text: [Themes: Horror, female protagonist]
  
  > Go down
  The stairs creak a bit as you descend.
  
  The entry hall of Eternal Springs is bare of decoration. The only furnishings are a grandfather clock, which ticks heavily, and a small round telephone table. The front door of the house stands open to the east, the screen door providing, at best, a very partial barrier against the ingress of insects. There are open archways to the north and south, and a narrow staircase with a threadbare runner leads upward. The hall extends further to the west, alongside the staircase.
  
  > open the stove
  Opening the oven reveals a piece of burnt toast.
  
  > take the toast
  (first putting the fire tongs in the burlap sack to make room)
  Taken.
  
  > Crumble toast
  You crumble up a portion of the toast and scatter the crumbs on the floor.
  
  When the crow sees the breadcrumbs you've scattered, he hops down from the windowsill and starts pecking at them.
  
  > Crumble toast
  You crumble up a portion of the toast and scatter the crumbs on the floor.
  
  The crow appears at the door of the closet. It's a confined space, but he seems quite fearless. He struts in and starts pecking for crumbs around your feet.
  
  > wait a while
  Time passes...
  
  The crow catches sight of the fat white spider! He makes a quick dive at the fuse box and snaps it up in his beak. A quick head-toss, and the spider is no more. Evidently feeling satiated, the crow saunters stiffly out of the closet, hops up to the windowsill, and flies away.
  
  > Clean box
  You brush away the spiderweb, revealing two vertical columns of glass circles with three circles in each column.
  
  > put fuse in the box
  There's no room in the box for anything at all, but that dark circle looks as if it doesn't belong. You might be able to remove it.
  
  > look at it
  The fuse is threaded, like the base of a lightbulb without the bulb. The flat glass circle on the top of the fuse is dark, as if something inside has burned.
  
  > check what you're carrying
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains a gold locket, a pill bottle, the key to Cabin One, a little white pill, an old shovel, some faded photographs, an indecipherable map, a hand mirror, a black-eyed figurine, a green-eyed figurine, a sketchbook, a stone bracelet, a flashlight, a mystery by John Dickson Carr, a croquet hoop, and some fire tongs), a poker, a partially crumbled piece of burnt toast, and a bad fuse. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > PUT POKER, TOAST, BAD FUSE IN SACK
  poker: Done.
  partially crumbled piece of burnt toast: Done.
  bad fuse: Done.
  
  > go east
  This stark bedroom seems to be a repository for cast-off furniture, some of which probably dates back to the Civil War. The bedstead has an iron frame, but no mattress. The door back to the hall is to the south, and an open doorway leads west into a closet. In the north wall is a window.
  
  You see some toast crumbs here.
  
  > Time
  You aren't wearing a wristwatch. Usually you'd keep track of time by glancing at your cell phone, but you seem to have misplaced that today. At a guess, it's about 4:15.
  
  > go west
  (first opening the door)
  
  This flimsy wooden platform overlooks the cellar. Stairs lead downward to the west, and there's a door to the east.
  
  > ask Tyrone about the batteries
  "Hello, Tyrone," you say.
  
  "Hello again," he says. "How you gettin' along, now?"
  
  You ask Tyrone whether he might know where there are some fresh batteries for the flashlight. He presses his lips together, looking exasperated - but at himself, not at you. "I was supposed to pick some up, you know, yesterday when I was in town, but I plumb forgot. Sorry, honey."
  
  > Go southeast
  You can't go that way. Obvious exits lead north, to the kitchen; south, to the area behind the cabins; east, to the north end of the croquet court; west; northeast, to the lawn; northwest, back to the gravel driveway; southwest, to the garden of junk; and in, to in the van.
  
  > go east
  Tyrone shrugs and goes back to work on the van.
  
  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
  (first opening the door of Cabin Three)
  You tap politely on the door of Cabin Three, and a low voice from within bids you enter.
  
  The interior of this rustic motel room looks pretty much like the interior of Cabin Five, except that it's a mirror image, with the door to the croquet court on the west side. Bedspreads the color of mud cover the twin beds. The tacky wood-grain wallpaper is starting to peel, and years of grime have been ground into the carpet. A bucolic, sentimentalized painting of some Negroes picking cotton adds to the oppressive sense that you've somehow slipped back into an earlier, less civilized era.
  
