text: [Themes: Horror, female protagonist, Lovecraftian]
  
  > describe your surroundings
  A few trees, tall and old but gnarled, reach up out of the long grass of this meadow like grasping bony fingers, tattered streamers of moss and vine trailing from their crooked branches. The meadow is bordered on the south by the swamp and on the north by an intimidating barbed-wire fence, and continues for some distance to the east. The path along the edge of the swamp runs westward from here.
  
  Standing in the center of the meadow is a large, rough block of black stone.
  
  A restless ghost flits here and there across the meadow.
  
  > Go east
  The meadowland tapers off here, the barbed-wire fence from the north angling down to meet the swamp in the south. Other than heading back to the west, there's not much to do in this isolated spot except watch some rabbits, who are busy in the tall grass doing whatever it is rabbits do.
  
  > examine the rabbits
  They look pretty much like the rabbits you've seen in shows on the Nature Channel - brown, with long ears and short tails. They look a lot less cuddly than the rabbits in picture-books, though - rather mangy and malnourished, in fact. They pause occasionally to eye you with caution, and then go back to hopping around.
  
  > Pet rabbits
  That would be impolite.
  
  > go west
  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.
  
  > Go north
  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 north
  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, suggesting that at one time the open area might have been used as a croquet court.
  
  You're standing between Cabin Five (to the west) and Cabin Two (to the east). The croquet court continues north and south from here. Further to the north you can see a dusty stretch of lawn beside the house, and some distance to the south are the brackish, unhealthy-looking waters of a swamp.
  
  > go to the north
  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.
  
  > 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 2:45.
  
  > 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.
  
  Lounging on the chaise longue is a young woman wearing a wide floppy straw hat and big round sunglasses. When she catches sight of you, she lowers the magazine she's reading, favors you with a big smile that shows a bunch of exquisitely orthodontized teeth, and says in a cheery voice, "Well, hello there!"
  
  You acknowledge the greeting hesitantly. "You must be Diane," she goes on. "I'm Honey. Honey Hartwell, you know? The singer? Maybe you heard my CD?" Honey's voice drips Southern charm. "Now whatever may happen-" She lowers her voice conspiratorially and leans toward you. "-I want you to try to remember how grateful I am."
  
  Honey stretches languidly.
  
  > ask Honey about the sacrifice
  Honey nods soberly. "We all have to make sacrifices, don't we? You would be amazed at some of the things I've had to do to further my singin' career. Well, maybe you wouldn't. Nothin' I'd want to talk about, let me tell you."
  
  > ask Honey about the death
  Honey leafs through the magazine. Either she didn't hear you, or she's pretending she didn't.
  
  Honey tugs at a strap on her top.
  
  > ask Honey about the ritual
  Honey nods soberly. "We all have to make sacrifices, don't we? You would be amazed at some of the things I've had to do to further my singin' career. Well, maybe you wouldn't. Nothin' I'd want to talk about, let me tell you."
  
  Honey curls a strand of hair around her little finger.
  
  > ask her about Honey
  "Well, how nice of you to ask!" Honey's self-satisfied tone indicates that this polite response is a mere formality: She knew you'd be avid to know all about her. "I'm a vocalist. Someday real soon I'm goin' to be a big, big star."
  
  She throws back her head and warbles a few lines about love and pickup trucks in a nasal, tremulous, off-pitch soprano. You've never heard the song before, and nothing in her delivery makes you want to hear it ever again. You murmur a few polite words of faint praise. She preens, seeming not to notice your lack of enthusiasm.
  
  Honey yawns and stretches. "You know what?" she says. "I left my sunblock in the cabin. Honestly, I think I'd forget my boobs if they weren't a hundred percent real. I think I put the sunblock in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Would you be a doll and get it for me? Here, let me give you the key." She rolls sideways and leans low over her straw bag. After some mumbling and rooting in the depths of the bag, she fishes up a little key and hands it to you.
  
  "Run along now. And don't dawdle. I'm gettin' crispy. Oh, almost forgot. I'm in Cabin One."
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, an old shovel, a burlap sack, a flashlight, and a tarnished key, and you're wearing your clothes.
  
  Honey pulls her sunglasses down to the end of her nose with one finger in order to look meaningfully at you. "Didn't I ask you to bring me somethin', sugar?"
  
  > ask Honey about the picnic
  You mention to Honey that there's supposed to be some kind of special picnic tonight at sunset. Does she know anything about that?
  
  Honey purses her lips for a minute, as if she's trying to think. "I heard there was gonna be some deviled eggs," she says at last. "Maybe a barbecue or somethin'. You really ought to ask Beauregard, he knows more about it than I do."
  
  Honey licks her thumb and turns a page in the magazine.
  
  > ask her about the lydia
  After taking a deep breath, you tell Honey about the ghost you saw hovering around the stone block in the meadow. At first it seems she hasn't been paying attention, but then you see she's thinking. "That's good, isn't it?" She seems to be talking more to herself than to you. "That means it isn't really ... I mean, when you ... I mean, when any of us ... oh, forget it. I'm not too good at explaining things."
  
  > ask her about Tyrone
  You mention that Tyrone has been working on the van all afternoon. Shouldn't he be finishing up before long? "That old clunker?" Honey replies. "You ask me, it's a wonder it runs at all. I wouldn't be surprised if he's workin' on it 'til midnight. Now, my most recent boyfriend, he had a red convertible Porsche. But he had some bad habits too. I had to dump him."
  
