rest of her slides out, leaving the bathroom door narrowly ajar. "Rubbish," she declares. "You saw no such thing."
  
  > show Carr to the Aunt
  Triumphantly you hold up the copy of The Four False Weapons. Aunt Caroline's squinty eyes widen, and she practically tears the book from your hands. "Let me see that. It can't be. No, it is. You say you got this in the house? And there are more like it?"
  
  You nod.
  
  Without another word, Aunt Caroline makes a beeline for the door of the cabin. But then, struck by a thought, she turns back. She slips into the bathroom for a moment and emerges holding something, pressing it tight against her as if it were a baby. Hiding whatever it is from you with her body, she sidles into the closet. You hear a clicking noise. A moment later she emerges from the closet and strides out the door.
  
  > open the aunt suitcase
  Aunt Caroline's suitcase seems to be locked.
  
  > Unlock aunt suitcase
  (with the key to Cabin One)
  (first taking the key to Cabin One from the burlap sack)
  The key to Cabin One doesn't fit the lock.
  
  > Go east
  You can't go that way. The only obvious exit leads north, back to cabin five.
  
  > pry the aunt suitcase with the poker
  (first putting the old shovel in the burlap sack to make room, then taking the poker from the burlap sack)
  You have a go at wedging the poker under the lid of the suitcase, but it's too tight a fit. After a few moments of mounting frustration, it occurs to you that maybe you ought to just haul off and hit the silly thing.
  
  > hit the aunt suitcase with the poker
  You haul off and smite the suitcase a mighty blow with the poker. In response, the shiny brass lock emits a tiny sproinggg. Quite possibly you've broken the lock.
  
  > open aunt suitcase
  Opening Aunt Caroline's suitcase reveals a red-eyed figurine.
  
  > take the red figurine with tongs
  (first putting the indecipherable map in the burlap sack to make room, then taking the fire tongs from the burlap sack)
  You pick up the red-eyed figurine with the fire tongs.
  
  > Go west
  The bathroom is barely big enough to turn around in. There's a narrow shower stall, a minuscule, rust-stained sink above which is a cracked, flyspecked mirror, and a commode. The towels stacked on the rack are thin, frayed at the edges, and probably none too clean. A tiny window provides a very little air.
  
  The door leads eastward.
  
  You see a fat white candle here.
  
  > examine the candle
  The candle is a couple of inches in diameter, and perhaps three inches tall. Evidently Aunt Caroline has been burning it, but it's not burning now.
  
  > show the candle to David
  (first taking the fat white candle from the burlap sack)
  David does not appear interested.
  
  > go to the west
  "Goodbye for now," David says.
  
  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 Six (to the west) and Cabin Three (to the east). The croquet court continues north from here. To the south, a little slope ends at the watery edge of a swamp, and a path to the southwest leads toward a good-sized shed that stands at the edge of the water.
  
  > Go east
  The cellar is low-ceilinged and grimy, with an irregular concrete floor and cobwebs that droop from the exposed rafters. The vague light comes from a couple of tiny windows and the door to the driveway. Along an inner wall is a workbench. The door to the driveway is to the west, a doorway opens eastward on absolute darkness, and a staircase against the north wall leads upward.
  
  A black tar barrel is lying here.
  
  You see a tar barrel lid and a pool of tar here.
  
  > take the red figurine with the tongs
  You pick up the red-eyed figurine with the fire tongs.
  
  > put it in the vise
  (the red-eyed figurine)
  (first opening the vise)
  You turn the crank, and the jaws of the vise separate.
  
  Done.
  
  > Close vise
  As you tighten the vise, the figurine begins to writhe. Its tiny arms and legs windmill frantically, its eyes bulge, and a terrible high keening sound escapes from it. You continue, remorseless. A moment later, with a loud crunching noise, the figurine shatters, and some harmless gray dust sifts to the floor.
  
  > 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 belches, and doesn't apologize.
  
  > Fish
  To do that, you'd need a fishing pole.
  
  "I heard your aunt's gonna get you all dolled up for the picnic. I just can't wait!"
  
  > Go east
  As you put your weight on the steps, several of the boards creak loudly.
  
  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 adjusts the angle of her straw hat microscopically.
  