  Curtains the color of old pea soup hang beside the window to the right of the door. A chipped and scarred dresser stands against the east wall, near the door of the bathroom. There's a walk-in closet on the south side of the room.
  
  A man is sitting in a wheelchair at the foot of one of the beds. As you enter, he looks at you sharply from under lowered eyebrows. "So," he says in a soft voice. "You're to be the one. I was hoping - well, never mind."
  
  He smiles at you in a sad, sweet way. "My name is David," he says.
  You tell him your name is Diane, but he waves the information away. "Yes, I know," he says. "I wish I didn't. That might make it easier - a little easier, anyhow." He sighs. "Do you know why your aunt brought you here? No, of course you don't. If you knew, you'd - well, you wouldn't be standing here exchanging polite chitchat with me, I'm very certain."
  
  > look at David
  David is sitting in a wheelchair, his shoulders hunched forward. Although the day is hot, a thin blanket is spread across his lap and wrapped around his legs. His complexion is waxy, his hair brown and wispy. He seems to be no older than thirty or thirty-five, but the lines of pain etched in his face make him look like an old man. Occasionally his bony hands twitch at the blanket, as though he yearns to toss it aside and stand up - but then the hands fall slack again.
  
  > examine the wheelchair
  David's wheelchair is made of metal and black leather. The wheels are rubber.
  
  > ask David about the wheelchair
  David closes his eyes, and his hands twitch on the blanket that covers his knees. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "I don't believe I caught that."
  
  > ask David about himself
  David presses his lips together. "Me? I'm not really very interesting. I taught college at one time. And I was married, to a woman far more beautiful and charming than I deserved. After I fell ill, she - felt that she needed more out of life than I was able to provide. We're no longer married, but I've forgiven her. At least, I hope I have. She was quite right to move on. In another year or two, unless some miracle should intervene, I'll no longer be able to care for even my most basic needs. A young, vibrant woman has no business sacrificing her entire life in order to see to the care of a helpless invalid."
  
  > ask David about the picnic
  David is silent for so long, his eyes closed, that you start to wonder whether you ought to tiptoe away and stop pestering him. But then the watery gray eyes open and fix on your face. "I expect what you're really wondering," he says, "is why your aunt brought you here. Your aunt - your aunt doesn't have your best interests at heart, let's put it that way. Unless you're able to escape from this place within the next hour or two, I fear the consequences will be dire. Have you looked around? Have you seen the stone block that stands in the field near the southern extremity of the property? If you have, I need say no more. If you haven't, I urge you to go look at it. It's no mere archaeological relic; it has an exigent use."
  
  > ask David about the ghost
  When you tell David about the ghost you met in the meadow, he sighs. "Yes, of course there would have been others. Many others, I'm sure. Why one of the victims should have remained attached to this rather depressing spot, I'm sure I couldn't begin to guess. But since you and she have something in common, perhaps you'll be able to establish some sort of rapport with her. Not that it will do you any good."
  
  > ask David about the eternal Springs
  You ask David what he thinks of Eternal Springs. He laughs. "It's not a very nice motel, is it? None of us came here for the ambience, I can assure you."
  
  > ask David about Phelps
  "Our esteemed host," David says. He sounds a little sarcastic, and a little sad. "Don't underestimate him. He's incredibly dangerous, as powerful men so often are. I'd suggest you stay well away from him unless making an approach is absolutely essential."
  
  > ask David about the demon
  "It's a...." David pauses for so long, his chin sunk on his chest, that you begin to wonder whether he's fallen asleep. But at last he rouses himself. "I daresay I'm being disloyal, and I'm quite certain I shall regret this, one way or another. But I can't help thinking you deserve some explanation. Not that it will do any good. The course of events is quite unalterable.
  
