text: [Themes: Horror, Lovecraftian, surreal, changing environment, strong NPCs, academic NPC, body horror]
  
  > Look around
  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.
  
  Michael stands here, frowning and absently rubbing at his forehead.
  
  > check what you're carrying
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a newspaper, a strange metal flute, a silver locket and a broom.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a gold locket, a flashlight, 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), inside which is a strange black disk, 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.
  
  > ask Michael about the laptop
  "Goddammit, just leave me the hell alone, why don't you?" Michael suddenly turns on you, baring his teeth and shaking his finger in your face. "I can't even think with you bothering me like this! Fuck this," he says, shaking his head. "Fuck this. I'm getting out of here. I need to be alone for a while."
  
  He storms out of the room, and a few moments later you hear the front door slam.
  
  For a moment you can only stand there in the empty house, shaky and close to tears. You've had fights before, but never has Michael been so vicious. And the worst part of it is, you know something is wrong with him, something terrible, but you don't know what it is, or how to fix it, or why it seems to be tearing your husband away from you. You've never felt so utterly helpless.
  
  > go to the south
  A narrow hallway runs east, from the top of the stairs down the length of the house. To the north, directly opposite the stairs, is the master bedroom.
  
  Michael wanders in from the north. He gives you a strange look, as if he hadn't expected to find you here.
  
  > go to the north
  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 lead east, to the study.
  
  A section of the shelves in the western wall has slid to one side, revealing a hidden safe.
  
  Resting on the pipe stand is a sizable volume decorated with a gilded pentagram on its cover.
  
  You can hear Michael moving around elsewhere in the house, the floorboards creaking uneasily with his footsteps.
  
  > Inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a newspaper, a strange metal flute, a silver locket and a broom.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain 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), inside which is a strange black disk, 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.
  
  > put the disk in the slot
  (first taking the strange black disk)
  (slipping the silver locket into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  The strange black disk drops neatly into the slot.
  
  > look through the telescope
  For a few moments all you can see is a murky, swirling blackness; then patterns of colors begin to emerge, like the rainbow sheen of oil on water. The black disk grows translucent, stars become visible through the swirling haze, and then...
  
  Dear Christ.
  
  Dear Christ, you can see it.
  
  The comet, roaring silently through the endless void, streaking toward Earth, and it's alive, this thing that is coming is ALIVE, tendrils that must be hundreds, thousands of miles long streaming before it, reaching out to grasp and strangle and devour whole worlds, and it is coming here, it is coming to Earth, and its great, lidless, red-rimmed eye rolls over in a vast lake of vitreous fluid, and it
  
  ...you wake up some time later, shaking your head. You're not
  sure what, exactly, you just witnessed; whether it was a genuine astronomical phenomenon, or a hallucination, or the actual form of some Dark God from the Outer Reaches, come to devour the world. You're not even entirely sure you remember what it looked like. The only thing you can clearly recall is a single name, pulsing in your brain like a bruise:
  
  "Ialdabaoloth".
  
  And that's all.
  
  > look at torn
  (the bottle with the torn label)
  The label on this bottle is partially torn away. There is a raised letter "E" stamped into the bottom of the bottle.
  
  > look at faded
  This bottle is so old that the label has almost faded beyond legibility, although from what you can make out it is probably a fine Merlot. A raised letter "C" has been stamped into the bottom of the bottle.
  
  > examine Pinot
  A robust Pinot Noir, vintage 1651; obviously one of those collector's items that just keeps getting more and more valuable as long as you don't open it. A raised letter "W" has been stamped into the bottom of the bottle.
  
  > look at Cheval
  A light Cheval Blanc, 1886. There is a raised letter "M" stamped into the bottom of the bottle.
  
  > look at Cabernet
  A vintage Cabernet Sauvignon from 1734. A raised letter "H" has been stamped into the bottom of the bottle.
  
  > go north
  Carefully, you edge out onto the swaying planks. The planks creak and bend beneath your weight. One of them snaps just as you lift your weight from it, coming very close to spilling you into the abyss below. A few more steps, however, and you are safely on the other side.
  
  The passageway turns east here, the stone floor dropping down in a series of wide steps carved into the living rock. The stairs continue down to the northeast, eventually curving out of sight. The only other way on from here is a narrow, oddly-angled corridor in the northwest corner.
  
