text: [Themes: Horror, Lovecraftian, surreal, body horror, strong NPCs, child abuse, female protagonist, horror, Lovecraft, changing environment, child death, city]
  
  > Look around
  Whatever else their faults may have been, the Verlacs were evidently not ones to shun the printed word. Books line the walls from floor to ceiling in this dark-paneled, green-carpeted room, interrupted only by doorways to the east and south. A rich, brown leather armchair sits in stately repose near the window, with a polished brass pipe stand nearby completing the picture of some blue-blooded country squire's literary refuge. Once again, you are struck by how easily this place could have been the perfect home.
  
  A beautiful pair of mahogany sliding doors stand closed to the east.
  
  Resting on the pipe stand is a sizable volume decorated with a gilded pentagram on its cover.
  
  > look at the books
  Literally hundreds of books stuff the shelves, many of them thick, cracked, leather-bound tomes with ribbon place-holders and titles lettered in raised gold leaf. It would take you years to peruse them all. However, one interesting title does catch your eye. An authentic first printing of Edgar Allen Poe's Tales of Mystery and
  Imagination, shelved incongruously between volumes "G" and "H" of
  the Encyclopedia Americana.
  
  > look at Poe
  It's a beautifully bound book in near-perfect condition, and probably extremely valuable -- if it really is authentic. Michael will go nuts when he sees this.
  
  > read Poe
  You'll have to take it down from the bookshelf if you want to read anything other than the spine.
  
  > take Poe
  The book sticks stubbornly at first, and, thinking that it must be tightly wedged in between the encyclopediae, you give it a fierce jerk. Suddenly, the book slides halfway out, then pops back in with a loud "snick".
  
  Amazingly, a section of the bookshelf slides back, revealing a hidden safe.
  
  > look at safe
  It's a stark cube of black, oily steel, fifteen inches to a side. Its only feature is a large calibrated dial set into the front.
  
  > examine the dial
  The dial is calibrated from one to sixty. It is currently set to 24.
  
  > take safe
  You don't even want to guess how much that thing weighs. You'd likely break your back just trying to lift it.
  
  > go south
  The shuttered window at the end of the hall throws a gloomy rectangle of light onto the bare wooden floor. Doorways lead north and south.
  
  A rickety wooden ladder stands here, descending from a three-foot by three-foot square of darkness in the ceiling.
  
  > go to the south
  This must be the children's bedroom. The bed is smaller than the one in the master bedroom, its bright coverlet providing one of the few feeble splashes of color in what must have been, for most of its history, a joylessly Puritan household. A small vanity table occupies the opposite wall, and in the corner under the window stands an ancient crib. The only exit is to the north.
  
  A child's jewelry box sits on the corner of the vanity.
  
  > look at the box
  It's hardly larger than your hand, made of wood and charmingly decorated with a picture of children dancing around a Maypole. Most likely a plaything of one of the later Verlac children. The lid is closed.
  
  > open the box
  You open the jewelry box, revealing a silver locket.
  
  > examine the locket
  It is oval-shaped, held shut with a tiny clasp.
  
  > open the locket
  You open the silver locket, revealing a boy's picture.
  
  > look at the picture
  (the jewelry box)
  It's hardly larger than your hand, made of wood and charmingly decorated with a picture of children dancing around a Maypole. Most likely a plaything of one of the later Verlac children. The lid is open to reveal a silver locket.
  
  > examine boy
  The boy in the picture looks no more than three or four years old. He is smiling, but there is something disconcerting about his expression, as though his head were not shaped quite right or his features had been placed slightly wrong. He might possibly have been mentally retarded. It's difficult to tell, because the picture has been cropped so closely you can't even see the edges of the boy's face. Only his features fill the tiny frame.
  
  > look through the window
  Through the narrow slats in the shutters, you can make out the bony, grasping branches of the surrounding trees, waving in the wind. Not a soothing sight.
  
  > look at the crib
  The crib is made of wood and held together with pegs, not nails. It's probably at least as old as the house.
  
  > look in the crib
  The crib is empty.
  
  > look at the vanity
  A simple vanity table, scaled down for a child, spartan in design and almost wholly without decoration. It's hard to imagine keeping any sort of makeup or jewelry on it, but then again, vanity of even the most innocent kind was probably discouraged in most of the Verlac children.
  
  > look under the bed
  You notice some odd scratches in the floor around the legs of the bed frame -- marks about six inches long, scored into the wood. Otherwise, nothing but shadows and dust under the bed.
  
  > pull the bed
  Bracing yourself, you push the bed away from the wall, revealing a ragged hole in the wood paneling.
  
  > examine the hole
  It's about six inches wide, and looks like it was made by by someone breaking in the wall with a hammer and pulling chunks of paneling out with their bare hands.
  
  > look in the hole
  In the ragged hole is a bundle of soggy pages.
  
  > take the pages
  You pick up the bundle of soggy pages. It appears to have been someone's diary. There must have been a leak at some time behind the wall where it was hidden, because most of the pages are water-logged and completely illegible. However, portions of a few entries remain untouched.
  
  > examine diary
  It appears to have been someone's diary. There must have been a leak at some time behind the wall where it was hidden, because most of the pages are water-logged and completely illegible. However, portions of a few entries remain untouched.
  
  > read the diary
  Carefully, you turn the tattered pages. The handwriting is that of a young girl. You idly wonder if this might have been the diary of one of Edward Verlac's daughters -- but then you notice part of a date, just visible in the corner of the page: 1953. This must have been written, then, several years before Edward was born.
  
  The entries that are legible read as follows:
  
  ...Father came again to my bed last night... mother doesn't...
  tells me I can't... to be a good daughter. Sometimes it hurts, but Father always tells me I shouldn't cry. Father says a daughter must do her Duty if she wants to get into Heaven. And I do want to get into Heaven...
  
  [this entry dated 1957] ...my poor little William. Father calls
  him an aberration, child of the Devil, but I don't believe... locked in the attic. I go to see him whenever Father is away. I sing to him, sometimes, through the keyhole, and slip him sweets through the crack under the door... my baby is beautiful... can't let him hurt my dear baby William... to the doctor, and he has a plan... I can never... this locket, William, and I will always keep yours... to always remember my face...
  
  Nothing else is readable except for one fragmented entry near the very end of the book, the date in the corner reading February 27, 1961:
  
  ...dead, but not dead yet... will not allow him to do to Edward
  what he wanted to do to William... have learned... given him the charm against the... never take it off, dear Edward... [a page has been
  torn away] ...fear to sleep... mist at the window --
  
  And that's all.
  
  > go north
  The shuttered window at the end of the hall throws a gloomy rectangle of light onto the bare wooden floor. Doorways lead north and south.
  
  A rickety wooden ladder stands here, descending from a three-foot by three-foot square of darkness in the ceiling.
  
  > go north
  The master bedroom is a picture-postcard of rustic New England charm. Faded sketches of rural landscapes adorn the walls; a beautifully carved dressing mirror stands in one corner; an old-fashioned accordion radiator gurgles quietly beneath the window. The most striking feature, an enormous, antique, four-poster bed, must be the largest piece of furniture in the house. Doorways lead west and south.
  
  You can also see your umbrella here.
  
  > go to the 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.
  
  Michael's bath towel lies crumpled in the corner, next to the tub.
  
  > take the towel
  Taken.
  
  > smell it
  Smells a bit mildewy.
  
  > take the umbrella
  (slipping the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.