  "This was all Indian land at one time, you know. Five hundred years ago, the empire of the Aztecs stretched this far north. I don't want to paint all Native Americans as bloodthirsty savages, certainly, but the current popular conception of them as being somehow noble and wise because they were in close touch with nature may be no more than a fond romanticization - a version of the perennially popular Myth of the Golden Age. The reality, I should imagine, is that Native Americans in those days were no better than we are, and no worse. Whatever one may prefer to believe of the Iroquois or the Navajo, the Aztecs, I'm bound to say, were not the sort of people we should describe as pleasant, good-natured, or nice.
  
  "Through the application of what we should describe as black magic, the Aztec priests aroused certain evil entities - entities of great power. These demons, to use the modern term, were capable of granting any wish that might lodge in the human heart, any wish at all, if only they were allowed to gorge on an offering of fresh heart blood." David shudders, and goes on.
  
  "I'm sure you find this difficult to credit. As I did, at first. But at a certain point, I became utterly convinced: At least one of these entities still roams the world. Perhaps more than one, if we're to judge from recent history. At all events, there is one. The stone block at the southeastern extremity of Eternal Springs is its altar. Periodically, the local priest - I believe you must have met him, he's the fat old man who operates this alleged motor court - makes an offering to the demon. On that block.
  
  "Or so I've been told. You'll understand that I haven't yet been out to see it myself. The path is rather bumpy for someone whose mobility is limited. I expect they'll wheel me out there tonight as sunset nears. But where was I?
  
  "The demon has it in his power to grant the dearest wish of each person who is present at the ceremony. Invitations of a sort are sent out into the world, in the form of small carved figurines, or statuettes. They're images of the demon. They wander the world and somehow find their way into the hands of individuals who have an unusually fervent desire. On this occasion, I'm one of those people. I'm sure you can guess the nature of my desire." He gestures at his useless legs. "Through one means or another, we're drawn here when the time for a fresh sacrifice is near."
  
  > ask David about the house
  David looks at you uncertainly. "I'm not sure I know what to tell you."
  
  > ask David about Tyrone
  "You mean the black hired man," David says, nodding. "At first I thought he must be part of Beauregard's little cabal. He was brusque, almost hostile. But when he helped me to my cabin he was very gentle and considerate. I don't know quite what to make of him."
  
  > ask David about swamp
  David sighs. He seems not to have heard you. More or less to himself, he says, "I know it's a hot day, but I feel the cold in my bones."
  
  > ask David about the figurine
  "The figurines ... ah, yes. Nasty little things, aren't they? You've seen one, I take it? If not, I'll show you one in just a moment." David frowns at his knees. He looks so sad you want to hug him, but you don't.
  
  "They have some sort of magical linkage," he says, "to the actual demon to whom the sacrifice is to be made. They make their way out into the world somehow - I have no idea how, but I do believe they're not quite as inert as they may appear - and attach themselves to certain individuals who are predisposed to want what they have to offer, as I explained to you earlier.
  
  "Once the attachment is formed, no one else can touch the figurine. It's quite impossible. I have one here ... if you'll just fetch my suitcase from the closet...." He points, and you fetch the suitcase.
  He sets it on his lap, unsnaps the latch, and draws out a hideous little carved statue, so deep red it's almost black, with white eyes that sparkle like diamonds or chips of ice. You have the disturbing sense that the little eyes are actually looking at you.
  
  David strokes the statue with a kind of reluctant fondness. "I'm torn, you see. On the one hand, I'd rather anything happen than what is to happen this evening. Please believe that. On the other hand ... to be able to walk again, to make love ... well, perhaps that doesn't mean much to you. How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?" He sighs. "Your whole life ahead of you."
  
  He pauses again, as if thinking. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I won't take any action myself to stop it. I've come too far. I'm committed. And in any event, if I were to interpose objections at this late stage, I'm quite sure I would be ignored. If not worse. But if you can discover for yourself a way to escape your fate, and if there's anything I can do to aid you, you have only to ask. I can do that much. Perhaps I'm only indulging in a sop to my conscience; I don't expect you'll have the slightest chance to evade what's to come. But if you're clever enough to do so, I won't stand in your way."
  
  He tucks the repellent figurine away in the suitcase again, and closes the suitcase.
  