  > ask her about Caroline
  Honey smiles broadly. "Your aunt's a famous author, isn't that right? I think that's just wonderful! I'm famous too, I don't know if I mentioned that. Before long I'm going to be a lot more famous. Can you imagine that? I been practicin' my autograph."
  
  Honey wiggles her toes.
  
  > ask her about Jimmy
  Honey nods. "That preacher fella? I saw him when he checked in. He looks very distinguished, don't you think?"
  
  Honey inspects her perfectly manicured bright pink nails.
  
  > ask her about Beauregard
  "That creepy old man?" Honey shudders. "He's been eyein' me all afternoon from up on the porch there. Don't think I haven't noticed. If it wasn't for ... oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand. Sometimes a girl has to put her career first, that's all."
  
  Honey hums a little off-key tune to herself.
  
  > 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.
  
  > go to the south
  As you walk away, Honey goes back to reading (if that's the right word) her magazine.
  
  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.
  
  > unlock the door with the key
  You unlock the door of Cabin One.
  
  > open the door
  Which door do you mean, the door of Cabin One, or the door of Cabin Four?
  
  > go east
  The interior of this rustic motel room looks pretty much like a mirror image of the interior of Cabin Five. Except - not really. Honey Hartwell seems to have arrived like a hurricane. Her possessions are strewn in profusion on every available surface, including the floor. Most of the stuff is clothing, every bit of it gaudy and in terrible taste. In amongst the garb you can also see half a dozen photo magazines devoted to celebrity worship, and the top of the dresser (which stands against the east wall, near the door of the bathroom) is overflowing with cosmetics.
  
  Aside from that, the cabin is unremarkable: the door to the croquet court on the west, a walk-in closet to the south, brown bedspreads on the twin beds, tacky wood-grain wallpaper that's starting to peel, green curtains over the window, and a carpet into which years of grime have been ground. A murky painting of a tired-looking Confederate soldier only contributes to the air of dejection and decay.
  
  > open the top drawer
  Opening the top drawer reveals a sequined jacket.
  
  > examine the jacket
  Neatly folded in the top drawer is what appears to be a wide-lapelled jacket whose fabric is entirely covered with sparkling sequins.
  
  > look at the confederate
  The soldier is leaning on his rifle. He looks as if he lost the battle, but is too tired to care.
  
  > Search jacket
  Sewn inside the collar of the jacket is a label.
  
  > read the label
  In a tiny, flowery script that looks hand-stitched (in glossy pink thread, naturally), the label says, "Another fine item of personal adornment from the Garmenteria d'Frobozz. Post-release bugs found and reported by Daphne Brinkerhoff, David Silberman, and Arnel Legaspi."
  
  > wear the jacket
  (first putting the old shovel in the burlap sack to make room, then taking the sequined jacket)
  You'd look far too conspicuous sashaying around in the sequined jacket. Anyway, it's not your style.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains an old shovel), a flashlight, the key to Cabin One, and a sequined jacket, and you're wearing your clothes.
  
  > look at the possessions
  Honey's clothes are scattered everywhere. Low-cut tops, Spandex tights, frilly underwear - and is that a tiara lying on the bed? It's sad, really.
  
  > take the tiara
  You glance at Honey's clothes and instantly dismiss them as unimportant.
  
  > Go east
  (first opening the bathroom door)
  
  The tiny, cramped bathroom features 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 westward.
  
  > open the mirror
  Opening the medicine cabinet reveals a tube of suntan lotion and a pill bottle.
  
  > 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." It's closed by a screw-top - probably child-proof, but easily removed.
  
  > take all from the mirror
  tube of suntan lotion: Taken.
  pill bottle: Taken.
  
  > 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.
  
  When Honey sees that you're carrying her sequined jacket, her eyebrows shoot straight up. "You like my things, sugar? I get a lot of compliments on my fashion sense - but you know, it's not nice to borrow someone's things without her permission. Give it here."
  
  With a reluctance amounting almost to dread, you hand over the jacket. Honey stuffs it down into her big straw bag quite unceremoniously, settles back on the chaise, and says more or less to herself, "Maybe it was a mistake to let you have the key to my cabin. No tellin' what other mischief you might have got up to. Well, I guess it doesn't matter. Lord knows you're entitled to have a little fun before...." She falls silent.
  
  "Before what?" you demand indignantly.
  
  Honey goes a little pale. "Oh, nothin'. I didn't mean anything by it, sugar. I'm a little on edge, is all. Why don't you run along and play or somethin'."
  
  > put the jacket in the sack
  Done.
  
  > 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 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, a tube of suntan lotion, and a pill bottle. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > give the lotion to Honey
  Honey lowers her magazine and turns her big round dark glasses in your direction. "Well, hello, there."
  
  "Oh, you brought it! Thanks a bunch." Honey takes the tube of suntan cream from you, flips open the top, and squirts a glob into her palm. "I'm just goin' to relax here for a while longer before the picnic." She puts a light but lingering emphasis on the last word. "Why don't you run along and play or somethin'? But don't go too far!"
  
  Honey stretches languidly.
  
  > 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.
  
  Honey adjusts the angle of her straw hat microscopically.
  
  > examine 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.
  
  > 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.