text: [Themes: Horror, Lovecraftian, city, violence, self-mutilation, child abuse, academic NPC, incest, Lovecraft]
  
  > Go downward
  You pass through the gate and down the stone steps, which curve northwest as they lead down to the edge of the river.
  
  The ponderous stones of Whateley Bridge arch overhead, casting this little concrete ledge into deep shadow. At your feet, the dark waters lap quietly against the stones with a hollow, subterranean sound. Stone steps to the southeast lead back up to street level.
  
  A small metal door, blotchy with rust, is set into the south bank of the river, underneath the bridge.
  
  In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind.
  
  > look at water
  The water is dark, brackish brown, and utterly foul. An oily sheen covers its surface, and occasionally small lumps float by -- lumps of what, you'd rather not guess.
  
  > go north
  This looks to be an older part of the sewer system that has fallen into disrepair. Many of the pipes here have crumbled and are filled with debris.
  
  Set in the low ceiling is an old iron hatch.
  
  > examine the pipes
  The pipes are broken and jagged, filled with debris and thick slime.
  
  > search them
  You find only broken debris.
  
  > get them
  They're hardly portable.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a meat hook, a hooded robe and a lantern (providing light).
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a book of matches with five matches left, a tattered drawing, a teddy bear, a broken padlock, a newspaper, a strange metal flute, a silver locket, a gold locket, a flashlight, a keyring, on which are six keys (a small steel key, a small copper key, an old-fashioned brass key, an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), an animal's skull, Michael's faculty card, a bundle of soggy pages, a puzzle box (which is open but empty), a flask (which is closed), a letter opener, a slip of paper, a family album, a torn journal, a typewritten notice, your umbrella and a towel.
  
  > open it
  (first taking the flask)
  You open the flask.
  
  > Go south
  The ceiling in this north-south tunnel is so low you must bend nearly double to navigate it. Water drips endlessly through the walls and ceiling, seeping in through thousands of invisible fissures, the constant plip-plip-plipping echoing loudly throughout the tunnel. The air is so damp you can hardly breathe. Unless your sense of direction is mistaken, you must be crossing the Miskaton River -- underneath
  it.
  
  > fill the flask
  (with the newspaper)
  (first taking the newspaper)
  (slipping the meat hook into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get
  a hand free)
  Taken.
  The mouth of the flask is too narrow.
  
  > put the water in the flask
  (first taking the sewer water)
  You'd only get your fingers wet.
  
  > fill the flask with the water
  You dip the flask into the fetid water, collecting a small
  quantity of sewer water.
  
  > pour the water on the hinges
  (the small quantity of sewer water on the rusty hatch)
  Stop trying to make a mess.
  
  > examine the water
  (the small quantity of sewer water)
  It's just an ordinary-looking small quantity of sewer water.
  
  > pour the water
  (the small quantity of sewer water)
  The small quantity of sewer water spills out over the floor, where it quickly trickles away.
  
  > knock on the hatch
  No one answers.
  
  > Go north
  The ponderous stones of Whateley Bridge arch overhead, casting this little concrete ledge into deep shadow. At your feet, the dark waters lap quietly against the stones with a hollow, subterranean sound. Stone steps to the southeast lead back up to street level.
  
  A small metal door, blotchy with rust, is set into the south bank of the river, underneath the bridge.
  
  > examine the film
  The Miskaton's waters are sluggish and dark. Some sort of oily film coats the surface, reflecting back ghostly swirls of color.
  
  The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat.
  
  > pour the water on the hinges
  (the small quantity of river water on the rusty hatch)
  Stop trying to make a mess.
  
  > pour the flask on the hinges
  You can't pour the flask; it's not a liquid.
  