  > look
  The interior of this rustic motel room looks pretty much like the interior of Cabin Five, except that it's a mirror image, with the door to the croquet court on the west side. Bedspreads the color of mud cover the twin beds. The tacky wood-grain wallpaper is starting to peel, and years of grime have been ground into the carpet. A bucolic, sentimentalized painting of some Negroes picking cotton adds to the oppressive sense that you've somehow slipped back into an earlier, less civilized era.
  
  Curtains the color of old pea soup hang beside the window to the right of the door. A chipped and scarred dresser stands against the east wall, near the door of the bathroom. There's a walk-in closet on the south side of the room.
  
  David is sitting here in his wheelchair.
  
  > look at the suitcase
  David's suitcase is large, brown, and scuffed.
  
  > open it
  That is not something you can open.
  
  "I'm feeling a bit tired," David says. "If you'll forgive me, I may want to close my eyes for a minute or two."
  
  > open the suitcase
  David refuses your request.
  
  > show the bracelet to David
  (first taking the stone bracelet from the burlap sack)
  David does not appear interested.
  
  > show the sketchbook to David
  (first taking the sketchbook from the burlap sack)
  You show David the thick book of drawings. He leafs through it idly before handing it back. "You can see what you're up against," he says. "Those will be copies of carvings found at various sites. I'm no archaeologist, but from certain details in the designs, I'd think the sites would be in Central America. That region has a long and bloody history. As does the rest of the world, of course. Have you ever really read the Bible? It's full of the most horrific carnage, most of it sanctioned by God, or by whatever entity the Hebrews thought was God. One is inclined to wonder...."
  
  > ask David about the legs
  You hesitate to keep pestering David with conversation. He looks tired.
  
  > tell David about Hank
  Hesitantly, you bring up what you saw, or rather heard, in the cabin just across the way. David listens to your story, his face grave. "I believe I heard the shot," he says. "That's what woke me from my nap. This is very bad, far worse than I had feared. They'll stop at nothing." As if to himself, he adds, "Well, I knew that already, didn't I?
  
  "And you say they took the body out in a boat to dispose of it? Hmm. While they're gone from the motel you might want to nose around in their cabins. Far be it from me to recommend thievery, but these people have certainly lost any claim they might have had to expect civil treatment."
  
  > ask David about the handkerchief
  David closes his eyes, and his hands twitch on the blanket that covers his knees. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "I don't believe I caught that."
  
  > 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.
  
  > show the photographs to David
  (first taking the faded photographs from the burlap sack)
  David does not appear interested.
  
  > show the locket to David
  (first taking the gold locket from the burlap sack)
  David does not appear interested.
  
  > Locket in sack
  faded photographs: Done.
  gold locket: Done.
  
  > ask David about God
  "Don't get me started," David says with a gentle laugh. "There may after all turn out to be a God - I'm certainly not qualified to say - but the evidence of His involvement in or concern with human affairs is tenuous at best. The evidence for less benign sorts of supernatural involvement is, I fear, far better."
  
  > ask David about Honey
  You tell David what little you've been able to learn about Honey Hartwell - that she's an aspiring singer from Nashville. "Not that I want to be critical," you add, "but I don't think she sings very well."
  
  "Ah, well," he says. "It's not difficult to infer that her only hope of stardom lies in ... what's to happen here today. Another talentless wretch who yearns not to be chewed up and spit out by the maw of the entertainment industry. If you're looking for evidence of demonic workings in human affairs, I daresay the popular music business wouldn't be a bad place to start."
  
  > ask David about Reverend
  You describe Reverend Gillespie to David. "He seems a little ... slimy," you finish, not wanting to seem too critical but also wanting to be honest with the one person around here who seems worth talking to.
  
  David listens sympathetically. "I haven't met the man," he says. "I wish I could say I'm surprised to learn that a so-called 'man of God' is involved in a ritual of the sort that Beauregard intends to preside at today, but I'm not."
  
  > ask David about the aunt caroline
  You chat with David about your life in New York, living with your neurotic aunt in a small apartment. He listens in an abstracted way, and murmurs a few polite responses. The more you tell him, the sadder he looks, so after a few minutes you fall silent.
  