  A thin and decrepit rope bridge spans the pit, shivering occasionally in the wind.
  
  > get the flute
  (the strange metal flute)
  You already have that.
  
  > Cover third
  Which do you mean, the third pictogram or the third flute hole?
  
  > Hole
  You place your finger over the third flute hole.
  
  > play the flute
  (the strange metal flute)
  The flute emits an eerie, low-pitched note.
  
  The right-hand column's vibrations suddenly grow stronger, resonating in harmony with the warbling, metallic note of the flute. The two dissonances seem to intertwine, reinforcing each other, and for a single instant you think you see a strange rippling effect in the air over the altar. Then it is gone, and the sound fades.
  
  > cover the fourth hole
  You place your finger over the fourth flute hole.
  
  > play the flute
  (the strange metal flute)
  The flute emits an odd mixture of metallic, warbling notes which intertwine and harmonize eerily with each other.
  
  The columns' vibrations seem to grow momentarily stronger while the flute's sound lingers, their dissonant ringing resonating strangely with the warbling, metallic notes.
  
  > Cover fifth
  You place your finger over the fifth flute hole.
  
  > Uncover fourth
  Which do you mean, the fourth pictogram or the fourth flute hole?
  
  > Hole
  You lift your finger from the fourth flute hole.
  
  > Uncover fifth
  You lift your finger from the fifth flute hole.
  
  > Cover sixth
  You place your finger over the sixth flute hole.
  
  > play the flute
  (the strange metal flute)
  The flute emits an odd mixture of metallic, warbling notes which intertwine and harmonize eerily with each other.
  
  The strange harmony of the flute blends with the atonal ringing of the two columns, and the three sounds suddenly grow stronger, resonating with and reinforcing one another, intertwining like a dissonant, invisible braid. The sound increases in volume, piercing your eardrums and causing the very air to shimmer.
  
  Suddenly the air above the altar begins to ripple as though with extreme heat. The very fabric of space seems to twist and buckle between the two columns; and then, with a sound like a wet sheet being torn slowly down the middle, the fabric splits.
  
  You are immediately swept off your feet by a powerful sucking vacuum, pulling everything within reach toward the portal. Dust and debris; bones and loose rock from the burial niches; everything not nailed down goes flying across the temple and into the all-devouring maw hovering over the altar-stone. Desperately, you wedge your fingers into a crack in the floor and hang on for dear life as the wind tries to claw you away. You scream, and even the sound of your voice is whipped away, pulled over your shoulder like a trailing ribbon and sucked into whatever blasphemous dimension lies beyond that horrible rift.
  
  For a few agonizing moments you don't think you're going to make it; then, suddenly, the chaos stops, leaving you breathless on the floor.
  
  Painstakingly, you pry your stiff, bleeding fingers out of the crack and roll over. The rift is gone. The air is normal, and the columns are ringing quietly, as if nothing had happened.
  
  > examine the flute
  (the strange metal flute)
  It appears to be some kind of wind instrument, fashioned out of ornately carved, greenish metal. Seven holes of varying sizes are drilled along the top Your fingers are covering the holes.
  
  > Go south
  Carefully, you edge out onto the swaying planks. A blast of wind roars up from beneath you, shaking the thin strand like a pennant in a stiff breeze, and you cling grimly to the ropes. A few more steps, however, and you are safely on the other side.
  
  The passageway ends here at a fathomless pit, a puckered circular hole in the rock from which the foul wind seems to emanate, howling up from the depths like a reeking banshee.
  
  A thin and decrepit rope bridge spans the pit, shivering occasionally in the wind.
  
  Another blast of hot, foul-smelling air comes shrieking out of the pit.
  
  > go north
  You take a deep breath and step out onto the bridge once again. On your fourth step, the board beneath you snaps in two. You plunge through the gap into the yawning blackness with a terrified shriek that is lost amid the roaring wind. You are only able to panic for a few moments, however, before the bone-shattering impact silences you. The wind carries the smell of you quickly through subterranean crevices, and your ruptured corpse provides a grand feast for the scuttling carrion feeders that live on the pit's stony floor.
  