  > put the water on the hinges
  (the small quantity of river water on the rusty hatch)
  Putting things on the rusty hatch would achieve nothing.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a newspaper, a flask (which is open), inside which is a small quantity of river water, a hooded robe and a lantern (providing light).
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a meat hook, a book of matches with five matches left, a tattered drawing, a teddy bear, a broken padlock, a strange metal flute, a silver locket, a gold locket, a flashlight, a keyring, on which are six keys (a small steel key, a small copper key, an old-fashioned brass key, an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), an animal's skull, Michael's faculty card, a bundle of soggy pages, a puzzle box (which is open but empty), a letter opener, a slip of paper, a family album, a torn journal, a typewritten notice, your umbrella and a towel.
  
  > examine the lantern
  It's an old-fashioned hurricane lamp, with a tall glass chimney to protect it from the wind. The cotton wick burns fitfully in its reservoir of cheap oil.
  
  > pour the water on the robe
  (the small quantity of river water on the hooded robe)
  Stop trying to make a mess.
  
  > Ialdabaoloth
  The blasphemous syllables crawl loathsomely from your lips. The word lingers in the air like a cyst -- just hearing the sound of it makes you nauseous. Nature itself seems to draw back from the sound, as though horrified by your very voice.
  
  > Go south
  The ceiling in this north-south tunnel is so low you must bend nearly double to navigate it. Water drips endlessly through the walls and ceiling, seeping in through thousands of invisible fissures, the constant plip-plip-plipping echoing loudly throughout the tunnel. The air is so damp you can hardly breathe. Unless your sense of direction is mistaken, you must be crossing the Miskaton River -- underneath
  it.
  
  > look at the paintings
  All of them are bizarre, and most of them border on the grotesque. Alien landscapes peopled by writhing, malformed creatures; ancient temples built in strange, eye-bending architectures; monstrous beasts crawling through shadows that cannot quite conceal their disturbingly human shapes -- these seem to make up the bulk of the paintings' subject matter. And yet, despite the fantastical nature of the images painted, the style is neither abstract nor surreal. In fact, the level of detail approaches the photorealistic. Excruciating attention has been paid to light, shadows, and textures; even the alien creatures are depicted with gruesome anatomical accuracy. It is as though the artist had worked from actual, living models rather than from what must have been a thoroughly deranged imagination, and the overall effect is rather chilling.
  
  > examine the scene
  A strange scene, showing only a clergyman staring down into the pages of a large, black-bound book. The point of view is that of someone standing beneath the pulpit, looking up -- so that the text of the book is hidden from the viewer, while the preacher's face is clearly visible.
  
  He seems to be caught in a paroxysm of terror: his face livid; his lips stretched back in a gruesome rictus; his eyes bulging wide and shot red with blood. The cords in his neck are rigid and taut, as though he were straining to tear his gaze from the page, and yet he still grips the edges of the pulpit with whitened knuckles.
  
  You shake yourself suddenly, and realize you've been staring intently at the painting for minutes on end. You step back and rub your tired eyes. When you look again, however, the picture you were just examining is no longer in front of you. None of the other paintings have moved as far as you can tell, but that particular scene seems to have disappeared without leaving so much as a blank space on the wall.
  
  > examine the scene
  A young apprentice butcher learns his trade in a slaughterhouse. The older man -- heavyset, thick jaw and sloping brow -- holds his cleaver above a severed calf's head, looking expectantly at the boy as though demonstrating the proper technique. The boy, holding a smaller cleaver of his own, looks on attentively. It would be reminiscent of something by Norman Rockwell, except for the frankly alarming amount of gore. The aprons and faces of both master and apprentice are streaked with blood; blood pools on the chopping block and overspills the gutters; blood drips from the walls and from the skinned carcasses that can be seen hanging in the background. The two butchers stand ankle-deep in a reeking abattoir.
  
  And... there's something wrong with the boy. Most of his body is hidden behind the chopping block, but there are details about the parts you can see that... don't seem to fit quite right. The arm holding the cleaver is slightly misshapen, for example, the fingers deformed in a way that you can't quite make out. And his neck seems just a bit too thick, and his head seems just a bit too large and blocky. His face looks normal enough, except that it seems to have been placed just slightly off-center. It's a very subtly disturbing effect.
  