  > give the book to David
  (the sketchbook)
  You show David the thick book of drawings. He leafs through it idly before handing it back. "You can see what you're up against," he says. "Those will be copies of carvings found at various sites. I'm no archaeologist, but from certain details in the designs, I'd think the sites would be in Central America. That region has a long and bloody history. As does the rest of the world, of course. Have you ever really read the Bible? It's full of the most horrific carnage, most of it sanctioned by God, or by whatever entity the Hebrews thought was God. One is inclined to wonder...."
  
  > give Carr to David
  (first taking the mystery by John Dickson Carr from the burlap sack) David looks at you with a kind of cloudy intensity. "There's nothing that I want or need. At least, nothing that you have ... other than your youth and vitality, of course, but we won't talk about that."
  
  > put the book and Carr in the sack
  Which book do you mean, the mystery by John Dickson Carr, or the sketchbook?
  
  > Sketchbook
  sketchbook: Done.
  mystery by John Dickson Carr: Done.
  
  > go west
  "You can leave the door open if you like," David says behind you. "I don't mind the fresh air."
  
  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 west
  Cabin Six is a lot like Cabin Five. Twin beds with ugly brown bedspreads haphazardly made up, water-stained plaster and peeling wallpaper, a grimy carpet. A faded painting of a flop-eared hound dog entirely fails to add cheer to the room. Tattered curtains hang across the window, which is to the left of the door.
  
  The dresser stands against the west wall, near the door of the bathroom. There's a walk-in closet on the south side of the room, and the door of the cabin is to the east.
  
  There's a small pool of blood in the middle of the floor.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a burlap sack (which contains a sequined jacket, a flashlight, an old shovel, a gold locket, and some faded photographs), the key to Cabin One, a pill bottle, a little white pill, a croquet hoop, a wooden bucket, and an indecipherable map. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > Go south
  The interior of the shed is bathed in shifting light. Watery reflections spill through the big door to the south, which has been raised. Water laps gently against the walls, and there's no floor at all, only a dock that juts out to the south from a narrow platform near the door. A small rowboat is tied up to the right of the dock.
  
  A narrow catwalk runs along the west wall, to the southwest from where you're standing. At the end of the catwalk is a large cylindrical mechanism from which a chain runs up toward the roof.
  
  The far wall of the shed is a large door through which the boats must be meant to pass in and out. At the moment the door is standing wide open.
  
  > examine rowboat
  The rowboat is barely big enough for two people to sit in. It looks old, battered, and more than a little banged-up.
  
  > look in it
  (first trying to go over to the rowboat)
  The rowboat is too far away.
  
  > enter the rowboat
  The rowboat is too far away.
  
  > go to the south
  As you start in that direction, suddenly the rowboat and the dock erupt in boiling gouts of flame. The heat beats against your face, and you cover your face with your hands and stagger backward. Bitter smoke fills your nostrils, and even through your hands and eyelids you can see the seething flames.
  
  But then the heat is gone, the blood-red light recedes. When you open your eyes, the shed hasn't been consumed by fire. The rowboat rocks serenely in the water, just as it did before.
  
  > Go southwest
  As you start in that direction, suddenly the interior of the shed goes pitch dark - or have you been struck blind? You pause, not wanting to step off the edge into the water. And then you feel things crawling on you. At first it's only a vague itch, but a moment later huge bugs are in your clothes, on your face, in your mouth. You try to brush them off, scrape them off, slap them away, but it doesn't seem to be working.
  
  As you writhe in terror, somehow you bump against the door of the shed. Its physical solidity dissolves the nightmare. You can see. There aren't any bugs, only the boats and the dock and the water.
  
  > examine the chain
  Which chain do you mean, the gold locket, or the drum-shaped mechanism?
  
  > Drum
  The drum-shaped mechanism is out at the southwest end of the catwalk.
  
  > examine the catwalk
  The catwalk is a narrow strip of planking that runs along the west side of the shed. At the far end of the catwalk is a drum-shaped mechanism.
  
  > look at the door
  Which door do you mean, the big door, or the boat shed door?
  
  > look at the big door
  The big door at the south end of the shed is made of horizontal metal strips, probably aluminum. An overhead track suggests that the door can be rolled up to allow boats to go in and out - and indeed, there's a drum-shaped mechanism at the south end of the catwalk from which a chain extends up and back along the track.
  