  > go to the south
  (opening the front door first)
  
  The lane runs up from the southeast and ends at a wide clearing surrounded by gnarled and ancient trees. A wide, curving driveway runs up to the front door of your house, which lies north.
  
  The front door stands open to the north.
  
  The Verlac mansion looms before you, casting an air of menace over the clearing.
  
  The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you step outside. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong with the air. A heavy, charged sensation, like standing next to high-tension wires; a faint odor of spoiled meat drifting on the wind; you can't put your finger on it, but it might have something to do with that strange hole in the sky.
  
  > Go east
  A grim little cul-de-sac, tucked away in a corner of the claustrophobic tangle of narrow, twisting avenues that largely constitute the older portion of Anchorhead. Like most of the streets in this city, it is ancient, shadowy, and leads essentially nowhere. The lane ends here at the real estate agent's office, which lies to the east, and winds its way back toward the center of town to the west. A narrow, garbage-choked alley opens to the southeast.
  
  > Go southeast
  This narrow aperture between two buildings is nearly blocked with piles of rotting cardboard boxes and overstuffed garbage cans. Ugly, half-crumbling brick walls to either side totter oppressively over you. The alley ends here at a tall, wooden fence.
  
  High up on the wall of the northern building there is a narrow, transom-style window. One of the garbage cans has been pushed up against the wall directly underneath it.
  
  > look at the fence
  One of the boards seems to be loose down at the bottom; you could probably just squeeze through.
  
  > enter the fence
  Dropping to your hands and knees, you wriggle underneath the loose board and scramble down a muddy slope.
  
  This narrow strip of beach is tucked away between two outcroppings in the predominantly rocky shoreline, accessible only from a steep, muddy slope to the west. The sand is filthy and strewn with rocks, seaweed, litter and other bits of storm-tossed detritus.
  
  Near the bottom of the slope, a sewage outflow pipe juts out over the beach, about three feet above the ground. A thin stream of acrid-smelling sewer water trickles out over the lip of the pipe, forming a puddle in the sand.
  
  The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat.
  
  > examine trash
  There is nothing of any worth or interest here, just drifts of trash.
  
  Another wave crashes against the rocks, sending a cloud of spray into the air.
  
  > examine the sewage pipe
  The concrete pipe is about a foot and a half in diameter. Looking in, you can only see about three feet before the inner walls of the pipe disappear into blackness.
  
  > enter the pipe
  (the outflow pipe)
  You don't really feel like crawling head first into a smelly, filthy, pitch black sewer pipe.
  
  > go west
  You pick your way up the slope, push the loose board aside and slip back in through the gap.
  
  This narrow aperture between two buildings is nearly blocked with piles of rotting cardboard boxes and overstuffed garbage cans. Ugly, half-crumbling brick walls to either side totter oppressively over you. The alley ends here at a tall, wooden fence.
  
  High up on the wall of the northern building there is a narrow, transom-style window. One of the garbage cans has been pushed up against the wall directly underneath it.
  
  > go to the north-west
  A grim little cul-de-sac, tucked away in a corner of the claustrophobic tangle of narrow, twisting avenues that largely constitute the older portion of Anchorhead. Like most of the streets in this city, it is ancient, shadowy, and leads essentially nowhere. The lane ends here at the real estate agent's office, which lies to the east, and winds its way back toward the center of town to the west. A narrow, garbage-choked alley opens to the southeast.
  
  > Go north
  A dank, drafty old drinking hole lit by flickering, oil-burning lanterns. Smoke collects in greasy pools among the rafters, and shadows crowd thick around. The bar runs the length of the room to your right, while to the south a low doorway opens onto the street.
  
  > Go northwest
  The lane narrows here to little more than a badly cobbled sidewalk as it wends its way up through a series of tortuous bends and switchbacks. In some places, the street is so steep that steps have been cut into it, worn down over the years and slick with moss. Your progress is blocked at the top of the street by a blank brick wall.
  
  Strange; the graffiti is gone now. Not a trace of it left.
  
  > examine the wall
  It's just an ordinary-looking brick wall.
  
  > look at the lamps
  The lamps have curved, brass stands and frosted green shades; the kind of thing you'd expect to see on an accountant's desk in the 1930s.
  
  The reading lamp is currently switched on.
  
  > Go north
  A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
  
  Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a bell.
  