  You shake yourself suddenly, and realize you've been staring intently at the painting for minutes on end. You step back and rub your tired eyes. When you look again, however, the picture you were just examining is no longer in front of you. None of the other paintings have moved as far as you can tell, but that particular scene seems to have disappeared without leaving so much as a blank space on the wall.
  
  > examine the scene
  A group of primitive tribesmen dance within a ring of standing stones, beneath a lightning-streaked sky. Their dress and some of the fetishes they carry -- feathers, rattles, ceremonial masks -- all seem to represent a Native American culture, but the men themselves are... strange. They look truly savage and degenerate, in a way that you don't often see Native Americans depicted. Peering closely, you can see that some of them even appear to be deformed.
  
  Overlooking the dance stands a tall obelisk on a hill, silhouetted against the storm clouds above. The artist added a strange effect to the cloud formations directly above the obelisk; the color and shading seem to suggest a red, baleful eye looking down upon the strange ritual below.
  
  You shake yourself suddenly, and realize you've been staring intently at the painting for minutes on end. You step back and rub your tired eyes. When you look again, however, the picture you were just examining is no longer in front of you. None of the other paintings have moved as far as you can tell, but that particular scene seems to have disappeared without leaving so much as a blank space on the wall.
  
  > look at the scene
  A simple scene, without the gruesome and fantastic detail that embellishes so many of the other paintings: a sailing ship on dark waters, coming in to port in the dead of night. A lighthouse, standing tall in the distance, lights the way.
  
  You shake yourself suddenly, and realize you've been staring intently at the painting for minutes on end. You step back and rub your tired eyes. When you look again, however, the picture you were just examining is no longer in front of you. None of the other paintings have moved as far as you can tell, but that particular scene seems to have disappeared without leaving so much as a blank space on the wall.
  
  > examine the scene
  A group of white men in Revolutionary period clothing, taking prisoner a group of Native Americans. The exact situation is unclear: the white men stand around with muskets threatening, while the natives, who are chained together, file into a fenced enclosure, as though being herded into a compound of some sort.
  
  In the extreme background, at the far end of the enclosure, stands a large brick building. Dark, grainy smoke billows up from two stone chimneys rising above the structure. Leaning very close, you can just make out another group of natives being herded into the structure by more of the white men.
  
  You shake yourself suddenly, and realize you've been staring intently at the painting for minutes on end. You step back and rub your tired eyes. When you look again, however, the picture you were just examining is no longer in front of you. None of the other paintings have moved as far as you can tell, but that particular scene seems to have disappeared without leaving so much as a blank space on the wall.
  
  > look at the scene
  A somewhat Boschian scene, depicting a line of naked, emaciated men, their ankles shackled and chained together, shuffling forward to offer obeisance to the glowing maw of an enormous furnace. The men are malnourished and covered with terrible burns. The foremost is kneeling, offering... something, you can't make out what... up to the mouth of flames, while the rest stand as far back as they are able, their heads bowed in what appears to be fear and penitence. It isn't clear where this is supposed to be taking place; beyond the fiery glow there is nothing but soot-filled, Stygian blackness. An artist's rendition of Hell, perhaps?
  
  For some reason, you are reminded of old photographs of the Nazi death camps, in which Jews were forced to feed the ovens with the corpses of their own.
  
  You shake yourself suddenly, and realize you've been staring intently at the painting for minutes on end. You step back and rub your tired eyes. When you look again, however, the picture you were just examining is no longer in front of you. None of the other paintings have moved as far as you can tell, but that particular scene seems to have disappeared without leaving so much as a blank space on the wall.
  
  > go to the east
  Although it appears spacious from the outside, the house's interior feels cramped and gloomy. The walls seem too close together; the ceiling is too high. The doorways, leading in several directions, are narrow and filled with shadows, and the stairs leading up to the second floor are steep and rickety. This is not a house that makes you feel welcome. It is a house that makes you feel tiny and timid, and afraid of dark places. It is a house that makes you feel alone.
  