  > go north
  A large shed is built out over the waters of the swamp at this spot. The planks of the shed are weathered to a grayish color and the paint is peeling, but the shed looks solidly built. The door is standing wide open.
  
  You can go southwest around the side of the shed, northeast to the area between the cabins, and north or northwest to an open area behind the western row of cabins. The door of the shed is directly to the south, and a stretch of swampy shore lies to the east.
  
  > go east
  The screen door screeches metallically as you open it.
  
  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.
  
  > close the screen door
  The screen door closes itself, and in such hot weather there's no need to close the main front door. That would only make the house unbearably stuffy.
  
  > Go 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.
  
  As you pass Cabin Four, you notice that its door is standing ajar.
  
  > take the figurine
  As you reach out to touch the green-eyed figurine, you have the momentary sensation that it has lunged at you and snapped at your fingers with its teeth. Obviously, it couldn't actually have moved - could it? But a shaft of intense pain shoots up your arm, and you recoil as quickly as if you had put your hand in an open flame.
  
  > take the figurine with the tongs
  You pick up the green-eyed figurine with the fire tongs.
  
  > Go south
  As you start in that direction, suddenly it seems to you the whole shed is crawling with snakes - hundreds of them writhing over one another. The snakes are a carpet that covers the dock, the catwalk, the rowboat. They're boiling out of the water, hissing, their heads swaying as their red-black beady eyes fix on you. You scream and stagger back toward the door.
  
  A moment later the snakes are gone. You can't quite believe it, though: You look around nervously, and see no snakes, nor any other menace.
  
  > Go southwest
  As you start in that direction, suddenly you have the terrifying sensation that the room is entirely filled with green water. You don't seem to be able to move your limbs, and you can't breathe. It's as if the water has filled your mouth and nose - you can taste and smell its rotten reek. Indistinct shapes swim toward you, toothless mouths open to suck your juices out.
  
  With a convulsive effort you take a step backward toward the door, another step. And then the underwater nightmare is gone. You suck in a deep, uneven breath.
  
  > go to the southwest
  As you start in that direction, suddenly half a dozen human skeletons rise up out of the water, grinning. No, a dozen of them. No, twenty. The skeletons stalk toward you, brandishing long sharp knives! You lurch away from them, and lose your footing and nearly fall into the water. You scramble backward toward the door, whimpering, crying, "No, no, please...."
  
  With a dry clacking sound like sticks falling in a heap, the skeletons and their wicked knives vanish. The interior of the shed is peaceful again.
  
  > close the boat door
  Your first impulse is to close the boat shed door so as to have a little privacy, but then it occurs to you that if you do that, somebody might come along and lock it - and then you'd be trapped! No, better leave it open.
  
  > remove the shelves
  Careful not to make any loud thumping noises, you lift the shelves off of the brackets and lean them in a corner. The onions and rat droppings slide off. Now it's possible to get at the hatch.
  
  > open hatch
  You open the hatch, revealing a box-shaped cavity built into the wall.
  
  > examine the cavity
  The interior of the box is so small that a person your size could barely fit into it - maybe - by curling up in a ball. A grown-up would never be able to. The dust and cobwebs are thick, but fortunately there don't seem to be any spiders.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden bucket and a burlap sack (which contains a gold locket, a pill bottle, the key to Cabin One, a little white pill, an old shovel, some faded photographs, an indecipherable map, a hand mirror, a black-eyed figurine, a green-eyed figurine, a sketchbook, a stone bracelet, a flashlight, a mystery by John Dickson Carr, a croquet hoop, some fire tongs, a poker, a partially crumbled piece of burnt toast, and a bad fuse). You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > enter the box
  You're curled nearly double in a cramped wooden box in half-darkness.
  A sturdy length of rope is hanging vertically here, so close to your face you could scratch your nose against it if your nose itched. And that might be easier than scratching your nose any other way, because there's barely room here to move your arms. A small but sturdy-looking iron hook protrudes from the wall right next to your cheek.
  