  > ask Honey about the wasps
  Honey lowers her magazine and turns her big round dark glasses in your direction. "Well, hello, there."
  
  You casually mention spotting some wasps up under the eaves of the porch. Honey leaps up from the chaise longue. "Where? Where? Oh, my God! Up there? Thank you for tellin' me!" She rushes off toward her cabin.
  
  > take the figurine with the tongs
  You pick up the yellow-eyed figurine with the fire tongs.
  
  > go east
  (first opening the door)
  
  This cheerless cubicle looks oddly stark with the shelves leaning in one corner. There's an open doorway to the south, a door to the west, which is standing open, and a square hatch in the north wall.
  
  Several long pine planks are leaning in a corner.
  
  You see some rat droppings and some onions here.
  
  > close the door
  (the door)
  Closed.
  
  > go north
  The living room is not actually a small room, but it feels cramped because of the amount of thrift-shop furniture crammed into it.
  There's a fireplace on the north side of the room, a window to the east, and a tall, heavy bookcase against the west wall. An archway leads back to the south.
  
  Aunt Caroline is standing by the bookcase, absorbed in a book.
  
  > examine Aunt
  Your Aunt Caroline is a thin, pale woman of about 40, with mousy hair and a pinched face. Her glasses are perched, as usual, halfway down her nose. Her fingernails are gnawed. At the moment she's standing in front of the bookcase, lingering over the pages of a mystery novel.
  
  > ask Aunt about the fingernails
  "Where did you get that? No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains a pill bottle, a little white pill, some faded photographs, a flashlight, a croquet hoop, a partially crumbled piece of burnt toast, a bad fuse, a sketchbook, a stone bracelet, a gold locket, an old shovel, an indecipherable map, and a poker), a screwdriver, the key to Cabin One, some fire tongs, and a fat white candle. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > ask Aunt about the novel
  "You already know John Dickson Carr is one of my favorite authors," Aunt Caroline says. "I doubt you have anything fresh to contribute on that subject."
  
  > ask Aunt about the candle
  Aunt Caroline sets her glasses more firmly on her nose. "Put that back where you found it, at once."
  
  > ask Aunt about the handkerchief
  "Later, dear." Aunt Caroline's voice sounds thin and strained.
  
  > examine the glasses
  Aunt Caroline's glasses have heavy, blocky tortoiseshell frames. They're very unattractive.
  
  > examine Luisa
  Luisa is short and stocky, and has the olive complexion and broad, impassive features of a Mexican or Central American whose ancestry is strongly Mayan. Beneath an apron bulging with cleaning implements, her dress is gray and shapeless. Her long black hair, drawn back in a loose ponytail, is streaked with gray, and her dark eyes are not especially friendly. She's standing at the ironing board, ironing.
  
  > examine the laundry
  The big wicker basket is full of laundry.
  
  > Search basket
  The laundry basket seems to be empty.
  
  > ask Luisa about the handkerchief
  "Hello, Luisa," you say.
  
  She looks up from her ironing. "What do you want? You want somethin'?"
  
  "That's not something I goin' to worry about," she says. "Not right now."
  
  > ask Luisa about the laundry
  "I got work to do," Luisa says. "I don' have time to talk to silly girls."
  
  > open the door
  The door seems to be locked. You hear a low snort behind you, as if Luisa is expressing contempt or amusement. But when you turn to look, she's placidly ironing, not looking at you at all.
  
  > ask Luisa about the attic
  "You're just a chatterbox, ain't you? Why don't you go away an' bother somebody else, eh?"
  
  > look at the skirt
  The doll's skirt is rather faded and threadbare. It may once have been a cheerful lemon yellow.
  
  > take the skirt
  With only a bit of fiddling, you're able to remove the skirt from the doll.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains a pill bottle, a little white pill, some faded photographs, a flashlight, a croquet hoop, a partially crumbled piece of burnt toast, a bad fuse, a sketchbook, a stone bracelet, a gold locket, an old shovel, an indecipherable map, and a poker), a screwdriver, the key to Cabin One, some fire tongs, a fat white candle, and a faded yellow scarf. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > cry
  You try to summon up some tears, but can't quite manage it. On close inspection, though, the scarf is not exactly new. Maybe someone else's tears have already soaked into it.