  The front door stands open to the south.
  
  Your luggage is still here, spread out all over the foyer.
  
  > go north
  A cramped little annex off the main attic, with a tiny, shuttered window high up on the north wall. A pile of mouldering straw in the corner and what looks like pencil marks on the lower part of the walls seem to indicate that someone lived here once. Or, possibly, was kept here.
  
  > unlock back door
  (first taking the keyring)
  (slipping the flask into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  (closing the flask first)
  Taken.
  You unlock the back door.
  
  > examine the roots
  The fleshy, tuberous roots seem to be probing their way through the walls like so many dead, swollen fingers.
  
  > look at the wires
  The wiring runs back and forth across the ceiling in every direction -- wrapped around timbers, in and out of rusted, broken conduits, crossing and re-crossing itself in a dozen places. You can see several places where the insulation is cracked or stripped altogether. It's enough to send any self-respecting fire marshall into conniptions.
  
  > Go south
  Old crates and boxes piled high against the walls make this room seem even smaller and dingier than it actually is, which is saying a lot. A doorway lies north; the other walls contain nothing but shadows and dirt-filled corners.
  
  > Examine crates
  The accumulated junk of almost four centuries' worth of one family's strangeness. Most of it is old linens, moth-eaten clothes, newspaper clippings -- exciting stuff like that. There's far more here than you could ever go through, even if you had the inclination to.
  
  > search them
  It would take years to properly sort through all this junk. Just thinking about it makes you tired.
  
  > Go south
  Although it appears spacious from the outside, the house's interior feels cramped and gloomy. The walls seem too close together; the ceiling is too high. The doorways, leading in several directions, are narrow and filled with shadows, and the stairs leading up to the second floor are steep and rickety. This is not a house that makes you feel welcome. It is a house that makes you feel tiny and timid, and afraid of dark places. It is a house that makes you feel alone.
  
  The front door stands open to the south.
  
  Your luggage is still here, spread out all over the foyer.
  
  A cold, noiseless draft coils through the narrow entrance hall. You shiver, wondering where it came from.
  
  > look at the mirror
  A flawless mirror in a beautifully scrolled walnut frame. It's about as tall as you are.
  
  > look in the mirror
  You look good, considering you're filthy from splashing around in the sewers and soaking wet. A bit rattled by recent events, perhaps, but well-poised and collected, all the same.
  
  > look at the radiator
  The radiator runs on gas, not electricity, which is why it's even working at all. It's quiet and it keeps the room cozy, which is all you really need it to do, so everything seems to be in order there.
  
  > go west
  A small chamber of cold, white tile and floral-print wallpaper. It sports a genuine, whitewashed, claw-foot bathtub with a shower attachment, which is a definite plus. The bedroom lies east.
  
  > examine the tub
  It looks deep enough to swim in. You could spend hours soaking in that thing.
  
  > examine the doors
  Each door is carved from a single piece of mahogany, and polished to a deep, rich shine. The doors are open.
  
  > examine Benson
  It's the dead body of a woman. Her head has been raggedly hacked away, and her clothes above the waist are soaked through with blood. As you fight to control your rising gorge, you note that the body cannot have been here for very long; the decay, though bad, is not very far advanced. She must have been killed within the last couple of days at most.
  
  A skittering movement from the corpse makes you jump. When you look again, you see it's only an insect crawling across her blouse.
  
  > examine the hatch
  You can just make out a fresh bloodstain underneath the hatch. It drips down the side of the furnace in several streaks.
  
  > open it
  Your throat tightens as you slowly open the bloodstained hatch...
  
  Slow horror washes over you. You found exactly what you expected to find, of course. It's the real estate agent's severed head.
  
  > get the head
  You'd just as soon leave the repulsive thing alone.
  