  > go to the south-west
  (opening the gate first)
  It seems to be locked.
  
  > look at the gate
  The gate, a twenty-foot high barricade of narrowly spaced, thick, black, iron bars, is designed to roll horizontally, sealing off the entrance to the mill compound. It is currently shut and locked. There are no guardhouses, no buzzers or intercoms, no apparent means of getting in or letting anyone inside know you want in; just this implacable gate in an unscalable wall.
  
  > Go south
  The path curves southwest, leading you into an overgrown area behind the mill.
  
  The foundations of an older structure lie crumbling in a sunken square of ground, hidden away behind the imposing shadow of the mill wall. Weeds push up through cracked and buckling slabs of concrete; twisted rebar and rusting pipes poke up like the legs of dead insects. The ruins are surrounded on all sides by dense thickets, although narrow, overgrown trails lead northeast and southeast through the underbrush.
  
  > examine the concrete
  The broken rubble is all that remains of whatever building once stood here.
  
  > examine the wall
  The wall is twenty feet high, solid brick. Stepping back a bit and looking up, you note that a forest of vicious glass shards is embedded along the top.
  
  > look at the lighthouse
  The lighthouse stands tall against the horizon, a dingy white tower amidst a gray sky and a grayer sea. Despite the ominous cast to the weather, no beacon is shining from the tower's top.
  
  > examine River
  The Miskaton winds down from the northwest, then bends in a more easterly direction some miles west of town. Its last half-mile or so neatly divides the town of Anchorhead in half before emptying into the sea. Its waters are murky and torpid, hiding many old secrets in its languid depths.
  
  > go west
  The thickets block the way back, except for the trail to the northwest.
  
  The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat.
  
  > look at the thickets
  The thickets are full of painful thorns and appear quite impenetrable. They are also very deep; there's no telling what could be hidden -- or what could be hiding -- in their brambly depths.
  
  > go northeast
  You stand in a circular clearing among the stones, surrounded on nearly every side by the sea. Before you looms the ancient, massive lighthouse, a vertiginous pillar of pale brick jabbing defiantly up at the sky. The road from the southwest ends here, although it looks as though you could pick your way down the rocks to the southeast, around the structure's base.
  
  The great bronze door of the lighthouse is closed.
  
  Another wave crashes against the rocks, sending a cloud of spray into the air.
  
  > examine the water
  Which do you mean, the sea or the patch of turbulent water?
  
  > Patch
  It looks... unnatural.
  
  > look in the patch
  The patch of turbulent water is just beyond your reach.
  
  > examine the sky
  There is a spinning, churning hole in the clouds, directly over the lighthouse; an inverted whirlpool sucking streamers of gray up into itself. You'd think it was some sort of funnel cloud, except that it's not moving anywhere. It's simply hanging, turning slowly in the sky. The sight of that horrible, whirling hole makes you shudder, involuntarily recalling that hideous entity that lurks behind those clouds.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a strange black disk, a newspaper, a strange metal flute and a broom.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a silver locket, a gold locket, a flashlight, 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.
  
  > take the notice
  (slipping the strange metal flute into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.
  
  Another wave crashes against the rocks, sending a cloud of spray into the air.
  
  > put the notice in the patch
  The typewritten notice hits the water with a splash. Before it can even begin to sink, dozens of thin, gelatinous tendrils, like the tentacles of a jellyfish, swarm up from the water, entangling the typewritten notice and dragging it under.
  
  > Go southwest
  You are picking your way across the breakwater's bare, rocky spine, where the road has diminished to little more than a pair of dusty ruts. A hundred yards to the northeast, at the breakwater's far end, the lonely stone tower of Anchorhead's lighthouse stands vigil against the ocean.
  
  > examine the shacks
  All peeling paint, broken glass and missing shingles, the houses are poorly built and teetering on the verge of falling apart completely. They are arranged in a vague suggestion of rows on either side of the mud clearing, numbered #1 through #12 with those cheap little nail-up plastic numbers you can buy at hardware stores. Presumably, these denote each shack's "street address".
  
  > look at the newspaper
  It's the "Weekly Arkham Herald". Anchorhead, apparently, is not large enough to warrant its own newspaper.
  
  The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat.
  