  > pull the rope
  You grasp the rope firmly in both hands and pull, and the box in which you're confined rises, foot by swaying foot, up the shaft in which it's suspended. It appears the box is an old-fashioned dumbwaiter. In a few moments you're at the top of the shaft, in near-darkness broken only by a faint line of light that traces the shape of a hatch door like the one in the pantry below.
  
  > examine hook
  The iron hook protrudes several inches from the wall of the box, making the already cramped space seem almost like a torture chamber.
  
  > tie the rope to the hook
  You wrap the rope several times around the iron hook. It isn't much of a knot, but maybe it will hold.
  
  > Go outside
  The furnishings in the bedroom are about what you'd expect - a rumpled bed whose sour odor permeates the room and a dresser with a scatter of stuff on top. There's a wide archway to the east and an imposing-looking door in the north wall. The square hatch by which you first entered the room is set into the east wall at the northeast corner.
  
  > look under the bed
  You have a peek under the bed. Nope - nothing interesting under there, just sagging springs.
  
  > examine the dresser
  The chipped, warped chest of drawers looks like it's about a hundred years old, and has been rejected as junk by every antique shop in the state of Mississippi. It stands against the west wall - crookedly, because one front leg is visibly shorter than the other. The top is littered with a scatter of stuff.
  
  > look at the stuff
  The stuff on the dresser is about what you'd expect - a couple of hairbrushes full of greasy gray hair and dandruff, a chipped saucer with some paper clips and thumbtacks in it, and some pecan shells. Among the clutter you spot a stubby screwdriver. Now that might come in handy.
  
  > open the door
  (first unlocking the door)
  It occurs to you that nobody knows you're snooping in Beauregard Phelps's bedroom. And maybe that's just as well. Before throwing the door open, it would be sensible to take a quick look through the peephole and make sure the coast is clear.
  
  > look through the peephole
  Through the peephole you can see Luisa standing at her ironing board, ironing.
  
  > go east
  This narrow, windowless room is lit only by the daylight that spills through the open doorway to the west, which leads back to the bedroom. A narrow table stands against the north wall, and at the foot of the table, in the east wall, a metal grate is set in the baseboard.
  
  In the east wall, where you might ordinarily expect to see a door to another room, is a massive slab of stone, both broader and higher than a door. In the upper center of the slab is a circular carving.
  
  On the shallow table are a curved dagger and a purple-eyed figurine.
  
  > examine the dagger
  The dagger has a wicked-looking slim, curved blade nearly a foot long, and a black leather hilt.
  
  > examine the purple
  The evil figurine is like the others you've seen - it's about six inches tall, and is carved from a stone so deep red it's almost black. The eyes glint purple - and you have the disquieting sensation that they're actually staring at you. The figure's face is contorted with malevolence - the teeth bared, the eyes glaring, the tongue protruding.
  
  > look at the carving
  The design of the ornate circular carving is made up of seven or eight intertwining rattlesnakes, all of them baring their fangs. Within the loops formed by the snakes' coils are symbols that look like letters. The letters remind you of the markings on the stone bracelet you found in the dining room.
  
  > examine the grate
  The grate is a metal grill with a cross-hatch of sturdy wires, which are stained dark by years of smoky furnace fumes. The grate is mounted in the baseboard of the east wall, down near the floor between the slab and the table, and is held in place by a couple of metal screws.
  
  > Unscrew grate
  You loosen the screws with the screwdriver and rotate the grate away from the opening in the wall.
  
  > look at opening
  The grate is a metal grill with a cross-hatch of sturdy wires, which are stained dark by years of smoky furnace fumes. The grate is mounted in the baseboard of the east wall, down near the floor between the slab and the table, and is held in place by a couple of metal screws, which have been loosened, allowing the grate to be rotated outward.
  
  > enter it
  The opening is too small for you to squeeze through it.
  
  > open grate
  The grate is already open.
  
  > Go west
  The furnishings in the bedroom are about what you'd expect - a rumpled bed whose sour odor permeates the room and a dresser with a scatter of stuff on top. There's a wide archway to the east and an imposing-looking door in the north wall. The square hatch by which you first entered the room is set into the east wall at the northeast corner.
  
  > untie the rope
  You unwrap the rope from around the hook.