  > examine the head
  It's the gore-spattered head of the real estate agent -- you recognize her from the cover of a brochure she sent you in the mail several months ago. The eyes are still open and the mouth thrown wide in a silent scream.
  
  > Search furnace
  In the wood-burning furnace is the real estate agent's severed head.
  
  > examine the trap door
  The boards are old and warped, but still quite sturdy.
  
  > examine the beetles
  You can't see any such thing.
  
  You can't see any such thing.
  
  > look at the shaft
  The walls of the shaft are rough stone, dropping down farther than you can see.
  
  > throw the broom in the shaft
  The broom drops down out of sight, and a few seconds later you hear a faint splash.
  
  > examine the stairs
  It looks as though it might bear your weight; unfortunately it's just a couple of feet beyond your reach.
  
  > Go east
  Centipedes and beetles scurry away across the rotten floorboards as you shine your light across the room. Over in the corner sits a hulking shape of black metal that was probably once a wood-burning furnace; aside from that, the cellar looks empty. A dark alcove, the shadows within too thick to see through, opens in the west wall, and a trap door in the ceiling leads back up to the outside.
  
  At the very edge of your light's glow, you can just make out a horribly suggestive shape lying in the shadows behind the furnace.
  
  > jump into the shaft
  The pit at your feet is dark and fathomless; there's no way to safely descend from here.
  
  > jump
  You take a few steps back, draw in a deep breath, and make a dash for the edge. At the last possible second you jump, sailing out over the pit as you make a desperate grab for the bottom riser...
  
  ... and catch it.
  
  The riser bends ominously under your weight but doesn't give. Panting, you haul yourself up onto the creaking stairs.
  
  The stairs stop short about seven feet shy of the basement floor, the bottom-most steps hanging suspended over an empty shaft that descends beyond sight into the shadowy depths. What's left of the structure creaks and shifts uneasily under your feet. At the top of the stairs to the north, a doorway opens onto the ground floor of the church.
  
  The creaking under your feet is getting louder.
  
  > look through the windows
  Boards nailed across the windows on the outside prevent you from seeing out.
  
  > Go east
  This little room behind the chapel is hardly bigger than a broom closet. A ladder bolted to the wall leads up through a hatch, presumably up into the steeple.
  
  > open the window
  The window is adamantly stuck shut.
  
  > examine the window
  It's just an ordinary-looking narrow window.
  
  > jump
  You jump on the spot, fruitlessly.
  
  > examine the hole
  (the square hole)
  You can't quite see what's up there, but you assume it must lead to the belfry.
  
  > enter the hole
  (the square hole)
  The square hole is well out of reach.
  
  > pull the rope
  You tug on the rope, but it seems firmly attached to whatever it's tied to at the top of the steeple.
  
  > climb it
  You haul yourself up onto the rope, bringing your whole weight to bear. It holds for about three seconds -- then there is a sharp snap from above you and a muffled clank. The rope falls, spilling you to the floor amidst an untidy tangle of coils.
  
  > drop all
  hooded robe: Dropped.
  
  > Inventory
  You are wearing your clothes and your wedding ring.
  
  > take all
  trenchcoat: Taken.
  hooded robe: Taken.
  length of rope: You pick up the length of rope. It's about twenty feet long, frayed in a few places but still sturdy enough.
  
  > Wear coat
  You put on the trenchcoat.
  
  > Inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a length of rope and a hooded robe.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a tattered drawing, a teddy bear, a broken padlock, a small steel key, a meat hook, a newspaper, a strange metal flute, a silver locket, a gold locket, a flashlight (providing light), a keyring, on which are five keys (a small copper key, an old-fashioned brass key, an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), an animal's skull, Michael's faculty card, a bundle of soggy pages, a puzzle box (which is open but empty), a flask (which is closed), a letter opener, a slip of paper, a family album, a book of matches with six matches left, a torn journal, a typewritten notice, a lantern, your umbrella and a towel.
  
  > examine the opener
  It's a rather ornate thing, with a silver hilt and a slim, sharp tip.