  > read it
  The front page story is about Jeffrey Greer, 8 years old, who was abducted from his home at #11 Mill Town Road last night. Little Jeffrey is the latest victim in a series of abductions that stretches back for years, one every six months or so, and that authorities believe is the work of a single perpetrator. Local police had hoped to prove that Edward Verlac had been behind the kidnappings, but were unable to obtain a confession or any hard proof. Edward Verlac was convicted of murdering his wife and two daughters, one of whom was 15 months old, in January of this year; he was found not guilty by reason of insanity and incarcerated in Danvers Asylum, where he remained until committing suicide last March. This latest kidnapping, occurring after Edward's death, seems to have cleared up any lingering suspicions that he might have been the culprit.
  
  Anyone possessing information regarding the whereabouts of Jeffrey Greer is strongly urged to speak to the authorities as soon as possible.
  
  > 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 typewritten notice, a strange black disk, a newspaper and a broom.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a strange metal flute, a silver locket, a gold locket, a flashlight, 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 lantern, your umbrella and a towel.
  
  > Go south
  The road turns southwest here and runs squarely through the front entrance to the old paper mill. A gate of heavy iron bars blocks the only opening into this charred fortress, although an overgrown path leads around the wall to the south. To the north, a rutted lane threads its way past a row of dilapidated shacks.
  
  > Go east
  As you cross the railroad tracks, the air seems to lift slightly, becoming more breathable once again.
  
  The road carries you across a desolate heath of gray, windswept grass. To the south, the black, jagged outline of Anchorhead's steep roofs and sharp, leaning gables cuts across the horizon. The road forks here to the west and east, heading across the railroad tracks in one direction, out toward the seashore in the other.
  
  > Go south
  Ugly, mint-green tiles and walls of whitewashed cinderblock comprise the decor of this inhospitable waiting room. A hard little sofa upholstered in avocado vinyl and a feebly struggling potted palm are provided for the comfort of visitors, although you get the feeling that few inmates of this institution are fortunate enough to have visitors. A metal gate bars entrance to a southern passageway, which you assume leads to the inmates' section. The exit lies north.
  
  An orderly sits by the gate, leisurely perusing a pornographic magazine.
  
  A large key dangles from the orderly's belt.
  
  Airy strains of vacuous elevator music waft through the room from invisible speakers.
  
  > look at the orderly
  The pockmarked and overweight orderly is absorbed in his magazine, which is just as well, since it's kept him from turning his leering attentions to you. He occasionally pauses to tweak a swollen blackhead on the back of his neck, or to mutter some crass observation about one of the women in his magazine.
  
  There's a name tag pinned to his expansive chest.
  
  > examine tag
  It reads: "CHUCK".
  
  The orderly honks loudly into a handkerchief, pauses to take a quick peek at the goods, then stuffs the rag back into his pocket.
  
  > look at the magazine
  "Juggs". How charming.
  
  The orderly honks loudly into a handkerchief, pauses to take a quick peek at the goods, then stuffs the rag back into his pocket.
  
  > ask Chuck about Edward
  The orderly squints at you. "Who? -- Oh, wait! You mean the guy, ventilated his whole goddamn family early this year. Yeah, I remember him. What a nutball. We put him in a rubber room, he lasted two weeks. Bashed his fuckin' brains in on the little observation window. Reinforced glass, took him right out." The orderly scratches his head. "Christ, I gotta get around to cleaning that mess up one of these days." Then with a heavy sigh, he returns to his magazine.
  
  > ask Chuck about the cell
  Which do you mean, Danvers Asylum or the large cell key?
  
  > touch the cell key
  The orderly slaps your hand away. "Nice try, lady, " he sneers, "but I got eyes in the back of my head; I'm like a fuckin' hawk."
  
  Airy strains of vacuous elevator music waft through the room from invisible speakers.
  
  > ask chuck about Juggs
  He fixes you with a disgusting leer. "Great stuff, ain't it? Fuckin-ay. You should see the nutballs when they get a hold of this shit. Man, they can't get enough!" The orderly guffaws for a moment or two, then finally catches your withering stare and, embarrassed, throws himself into the magazine with renewed abandon.
  
  > play flute
  (the strange metal flute)
  (first taking the strange metal flute)
  (slipping the newspaper into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.
  You blow an open chord into the little flute, and it resonates with an eerie, metallic warble. The sound lingers in the air for a moment, then gently fades away.
  
  > cover the sixth hole
  You place your finger over the sixth flute hole.
  
  A gust of wind blows your hair into your face.
  
  > open the door
  You open the front door.
  
  A flurry of dead leaves goes skittering along the ground, swirling past you in the wind.
  
  > go north
  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.
  
  > look in the tub
  The bathtub is empty.
  
  > look under the tub
  It's just an ordinary-looking shower attachment.
  
  You find nothing of interest.
  
  > examine the lamps
  The lamps are made of polished brass, with frosted green shades -- like an old-fashioned desk lamp, only mounted on the wall.
  
  > look at the scene
  A group of old midwives cluster around a bed-ridden woman who is apparently giving birth. The old women are wizened and grim, with crooked hands and bloodstained aprons. They seem to confer with each other in dark whispers that the younger woman, who is drenched in sweat and obviously in great pain, cannot hear. By the corner of the bed, an ominous detail: a bucket full of murky, red water.
  
  Strangely, though, the old women are not the only ones present at the birth. Nearby, in another bed, lies a shriveled, decrepit old man. Although seemingly at death's door, he struggles to raise himself, as if to see the birthing over the heads of the hunched midwives. His wasted visage shows an expression of satisfaction or approval, and he is reaching out with one skeletal arm in a manner curiously similar to the famous picture on the Sistine Chapel, of God giving life to His creation Adam.
  
  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.
  
  > unlock back door
  (first taking the keyring)
  You unlock the back door.
  
  > go to the east
  A high, spiked iron fence surrounds the rear and sides of the property, running all the way to the tree line. If you want to get around it, you'll have to go back through the house.
  
  > go to the south
  (opening the front door first)
  
  The lane runs up from the southeast and ends at a wide clearing surrounded by gnarled and ancient trees. A wide, curving driveway runs up to the front door of your house, which lies north.
  
  The front door stands open to the north.
  
  The Verlac mansion looms before you, casting an air of menace over the clearing.
  
  The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat.
  
  > Go west
  As you cross the railroad tracks, the air becomes warmer, more dingy, and slightly more difficult to breathe.
  
  The road turns southwest here and runs squarely through the front entrance to the old paper mill. A gate of heavy iron bars blocks the only opening into this charred fortress, although an overgrown path leads around the wall to the south. To the north, a rutted lane threads its way past a row of dilapidated shacks.
  
  A flurry of dead leaves goes skittering along the ground, swirling past you in the wind.
  
  > go to the south-west
  (opening the gate first)
  It seems to be locked.
  
  > go south
  The path curves southwest, leading you into an overgrown area behind the mill.
  
  The foundations of an older structure lie crumbling in a sunken square of ground, hidden away behind the imposing shadow of the mill wall. Weeds push up through cracked and buckling slabs of concrete; twisted rebar and rusting pipes poke up like the legs of dead insects. The ruins are surrounded on all sides by dense thickets, although narrow, overgrown trails lead northeast and southeast through the underbrush.
  
  A gust of wind blows your hair into your face.
  
  > go southeast
  The trail heads up a short embankment and emerges from the thicket alongside the railroad tracks. The tracks run down from the northeast and past the mill, continuing southwest but slowly curving westward until they cross the Miskaton River some miles outside of town. From the embankment you can look out over the entire heath: jagged, shadowy rooftops to the south; the oily ribbon of the Miskaton to the west; and to the east, the lighthouse sentinel and the leaden waters of the Atlantic beyond.
  
  > search thickets
  You find nothing of interest.
  
  You can hear a low rumbling and a distant, plaintive whistle coming from the northeast.
  
  > enter the thickets
  They're not something you can enter.
  
  The train lumbers into view, its rumbling passage growing louder as it approaches.
  
  > search thickets
  Carefully pushing the prickly branches aside, you find a rusty metal hatch set into the base of the wall.
  
  In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind. You look to the east in time to see the train go by, rolling southwest past the mill toward less melancholy climes.
  
  > examine the hatch
  It's just an ordinary-looking metal hatch.
  
  > Go south
  The street goes west from here. You can enter the office to the east or the alley to the southeast.
  
  The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat.
  
  > Clean table
  You wipe your finger through the dust, revealing the rich teak beneath -- and a heavy scratch. Alarmed, you wipe away more dust... someone has scratched the letter "C" into the beautiful surface of this table.
  
  > look at the C
  A deep scar in the shape of the letter "C", gouged into the teak.
  
  > Go south
  (opening the small metal door first)
  
  This tiny, concrete-lined alcove within the underside of the bridge forms the top of a vertical shaft leading down into darkness. Iron rungs embedded in the wall provide a way down.
  
  In the north wall is a small metal door.
  
  > turn on the flashlight
  The flashlight emits a warm yellow beam.
  
  The tunnel is ankle-deep in brackish water, though raised walkways on either side provide relatively dry footing. The walls are slick, the air damp and foul. The main tunnel runs north and southeast. Numerous smaller pipelines lead in all directions, but all are too small for you to crawl through. Iron rungs embedded in the wall lead up through an access shaft, back to the surface.
  
  > Go west
  A wide expanse of uneven pavestones lies open to the sky, bordered on all sides by the leaning, steep-roofed architecture that looms over everything in this city. The municipal courthouse stands at the south end of the square, next to the mouth of a dark, narrow alley to the southwest. Avenues to the west and east lead back into the cramped and ingrown streets, while to the north lies Whateley Bridge.
  
  In the center of the square, rising from a circular lawn of unhealthy-looking grass and weeds, stands a strange, stone obelisk. It seems to be a monument of some sort, although you can see no plaque or marker anywhere near it.
  
  The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat.
  
  > ask Chuck about Michael
  "Look, lady," the orderly interrupts you. "Is your old man in there?" He jerks his thumb toward the southern hallway. "I didn't think so. Which means I don't give a fuck."
  
  > get the magazine
  "Hey, you fuckin' mind?" snaps the orderly, snatching it away from you.
  
  > take key
  (the cell key)
  The orderly slaps your hand away. "Nice try, lady, " he sneers, "but I got eyes in the back of my head; I'm like a fuckin' hawk."
  
  "... ooh, yeah," whispers the orderly, ogling his magazine.
  
  > drop all
  newspaper: Dropped.
  strange black disk: Dropped.
  strange metal flute: Dropped.
  broom: Dropped.
  
  > take the bath
  (the towel)
  Taken.
  
  > enter the tub
  You get into the bathtub.
  
  > Go east
  You'll have to get out of the bathtub first.
  
  > Go outside
  You get out of the bathtub.
  
  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.
  
  Your clothes lie in an untidy pile on the floor.
  
  Your trenchcoat is here.
  
  You can also see a broom, a strange metal flute, a strange black disk and a newspaper here.
  
  > 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.
  
  Your clothes lie in an untidy pile on the floor.
  
  Your trenchcoat is here.
  
  You can also see a broom, a strange metal flute, a strange black disk and a newspaper here.
  
  > take the bath
  There's no need for a bath right now; you're perfectly clean.
  
  > take all
  newspaper: Taken.
  broom: Taken.
  strange metal flute: Taken.
  strange black disk: Taken.
  
  > Go east
  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 a towel here.
  
  > go southeast
  The gentle creaking of hawsers and the hollow slap of water beneath the wooden pier provide a faint counterpoint to the endless, rhythmic surging of the sea. The fishing industry (like the paper industry) has all but died away in Anchorhead; nonetheless there are still a few boats tied to the pier. A path leads back through an opening in a chain-link fence to the northwest; otherwise, it's just you and the ocean.
  
  An old, discarded tin of fish oil sits at the end of the pier.
  
  > examine the tin
  It's dented and rusty, and you can barely make out the words "Skagen, Denmark" printed along the side. The lid is closed.
  
  > take the tin
  (slipping the strange metal flute into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.
  
  In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind.
  
  > put tin in the coat
  You slip the old tin into the pocket of your trenchcoat.
  
  > open tin
  You open the old tin, revealing a smelly quantity of fish oil.
  
  > look at the oil
  (the fish oil)
  It's a viscous, nasty-smelling goo, made from and made for feeding fish. Not very appetizing.
  
  > smell it
  Ugh.
  
  > close tin
  You close the old tin.
  
  Another wave crashes against the rocks, sending a cloud of spray into the air.